Hello, I'm Alaa

I was born in Cairo, grew up between the bustling energy of the Egyptian capital and the breezy Mediterranean coast of Alexandria. Those early years — filled with the call to prayer at dawn, the scent of ful medames from street carts, and the laughter of a big family gathered around a table — shaped everything about who I am.

Today I live in Seattle with my wife and our three daughters. We are building a life in the Pacific Northwest, a place where the rain reminds me that beauty grows from patience, and where the mountains are never far from view. My daughters are opinionated, hilarious, and better at technology than I will ever be. They are the reason I tell stories — partly to leave them something to read one day, and partly because they keep giving me things worth writing about.

I speak Arabic, English, and enough French to order dinner confidently and apologize for my accent afterward. I have lived and worked across continents — from the Middle East to France, Canada, Japan, Russia, and Korea — and every place has left its fingerprint on me. My life philosophy is simple: curiosity over comfort, warmth over distance, and absolutely not one boring moment.

Food is memory. The smell of my mother's koshari takes me back to a kitchen in Cairo where the radio played Om Kalthoum and the windows were always open. A bowl of ful medames with tahini, lemon, and a drizzle of good olive oil is not just breakfast — it is a declaration of identity.

I believe that every cuisine tells the story of its people — their geography, their history, their values. Egyptian food is generous and communal, meant to be shared. Japanese food is precise and reverent. French food is theatrical and unapologetic. I have learned something from every table I have sat at, and I carry those lessons into my own kitchen.

These days, I am an enthusiastic home cook. My specialties lean Egyptian — perfectly spiced molokhia, crispy falafel, and a tahini sauce that my daughters have been known to eat with a spoon. But I wander. A good Japanese curry on a rainy Seattle evening, a slow-braised French stew on a Sunday — the kitchen is where I travel when I cannot get on a plane.