In chef Amr Hammad’s dreams, there are visions of dim lighting, dark wood tables, a stainless steel kitchen, and, near the hostess stand, a photo of his family under the Palestinian flag. “Right now, people associate Palestine with war and rubble,” he says. “You wouldn’t hear ‘Palestine’ and think of white tablecloths and formal place settings. That’s what I want to do,” he says.
At just 21 years old, he has his sights set on becoming a legendary chef. For now Hammad’s dreams of fine dining will have to wait — but a food truck’s not a bad place to start. Hammad runs Salam’s Grill, a food truck that he opened outside of Vacancy Brewing in South Austin in October. The menu is simple, but packed with fresh ingredients and rich flavors, from juicy chicken and beef shawarma with spicy coriander fries to crisp falafel, creamy hummus, and a sharp garlic sauce.
Hummus. from Salam’s. Cat Cardenas
Already, Hammad has regulars who come to the truck every week and it shouldn’t be a surprise because restaurants are in his heritage. His parents, Nuha and Jihad Hammad, are the duo behind the Middle Eastern eatery Peace Bakery in North Austin, which has been operating since 2014. Along with his four siblings, Hammad grew up around the kitchen, helping out after school, and learning the ropes of the industry.
Growing up, his family had a larger kitchen that was kept clean for meals and another, smaller kitchen where all of the cooking was actually done. There, he would spend hours watching his mom prepare food. “[My mom] would give me a spoon, and I would just start tasting and trying things.”
Hammad tried out his own recipes and attempted to recreate dishes he saw from television cooks like Gordon Ramsey and Martha Stewart. But it wasn’t until a teacher his junior year of high school set up a Zoom call with a chef from the Culinary Institute of America in San Antonio that he actually considered pursuing it as a career. He enrolled in the CIA after high school, and graduated from the program in 2024. Later, when he went back to Peace Bakery, he felt like something was missing.
Salam’s Grill also has mango mint drinks. Cat Cardenas
“It was like a void almost,” he says. “My dad always says that the family restaurant is ours, but it’s not really mine. It’s not my dishes, my techniques, my staff. I wanted to make something that was mine.”
A brick-and-mortar operation seemed out of reach, so he and his brother, Ali, decided to pool their resources and buy a food truck. For five months, they dedicated themselves to building it out, developing a menu, and customizing it to their needs. With years at Peace Bakery under his belt, along with previous stretches at Uchiko and Odd Duck, Hammad quickly learned that a food truck was a totally different beast.
By hosting pop-ups throughout the summer in the run-up to opening in October, the brothers had managed to work out most of the kinks. They got their order times down, found their rhythm in the confined space, and pared down their menu to their most popular dishes, leaving room for experimentation with limited specials, like their spicy fried corn ribs dusted with sumac and Turkish coffee-infused hot chocolate.
“The specials are kind of like my playground,” he says, “that’s where I get to introduce people to more of a fusion of flavors.”
Shawarma box at Salam’s Grill Cat Cardenas
And while Salam’s is Amr and Ali’s operation, it’s still a Hammad family affair. The name — “salam” is “peace” in Arabic — is a nod to the bakery, and as the brothers prepared to open in October, the whole family took turns helping out, often offering up advice or checking in to make sure things were running smoothly. “My parents are old school, they can be very stubborn, but at the end of the day, they want me to succeed,” he says.
For the first few weeks of October, their mother came down to the truck every day. At first, things were slow, and Hammad got nervous. “My mom would come to help, and I would say, ‘mama, there’s no reason to, there’s nobody here,’” he says. “But she would just say, ‘Inshallah, it’ll get busy,’ and after that, it just skyrocketed.”
Still, he and Nuha have their differences. Hammad’s mom is more traditional, using recipes that she’s been making her entire life, while her son is more fond of experimentation, looking for new ways to reinvent or deconstruct the dishes he grew up with.
Hammad’s hoping to bring his experimental takes to a tasting menu soon, taking “old school” dishes and turning them on their heads. Salam’s is a stepping stone toward delivering a Palestinian fine dining restaurant that’s a playground of Arabic spices and ingredients.
When that day comes, he’ll name the spot after his grandmother, Fatoum. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather do that than here in Austin,” he says. “I want to hear someone say, ‘Let’s go to Fatoum’s,’ and I want them to go and see a Palestinian restaurant with white tablecloths, where everyone is welcome,” Hammad says. “That would be my favorite thing in the world.”
Amr and his brother, Ali. Cat Cardenas