We arrived at a semi-busy Souk Al Bahar, where the restaurants and bars have beautiful hostesses outside, hawking their menus like a culinary version of the Patpong district.  Every city in the world suffers from the January hangover, and Dubai is no different.  The majority of restaurants had a smattering of customers, but probably 40 empty seats too many for their liking.

The Atlantic is Dubai’s latest seafood restaurant and is brought to you by the same group that runs Dubai’s grown up party nightspots, like Q43 and Lock Stock.  It’ll be interesting to see how they bring in a classic premium dining operation into their portfolio.  It’s a bit like Tiesto doing Classical music.

Because Dubai is already home to every single F&B concept and chef from America and Europe, The Atlantic hails from Melbourne, Australia.  The chef consultant and partner is Donovan Cooke who keeps a watchful eye over the food quality from eleven thousand kilometers away, trusting day to day operations to Head Chef Zeke Quinn.

A good fish restaurant brings out a particular personality in fish.  For example, the fish at Catch at the Fairmont are millennial cool, urban and hip.  The Atlantic’s fish are sophisticated, classy, and probably went to public school.

In the old space where The Mango Tree used to be is the Atlantic restaurant – gentle and refined – a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the fish markets it claims to be inspired from.  Neutral colours cover the walls and floors, with pale blue & green chairs, sea green mirrored columns, and Art Deco-ish lights.  There are an endless amount of circles within the design – mix that with all the greens in the room and it’s like you’re sitting in a large glass of fizzy absinth. It is rather intoxicating, but soothing as well.

We sat indoors, to the surprise and horror of the hostesses, who reminded us that their terrace has some of the best views of the fountains.  I stood firm, explaining to the Serb that you never really get the full experience of a place stuck on a terrace and a busier restaurant would have a better atmosphere indoors.

The restaurant remained completely empty as every single reservation after us were led onto the terrace.  Throughout the evening, the Serb stole longing glances through the window at the lively terrace.  I told her that it looked cold outside. She didn’t agree.  Easy by the Commodores played in the background.

Donovan’s most famous recipe is his olive oil confit salmon – the restaurant proudly boasts that he has been working on this dish for 22 years.  That’s about the same amount of time Pizza Hut has been working on their Stuffed Crust Super Supreme, incidentally.

There’s a classicism to chef Donovan Cooke’s menu, and you can instantly see the heritage in his work from his time with Michael Roux and Marco Pierre White. His menu is refined, steeped in classical techniques and yet with a good understanding of the local market.

The service at The Atlantic is a new, progressive style from Melbourne that I’m not sure will work here in Dubai.  It’s absurd, but basically, the food is not designed to be shared – you must order your own meal, and it’s placed in front of you, not in the middle of the table.  Also, mind-blowingly, it seems the kitchen follows some sort of logical service flow, where the food arrives when you are ready for it, not when the food is ready.  Like I said, not sure if this sort of progression will be accepted here – time will tell.

Our server was attentive and engaging and thanks to the empty restaurant, could provide us with a significant amount of attention.  Recommendations were made – some good, (the salmon) and some ambitious (Wagyu beef – 559 Dhs).

We ordered the rock lobster salad to start (and share – HA!) followed by the 20 years in the making confit salmon and the grilled Dover sole.  The Serb’s natural inclination in any restaurant is to find the meat and The Atlantic caters for that with some beef, chicken, and lamb dishes.

The lobster salad was three nuggets of lobster with some clever balls of confit apple, a few snap peas and a lime curd that could have been sharper.  The lobster flesh was fresh and chewy, which is kind of what you want it to be.  The dish was good, but at almost 80 dhs for the starter, it supports that adage that lobster is good, but only when someone else is paying.

Our main courses were almost perfect opposites – on one plate we had the 20-year-old salmon, pastel pink, delicate and coddled and on the other we had the Dover sole – rough, ragged with scorch marks and a story to tell.  It was 16-year-old Britney against Keith Richards.

