Servers keep an eye on the entrance and the rapidly filling tables as the diners flood in: a family of six, young teenagers flush with independence, a group of tourists, wide-eyed and wrapped in long scarves. Seating is limited, yet Hashem rarely turns people away. Chairs are crammed up against the kitchen, outside under umbrellas, next to the front room with a view of the vats, squeezed into any available nook. The servers lay out a plastic sheet on the table, then place in quick succession: paper place mats, a basket of bread, a plate of mint leaves and onions, a bowl of shatta, chili sauce, salt. He comes back with the distinctively patterned clay bowls of hummus and fuul, and a plastic plate of falafel.