This Café Is What Happens When You Ditch Law for Latte Art

Some men finish law school and head straight into courtrooms, swaddled in stiff suits and legacy dreams. Others, like Ahmed Ehab, go rogue—abandoning precedents for paninis, case law for croissants. Because what do you do when your legal briefs bore you, and your heart beats not for justice, but for the buttery crackle of a well-baked pastry?

“I used to think success was about titles,” Ehab tells me. “But then I found more purpose in perfecting a sandwich than I ever did in reading case files.”

It started, as many noble pursuits do, with friends. Ehab learned the barista basics from them, slinging espressos and frothing cappuccinos during college at Walkers Alexandria. Between study sessions and service shifts, he discovered the alchemy of the third space—a place neither home nor work, but somehow both. And like all self-respecting romantics of the gastronomic kind, he fell. Not in love with a person, but with precision: the pursuit of the perfect order, the geometry of a well-wrapped sandwich, the poetry of toast.

He didn’t stop there. From mastering flat whites, he moved on to leading teams, then pivoted through Mobil branches across Alexandria—five in total—learning the intricacies of scale, staff, and supply chains. Until COVID-19 hit. The world went on pause, and so did he. There was a brief flirtation with a bakery corner (aren’t we all guilty of pandemic baking ambitions?). But the main course was yet to come.

“I built Two Bites from scratch,” he says. “From the floor tiles to the final garnish. I wanted something that felt like me.”

Two Bites was never meant to be just a name—it was a metaphor, a mood, a manifesto. Originally conceived as 18 Bites(which sounds more like a dental emergency than a diner), the name was cleverly pared down after some well-earned marketing wisdom: keep it simple, keep it snackable, keep it memorable.“Eighteen Bites didn’t mean anything,” he shrugs. “But Two Bites? That’s temptation. That’s all you need.”

And the menu? It reads like a millennial fever dream, with just the right amount of chaos. You’ve got dough bites, Bomb Kinder, Bomb Pistachio, Bomb Hazelnut. Sandwiches wear their identities proudly: Philly Steak struts in like an American exchange student, Halloumi Pesto is your artsy Mediterranean girlfriend who journals and says things like microclimate. The Salmon Capers? Let’s just say she brunches—and she knows it.

Ehab, now engaged and dreaming big, still works shoulder-to-shoulder with his team, fueled by equal parts ambition and anxiety.

“There are days I don’t know if I’ll make rent or payroll,” he says. “But I also know I’ve built something people crave, and that’s worth betting on.”

Because sometimes, the best stories don’t come in eighteen bites. Sometimes, they only need two.