The salmon rested on a collection of heritage vegetables and gently wobbled in anticipation of my incoming fork.  It was a delicate, fragile dish that had been gently cooked in a hot water bath, surrounded by olive oil.  The salmon was ridiculously iridescent, almost like a mousse, if that’s possible.  Eating it needed the least amount of effort – I’ve exerted more effort changing the TV channel.

The Dover sole, deboned and grilled, was a firm, solid fish that relied on the excellent accompanying butter sauce for flavour.  It is a great fish, but the only downside is it’s an expensive fish.  I don’t know why they are so pricey – maybe they are super difficult to catch; experts at evasion and diversion or accomplished escape artists.

We ordered the fat chip, as a side, which was neither fat nor singular.  They were plentiful, regular sized and seasoned with a moreish smoked paprika salt.  There was a cheeky dessert snuck in there as well – a chocolate and hazelnut tart with a robust and refreshing earl gray sorbet.

The food was of a restaurant far more mature than the three weeks The Atlantic has under her belt.  There were no faults that I could tell, and if Zeke keeps up these standards, there’ll be few reasons for Chef Donovan to return.

In a city where there are several decent fish inspired restaurants, such as Catch and the Maine, it’ll be interesting to see how Cooke’s The Atlantic performs here. Having only been open a few weeks, and with Dubai still nursing its holiday season hangover, it’s a bit early to tell, but the line definitely has a bite on it. Book a table on the terrace – they have excellent views of the fountains.

Happy New Year, by the way.

#NoReceiptNoReview

To get the best out of Hapi, I recommend you do the following before visiting.

1. Read Tom Rath’s bestseller, Eat, Move, Sleep
2. Watch the master of movement, Ido Portal’s videos on YouTube.
3. Then watch Matty Matheson also on YouTube.

Once you’ve done this, you’re ready to understand what Hapi is about a little more. For the very few of you that haven’t followed the instructions, let me explain it to you.

A warehouse in the achingly hip Alserkal Avenue, in Al Quoz, is home to Hapi.

Hapi has a parkour playground – because if you find yourself accidentally hanging off a cliff by your fingertips, you’ll want to be able to pull yourself up.

Hapi has studios upstairs for yoga– because you need somewhere to practice your downward facing dogs, so you don’t look like a fool on Instagram.

And finally, Hapi has a place to eat – because nothing in Dubai is complete without an F&B space.

Hapi is a labour of love for Paul Frangie, who has wanted to make people Hapi for years and years – This has been a project that has been simmering and stewing away like a magic potion for the longest time. The recipe, it appears, is complete. Hapi is ultimately a mind-set, a movement for movement. It is a centre for human energy, a space for internal improvement and a place that serves burgers.

However, make no mistake – I was there for the food.

Hapi’s restaurant is minimalistic with no frills and no instructions on how to use it.  Much like a new iPhone, there is an expectation that you know intuitively what to do with it, straight out the box. Line up, place your order, find a seat and then collect your food when it’s ready. In the industry, we call that a Fast Casual service model.  For me, it wasn’t an issue, because I am an expert at restaurants and intuitively know how they work.  Ha.

However, there is one glaring error that I am sure will be resolved soon. The only menu available is on a clipboard at the front of the counter. I never realised how much a menu reduces anxiety and stress until you aren’t allowed one. Standing in that queue, waiting to order – without any insight or knowledge of what is to come – was grossly uncomfortable.  It was terrifying – either provide more menus or have some specially trained comfort dogs to come and sit with you to help calm your nerves afterward.  Menus or comfort dogs – it is a simple choice.

At the front of the queue, you are finally given access to the menu, like it’s the original Declaration of Independence.  However, your time with it is fleeting – there is pressure to order, and you can feel the fear and discomfort from the people behind you. I rushed through the menu – and jokes aside – it’s an excellent menu.

