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Look at it one way and the $4.50 zaatar manakish at Salam is a spiced flatbread that works as a light breakfast or snack on the go. Connect with it more deeply, and it’s a culinary portal to the childhood of Mariana Chedid in the souks of Beirut.

Her grandmother – also Mariana – would give her a little bowl of zaatar: wild thyme, sesame seeds, sumac, salt and dried lime stirred with olive oil. Little Mariana would run to the bakery and – as was the custom – be handed balls of dough to shape and sprinkle with her household’s own zaatar. It was then baked and Mariana would trot home with the family’s bread.

“Everyone thinks their zaatar mix is the best,” says Chedid, who now makes her own version every couple of days for pressing into the handmade pastries at Salam.

The wild herbs are from the hills of Lebanon, the sesame seeds toasted in Port Melbourne, the flavours and fragrance weave nostalgia with now.

Salam is a bakery cafe, but it’s also a place of expression and community. A father and daughter sit at one table playing chess. Couples browse the patisserie cabinet, full of the elegant gateaux Chedid learnt to craft during her training in Paris. Most Friday mornings, an ensemble of older women come to play music and sing, just for the joy of it.

Meanwhile, the engaging, well-trained team make and serve chicken pies, delicious “crandwiches” made with buttery croissant dough, signature manakish scattered with simple, careful toppings, and spins on brunch classics, such as the Benny Nest, eggs benedict in a scrunched “nest” of thread-like kataifi pastry.

There’s also fatteh, Mariana’s dad’s favourite meal. This layered hug in a bowl includes crisp pita, cumin, chickpeas and tahini-yoghurt, finished with a sizzling drizzle of fried ghee and toasted almonds. It’s one of the world’s most comforting meals.

I could chat for a whole day about hummus. Chedid’s is smooth and lemony: it’s topped with awarma, confit lamb that’s melty, rich and perfectly seasoned.

There’s knefeh, Lebanon’s sweet cheese pie, made here on a ring of housemade sesame bread with akawi cheese (like halloumi), lifted with rosewater and orange blossom water. It’s an indulgent, exuberant adventure.

Chedid opened this corner cafe in 2020 as Brulee, a French patisserie. She’s recently reshaped the offering as Salam, leaning more into her Lebanese heritage, but still with a bountiful offering of European pastries and cakes. Brulee has reopened as a dedicated croissanterie, nearby at 179 Bay Street.

“Salam” is a greeting that means “peace” and couldn’t we do with more of that? This haven is a resonant, optimistic vote for gathering around the table in harmony and shared humanity. I couldn’t be happier to take a seat.