Loading ...If you ask Assil — the child of Syrian and Palestinian immigrants by way of Lebanon — what type of food she cooks, she will describe it with just one word: “Arab.” The term is one that has been maligned and misunderstood, meaning people are often afraid to use it. Not Assil. “The word Arab is considered a bad word because of the political climate,” she says. “I was like, ‘You know what? I am going to mainstream that shit because it is not a bad word.’”
And so she did. On its website, Reem’s is described as an “Arab street corner bakery that connects people across cultures,” and at Dyafa, the website’s landing page is colorful mezze with the text “Inside the Arabic kitchen,” proudly layered on top. In many ways, Assil sees herself as an educator even more than she sees herself as a chef. “I have the privilege to be able to translate the food in a way that feels meaningful, but also to preserve the Arabic language and the stories and places where these things are from.”
Not everything has been so warm for Assil at the bakery, however. The space, which features high ceilings and plenty of sunlight, also features a large and colorful mural of Rasmea Odeh on the wall opposite the front door. It’s the first thing you see when you walk into the space. The painting of Odeh, a Palestinian activist who was controversially convicted by the Israeli government over a bombing that killed two Jewish students in Jerusalem in the 1960s, set off a firestorm for Assil shortly after Reem’s opened in 2017. A very pregnant Assil was soon bombarded with poor Yelp reviews and death threats, with people spouting hateful language towards Arabs, and others accusing Assil of being “anti-semitic.” Protesters started showing up to her bakery and harassing her staff.
It took quite a toll on Assil’s health. She went into early labor, something her doctors were able to halt. But then was put on bed rest shortly after rendering her unable to continue with her usual 16-hour days. Still, her resolve — and her activism — wasn’t dampened. She continued with her plans for Dyafa, the restaurant she hoped would make fine dining more accessible to everyone, while hosting events for the community like a play about Syrian refugees and a symbolic birthday party for a Palestinian teen activist who was imprisoned for an altercation with an Israeli soldier after her cousin was shot.
Assil looks back at the time period with gratitude — a glass-half-full approach that has helped her survive trying circumstances. “I had moments where it was like, ‘I am crazy,’” she admits. “But I think the thing that really grounds me is the bigger piece of work that I’m doing, which is that my restaurants are a platform to have really amazing culture-shifting conversations in this country. I really love inspiring other people to do this work. I love inspiring other women of color to get into this industry and be leaders.”
The man’oushe, which are the size of a small personal pizza, are a quintessential street food in the Levant, according to Assil. “It’s breakfast, it’s lunch, it’s a late-night snack after the bar.” She knew it would take off in Oakland. At Reem’s the man’oushe are available with sundry toppings like a hefty swipe of herby za’atar, or salty akkawi cheese, or a thin layer of ground beef with a dollop of yogurt. They are also highly customizable with additional toppings like avocado, hot sauce, and runny eggs. Like Starbucks, customers can make their man’oushe as simple or complex as they want. And like a coffee shop, Assil’s staff remembers how regulars like their man’oushe.
Reem’s also serves at the production kitchen for Dyafa, meaning the kitchen is busy. On any given day Assil estimates her and her team make 600-800 pieces of dough, meaning they easily serve thousands of man’oushe a week, keeping the ovens busy and space cozy. “Our hashtag is ‘feel the warmth,’ so warmth literally of the hot oven and the fresh baked bread, but also the warmth of people,” says Assil.
Her hiring practice is intense, to put it mildly. At both Reem’s and Dyafa, Assil asks herself a series of questions: “Is there a long-term trajectory for them? Do they have potential? They may not necessarily have all the experience, but do they have the emotional IQ? Is this someone who’s going to be accountable and loyal?” Once someone is hired, they go through not one, but three different training processes. But make it through and it pays off. In an industry where pay is notoriously low and workers have been fighting to get $15 hourly wages, Assil says that employees at Reem’s are able to pull in $20-$25 per hour — a high rate for a casual restaurant. At Dyafa, thanks to tips, that figure could be higher.
Assil and Patterson, who owns the Alta restaurant group, are working toward giving full-time employees a healthcare package as well, another rarity for the industry. Employees are given a free meal during their shifts and 50% off of their meals at any of the sister restaurants in the Alta group, which includes San Francisco restaurants like Besharam and Kaya. Assil says her staff are also given $50 each month to put towards self-care like a massage to help ease up the pressures of a physically demanding job. And staff at Dyafa are also given a transportation stipend.
This investment in a labor force requires larger margins. Assil says 40% of her costs go toward employment, which is 10-15% higher than the industry standard. “Nobody can survive on low margins,” says Assil. “Even a $15-per-hour base is not enough for people.” Assil has proven that it is not impossible. She is able to pay her employees well and Reem’s started to become profitable about six months into the business.
Assil’s dreams for the future include building an entire “job-generating” ecosystem. She not only hopes to open more Reem’s locations, and a wholesale line, but would one day like to start a za’atar farm. “It’s on the one thing that’s on all of my breads at the bakery, and the one thing we don’t buy locally,” says Assil, with an excitement building up in her voice. “I realized that there are all of these refugees coming from these rural backgrounds, and they’re being sloughed into these fast-food jobs in urban settings. We are not utilizing their skills.”
But for now, she is content in Oakland, running two restaurants, remaining outspoken, and prepping more man’oushe dough than you can possibly imagine. Assil came to the Bay Area to heal herself but she has done more than that. “I see Reem’s as an anchor for building a resilient community for the long run.”