It is simple, with no fancy descriptions or unnecessary hipster speak. Organic bone broth, (the new Paleo Superfood), grass fed rib eye, hot smoked salmon, charcoal chicken and on Fridays they do a BBQ burger and hot dog.  The sides are simple and clean – beetroot, herb salad, grilled vegetables. Need carbs?  They serve mashed potato, sweet potato wedges, and coconut rice as well. They also do breakfast and have a good coffee and ice cream range too.

We ordered the grass-fed burger and the hot dog, with a Mexican Coke (a cola) and an iced tea.  We took our receipt and found a seat. The Serb asked what was so special about the Mexican cola.  I helpfully explained that it was from Mexico. In truth, it is something about being made with cane sugar instead of corn syrup and helps promotes healthy hipster beard growth.  Or something like that.  The Serb shrugged and said the bottle was pretty.

The restaurant seats about 40 people and was full when we were there. To the credit of Paul and his kitchen team, the food was ready quickly.  I took my ticket and went to get our order, with the excitement of a kid on a Mexican cane sugar rush.

The food can best be described as sophisticated dude food. Served on industrial sheet trays lined with wax paper, there is no fancy presentation.  The hot dog was a good size, the sausage cut into pieces and loaded into the bread.  It was a well-flavoured sausage with an excellent red sauce and covered with shredded iceberg lettuce.  My only gripe would be that they could warm the bread a little. #firstworldproblems

The burger was equally as good – thankfully, there was no attempt to re-invent it or over complicate it.  The patty had a good thickness and was cooked to the correct temperature, and it had great texture and flavour.  It was so good the Serb almost forgot to leave me a bite.  It came with several large chunks of oven baked sweet potato and a splodge of red sauce – a home-made ketchup equivalent.

Paul has understood that there is a demographic in Dubai that appreciates the importance of healthy mind, body, and spirit and he’s only gone and built a place for them to hang out in.  More power to him.  If you’re going for the full experience, I suggest you do the parkour before eating a hot dog and drinking a Mexican Coke.  The other way round could be regrettable.

I suggest you find an excuse to stop by for some decent food with reasonable pricing. In fact, scratch that – there’s no need for an excuse.

#noreceiptnoreview

(Image Credit:- Timeout Dubai.)

Peruvian have Coya, Mayta, and Inka. Asian have Nobu, Okku, and Hakkasan. Turkish have Besh, Nusr-Et, and Ruya.  Now it is the turn of the Progressive Indian. First, we had Tresind, Farzi, Carnival and now Jaan.

Jaan was one of the higher-profile openings this year – for those not in the know, some of us bloggers get complimentary invites to special tastings. I don’t know what goes on at them as I have never been to one, but I can image a lot of VIP treatment, photo opportunities, and happy PR companies.

Jaan was particularly active on this front, and judging by the amount of coverage on the blogosphere, there was a good turnout by hungry influencers with their fancy cameras and large Instagram accounts.

The room is cavernous – sitting on a high floor, with high ceilings, Jaan immediately brings a sense of grandeur and occasion to the evening. The dining room wraps around the outer walls of the floor, with views overlooking Dubai. When we arrived, the place was cold, empty and quiet, save for the click clickity of our hostess’s heels on the polished tiled floor. John Lennon’s face adorned a large graffiti feature wall, which offered a much-needed sign of life and colour. It was almost as if Lennon was begging us to “Imagine” as we walked past.  Imagine all the people, perhaps.

The hostess was friendly but lacked conviction. I’ve said this before – there is something magical about someone taking the time to welcome you properly to the restaurant and engage in some storytelling to get you in the mood. I was disappointed when this didn’t happen, but Jaan isn’t the only restaurant that doesn’t get this right.

Had I turned up at the bloggers night, I’m sure they would have told me everything I would have needed to know. They would have said that they are progressive Indian, taking culinary influences from Japan, the Far East, and Europe. They would have explained that the owner is a super famous entrepreneur, chef, caterer and overall hero in India. However, I didn’t go to the freebie night, so I have no idea about any of that, including why a John Lennon picture is in an Indian restaurant in Dubai. Well, it’s either Lennon or Gandhi.

