Long before Six Hands had a name, there was a kitchen that was always too small and a table that was always too full. Someone was rolling bread. Someone was stirring a pot that had been on the stove since morning. Someone was stealing herbs off the chopping board and being told off for it.
That's how the three of us learned to cook: standing next to our mothers and grandmothers, watching their hands. Nobody measured anything. You added cumin until it smelled right, and salt until someone older than you tasted it and nodded.
Our families come from Egypt and Morocco, and so does our cooking. We have spent years feeding the people we love: Friday lunches, Ramadan nights, birthdays that ran past midnight, weddings where the kitchen was the real party. Somewhere along the way, friends started asking us to cook for their tables too.
So we did. Six Hands is still exactly that: three friends who became family, cooking the way we were taught, for people we want to feel at home.