There is an open kitchen, where the cooks walk back and forth as if they were warming up for a fitness class. When the chef is wearing a Mr. Mayagi bandana and a microphone headset, he is either going to host a Les Mills Body Pump session, or things are about to get serious in the kitchen. I told the Serb that the neck cracks and lunges were all part of the drama. I’m just glad she didn’t see the burpees from the sous chef and the star jumps from the commis.

Progressive Indian is a move away from the typical dishes of all Indian restaurants – dishes like the much-loved butter chicken, paneer cheese, and naan bread.  Progressive Indian is an exploration into cuisines like Japanese sushi and Spanish tapas – all with an exciting Indian twist.  Faced with such an opportunity to push the culinary boat out, we immediately ordered the butter chicken and paneer cheese with a naan basket.  We are nothing if not adventurous.

We also ordered the cold smoke chaat and cherry wood chicken as well – just to keep the hecklers away.

The cold smoke chaat arrived in a liquid N20 smokescreen and took me back to 2008.  It’s a little overdone now as a gimmick, although the dish itself was fragrant, lively and fresh – puffed rice, with frozen dhokla and aromatic spices. We were both enjoying the dish, until an errant and particularly vicious chili made its way onto the Serb’s fork, instantly rendering her taste buds useless for the rest of the meal.  Such was her suffering; she made the outrageous claim that she wouldn’t feed this dish to her worst enemy.  She was emotional and didn’t mean it. Maybe.  I, however, found it refreshing, light and highly enjoyable.

The Cherry Wood Chicken – 5 chicken tenders which again arrived in an unnecessary cloud of smoke were generous tenders of juicy meat.  They were punchy, fiery and made the back of your neck tingle with a delicious, lingering heat.  However, any subtlety of the cherry wood was obliterated by the spicy marinade.  Excellent chicken tenders, but I just couldn’t appreciate the cherry wood. The Serb couldn’t even tell it was chicken – she was still suffering from the chili attack earlier.

There are elements of Jaan that border on being traditional and somewhat conventional.  However, they are just about saved by a few touches of quirkiness and eclecticism. The room would be rather dull, if not for a few flashes of fun and difference.  Their progressive nature seems not to have permeated throughout the entire concept, and in hindsight, I think that balance is needed.

Our mains arrived, butter chicken and paneer cheese with jalapenos khurchan. The butter chicken arrived in a cute little tin that your grandmother would use for her spare buttons and teeth. The lid had a fun Ghost Busters logo renamed Ghost Butter.

However, here’s the thing about butter chicken. It is an accessible, delicious dish that is on every Indian menu I have ever read.  It costs around 32 dhs from street side restaurants all around Dubai – even with rice, it’s still under 40 dhs. I understand that Jaan gives the chef a headset microphone and lots of smoky things, and there are high rent and great views and alcohol is served.  I get all that, but to charge 125 dhs for the same dish, (155 with rice) it better be a spectacular butter chicken.

I’m talking single-udder butter from cows that are in a Scandinavian welfare program, and the happiest chickens this side of Thanksgiving.  Serving it in a ghostbuster tin is unfortunately not spectacular enough for me.  It was a great tasting dish, don’t get me wrong, but wasn’t any better than I have had elsewhere. The Serb was still no help – her face now numb from the chili, she couldn’t even pronounce butter chicken, let alone taste it.

The paneer khurchan was delightful and showed the command the kitchen had over their spice rack.  Khurchan literally means scraped, so the strips of bouncy, soft cottage cheese are ‘scraped’ from the pan after being cooked with capsicum, jalapeno, and spices.  Mixed with hot naan bread from the basket, it makes for a very satisfying dish.

We ordered some dessert as well, but dessert is the Achilles Heel of every Indian restaurant. Mango, saffron, cardamom and milk – those are the only ingredients chefs are allowed to use, it seems.  We ordered the Nirvana, a saffron panna cotta with a raspberry coulis.  It was good but wasn’t good enough to finish between two of us.

Jaan has joined a crowded market for progressive Indian and will find it difficult to stand out from Tresind, Carnival and Farzi, who effectively do the same thing. We enjoyed the evening, and by the time we left, the place was full and buzzing and had a great energy.  The menu is fun and sophisticated, with a good understanding of flavours and fusions.  Service is sharp and attentive, and the sense of drama with the dishes is fun and different.

However, it comes at a price. 700dhs for two, without alcohol, is an eye-watering price tag for a bit of smoke and a ghost buster tin.

As usual, I pay for all my meals, and I attach each bill to the review, to provide a bit of transparency and credibility. #noreceiptnoreview

The Serb and my soon-to-be-replaced proofreader claim this is my least entertaining review to date.  Read on at your own risk.

I heard a new restaurant called Roux was opening in City Walk – and in my quest to be the most cutting edge, up-to-date restaurant critic in Dubai, I dragged The Serb along to try them out.

We arrived early – several days early, it appears.  Despite promising to be open on that day, they certainly were not, and a Plan B was needed.  City Walk is no place to be with a hungry Serb and despite being a long weekend, there was no telling when they might open their doors.  I couldn’t take the risk – not with so many children around.

So, my apologies, but this is not a hot off the press, FoodSheikh exclusive.  However, it is a review of Cocoa Kitchen, a restaurant that has only been open a few months and is equally deserving of your attention.

The Cocoa Kitchen, (not to be confused with the Cocoa Room) is a steampunk, rough luxe restaurant with brick walls and chandeliers, faux copper pipes, ropes and pulleys, an open kitchen, tall green ferns and a slightly misplaced container door wall.  Overall, it’s an attractive room – furnished with booths and banquet tables, with accents of browns and chocolate tones.

The restaurant suffers from two entrances and only one hostess – we chose the unattended entrance and snuck into the restaurant unnoticed.  Which isn’t as cool as it sounds, as we had to wait to be seated anyway.

Our table was wobbly, but I soon fixed that with some MacGyver/Bear Grylls skills and a strip of their (rather good quality) paper napkins.  You’re welcome, Cocoa Kitchen.

Our server gave us a quick cliff note on the concept – everything is with cocoa, no, not everything is sweet, yes, we have other things than chocolate, No, I have never heard that joke before, yes you are the funniest guest we’ve had, etc.

The Cocoa Kitchen is a self-proclaimed concept restaurant which means it needs to be unique, experiential and boutique.  A good example of a concept store in Dubai is Intersect by Lexus at DIFC where Chef Tomas regularly changes up the menu to keep things fresh.  I am not sure how often Cocoa Kitchen will change their menu, but it should be quite frequently if they are staying true to concept.

However, because you always have to keep things fresh, new and bespoke, concept stores are difficult to get right.  Cocoa Kitchen makes it even harder by limiting themselves to building the menu off one ingredient – the Cocoa seed – an ingredient whose versatility has perhaps been over-estimated.

However, at first glance, the self-imposed monogamy to the cocoa seed hasn’t compromised the range of items on the menu.  Salmon, Tenderloin, satay, lamb, chicken – all the staples are there, and it reads like a sample menu from a theoretical module at advanced culinary college.

We ordered the burrata, the ravioli, the garden box and some fries.  All with Cocoa.

For me, having to create multiple dishes using the same one ingredient is a bit like a poet having to include the same one word in every poem.  And the one word is orange.  It seems like an unnecessary restriction to creativity.

The burrata arrived at the table under a glass dome of smoke, revealing itself like some sexy contestant on a talent show, ready to perform for the judges.  However, it performed like every other burrata I’ve eaten in Dubai.

If the burrata was an audition song, it would be “I dreamed a dream,” from Les Misérables.  Hundreds of eager contestants try it out every season, but if you’re not the Susan Boyle of burratas, then you’re not going to the live shows.

Perhaps “Let it Go” from Frozen would have been a better choice.

The server delivered the garden box to our table, saw my reaction and almost apologetically informed me that a spoon was on its way.   It is a dish served in a long wooden box, made to look like your grandfather’s weekend allotment garden.  The topsoil was crumbled cocoa, with raw and pickled baby vegetables “growing” upwards.  Candied jelly were the earthworms, and labneh cheese was the terra firma.  Heston has of course done something similar in the past at The Fat Duck.

I dug my spoon into the soft soil, unearthing the bright white cheese underneath, and shoveled a few cubic centimeters of land onto my plate.  However, the spoon ripped the plastic wrap that lined the box, and consequently a baby sweetcorn fell onto the table, taking a jelly earthworm and a few mushrooms with it in some horrific miniature landslide.  All in all, a bit of a disaster, although I did save the earthworm by popping it into the safety of my mouth.  PETA would be proud.  My grandfather not so much.

If you stripped down the dish to its essence, it was effectively a vegetable crudité with a labneh dip, a whole lot of drama and a 95 dhs price tag.   The somewhat fleeting visual gratification I received was quickly surpassed by the need for some substance and taste.

We also ordered the butternut squash ravioli.  The dish contains three cocoa ravioli discs that tasted handmade and of good quality.  They were generously filled with a butternut squash puree separated by melted parmesan cheese crisps and a ricotta sauce.  It showed some decent flavour manipulation, with a good mouthfeel understanding of texture contrasts.  It was the best choice we made.

Ingredient-driven trends are difficult to sustain – people now, for their dining dollars, want an experience, and although there are some fun elements in some of the dishes, it does seem a little like style over substance.  Perhaps if they took off the cocoa handcuffs and allowed the menu some real expression and thought, the concept might shine a little brighter.

Overall, Cocoa Kitchen is an interesting idea, and the effort to bring something new and different to Dubai is appreciated – proven by the many guests they serve on a daily basis.  Because ultimately that is the sign of a successful restaurant – the number of guests that return – not some restaurant critic with his singular opinion, and certainly not a restaurant critic that compares a burrata to Susan Boyle.

As always, I pay my own way through these reviews, and I have started posting the receipts to bring some credibility and transparency to this wonderful medium.  #noreceiptnoreview

Skye and Walker is a surprising F&B addition to Deira, in the same way that a cell phone would be an extraordinary addition to the 1940’s.

I realize that might come across as controversial, but let it be known that Deira is a magical place, and provides the cultural and historical backbone of this country. This is the birthplace of trade and commerce – nothing can stand next to Deira with quite the same level of authenticity and credibility.

Think the new canal is fancy pants? Deira is home to the original (and natural) Dubai Creek. Think Mall of Emirates is outstanding? Deira Gold Souk dates back at least 100 years and has over 500 Trillion Dhs worth of gold inside. (I totally made that up – if anyone has the correct figure, let me know.) Enjoy the new Waitrose in Jumeirah? The spice souk is where it all started.

My point is – the story of Dubai started in Deira – everything we see and enjoy today is because of what happened in Deira in the last 100 years or so. Therefore, Deira has my utmost respect and affection. It just doesn’t have particularly progressive restaurants at the moment, and the attention of the city has been on shiny things that reach far into the sky, sea or ground.

So, finding a restaurant like Skye and Walker in a Deira hotel is a bit like finding an extra screw after assembling a chair from IKEA. You know what it is, but you also know it shouldn’t really be there.

Even the name brings up visions of futuristic galaxies where fantastical species from different worlds mingle and live in cohesive harmony.  As for Skye and Walker, that name is a nod to the previous outlet which was called Skywalk – which was on the ground floor.

There is an ongoing discussion between strokey beard industry experts, on who run restaurants better – hoteliers or restaurateurs. The judgment is largely skewed towards restauranteurs, but if there is any remaining doubt, Skye and Walker has the definitive answer.

We walked in on a quiet weekend morning and immediately became invisible to the serving staff.  The Serb and I spoke amongst ourselves for a while, until the novelty of being invisible wore off and then decided to seat ourselves. We took the opportunity to have a good look around the place while we were continued to be ignored.

The interiors of Skye and Walker are polished concrete, exposed ceilings with an organic, natural colour palette. A little dated were S&W in New Dubai, but in Deira, it’s positively futuristic. However, after learning that the majority of the furniture is made from recycled, reclaimed and eco-friendly materials, Skye and Walker becomes even more progressive, even for New Dubai.

As time moved closer to afternoon and we had yet to be noticed by anyone, we decided to take matters into our own hands. I approached the counter, apologized in a very polite manner for disturbing them and informed the team behind the counter that we were moving to a table outside. We were informed back that it wasn’t a problem and my apology was accepted. Bolshie sarcasm doesn’t travel well, it appears.

Skye & Walker’s food is skewed to a healthier selection of options with an accessible and friendly menu. Depending on what online collateral you read, Skye and Walker’s commitment to ingredients range between sustainable, organic and locally sourced.

The menu reads as good as any menu across the other side of a creek but is priced to match as well. (Beef burger, 70 dhs, anyone?) There are smashed avocados, date waffles, quinoa porridge along with soups, sweet potato gnocchi casserole and a selection of juices. Overall, the menu is fresh and more importantly, doesn’t take itself too seriously.

We ordered baked organic egg roll with feta and spinach, a breakfast flatbread with zaatar labneh, egg, mozzarella and arugula and an ABB&J, which is a banana, Nutella and almond butter wrapped in a protein wrap.

Chef Hari’s approach to food is uncomplicated and his cooking benefits from a refined touch. The flatbread itself was delicately sweet, for example, yet robust with the zaatar and arugula topping.

The poached eggs topped the little bread rolls perfectly, the yolk soft enough to fill the air pockets once pierced with a fork and the whole dish was seasoned with a loving confidence.

Banana, Nutella, and almond butter are three ingredients that can do no wrong when combined. They will taste as good in the hands of a 3-star chef in a fine dining restaurant in Barcelona as in the hands of an art student in the back of a camper van in Cornwall. The ABB&J was a perfect example of that. Unapologetic and without shame.

So hats off to Hari, but now I cast my eye to the service team – the supposed storytellers, the bastions of concept, the creators of loyalty, the ambassadors of hospitality.

All I will say, is that self-respect is a powerful attribute – it can manifest itself into fame, merit, and excellence.  A friendly greeting, an honest smile and genuine hospitality are all components to this fame. Telling the story, boasting about the menu, offering personal choices, bringing encouragement and excitement to the experience – this is what distinction demands.

I hope Skye and Walker continue to search for these lofty aspirations, because in a way, they deserve it but more importantly, Deira deserves it.

Lastly – there has been much drama in the media about the credibility of food bloggers and writing nice things for freebies.  I don’t get freebies and I also review anonymously.  Therefore I am in an enviable position to show my receipts for every meal I have.  So, I will.  #noreceiptnoreview

Historically, The Palm Jumeirah has been a destination of extremes – either Bidi Bondi or Riva on the trunk or Atlantis on the crescent – not much in between. (Except if you were there on NYE one fateful year – then it was the opposite way round.)

Dubai is nothing if not progressive, so over the years, The Palm Jumeirah has started to get a little more user-friendly, and is definitely more of a destination than Jebel Ali Palm.

The Club Vista Mare development came out of nowhere, or at least for me, it did. It snuck up like a saleswoman in a Dubai Mall pharmacy.  One minute you’re happily looking at hair products and the next minute you are in the cash line with organic ear candles.

With plenty of parking out front, there is a short walk down a passageway lined with beautiful, framed black and white photos of historical Dubai.  However, they seem a little out of place in a beach front development on a man-made island in the middle of the Gulf, if I’m honest.  A case of filling up an empty wall prior to an opening ceremony, I think.

As you walk down the passage towards the light, a faint murmuring of noise becomes louder and louder until you emerge onto a large, bustling boardwalk bathed in bright winter sunlight.  What is surprising is the amount of people that have already found their way to this destination.  The place has been open for like ten minutes and already it’s a hive of activity.

Seven licensed restaurants, with views over the shimmering water and bleached white beach, serve a demographic that epitomizes affluent Dubai.

Out of the seven restaurants available, we chose The Tap House – a gastro sports bar promising contemporary European food.  With one of the largest terraces out of the seven (it pays to sign the lease first!) The Tap House has both outdoor dining tables as well as lower lounge seating.  It was also tellingly busier than the neighbours next door.

We sat at a table on the terrace and were handed large double sided menu cards by the friendly hostess.  She took our order for drinks immediately and told us our waiter would be with us shortly.

Tap House was fairly busy – it was a weekend afternoon, and from our vantage point we could watch as the staff learned more about their new restaurant.  For example, the restaurant door banged open and close with such frequency that Ricky Martin wrote a song after it.  They also learned that transporting ice cold pints needs both hands, and opening a door handle with your forehead is difficult.

The staff rushed about with vigour and enthusiasm, but little else.  I mentally prepared myself for an experience that was going to be enthusiastic but slow, friendly but riddled with mistakes.  I leaned back and looked out over the water and made peace with that.  The view and ambiance can make up for a multitude of sins.

Our waiter could have been an extra on Netflix’s The Get Down, wearing a light, tight denim blue shirt, braces and big smile.  His smile arrived first at the table, followed by the rest of him.  The first thing he said to me was, “You look awesome today, sir.”  This guy clearly knows what he’s talking about.  The Serb deflated my ego after he left by telling me that he probably says that to everyone.  I told her that jealousy makes her ugly.

We ordered chicken tikka empanadas, smoked skewers, roasted squash quinoa salad and the Asian duck salad.  I wasn’t quite sure if our waiter understood everything we ordered, but who am I to question someone who thinks I’m awesome?

I had a quick wander inside The Tap House to try provide these ridiculous reviews with a modicum of research and substance.  Inside was an industrial interior, with Edison lights (don’t get me started) exposed fake brick and a few TV screens for the sports.  The dark restaurant with the wood, brick and filament bulbs contrasted to the beach vibe outside.  The bar was atmospheric with an impressive selection of draft taps, serving both commercial and craft hops.  However, it was largely nothing out of the ordinary – an interior that could be described as nice followed with a pleasant shrug.

Reminding me to never judge a book by its cover, the food didn’t take as long as I expected, (although a little long), and the order was correct.  The plating was suitable for the concept, slate and wood boards for the starters and large, open bowls for the salads.

The chicken tikka empanadas were moreish – delicious little half-moons of buttery pastry, with a creamy, delicately spiced filling.  The skewers were nothing of the sort, unfortunately – dry, chewy and plunged into a vat of sticky sweet sauce, like some last minute culinary baptism.  It did little to save the dish, drowning out any smokiness it might have had.  However, the mango relish garnish showed some sophistication, though, spiced yet sweet and soft with some bite, but if the garnish is the best part of the dish, then it needs work.

The salads hit the mark, and I would say my crispy Asian duck salad symbolized the start of the winter season for me. Bright and lively, with a sweet, hoisin dressing, it was a wonderful outdoor, Dubai winter salad. The crispness of the cabbage and carrot, the pop of the pomegranate and the softness of the duck meat came together rather nicely.  However, at a punchy 85 dhs, I would have expected little else.

The Serb, interestingly, had the roasted squash, quinoa and rocket salad.  Another visually impressive dish, with good use of colour, from the bright green rocket and milky white feta to the sunburnt squash. It was good, the squash roasted long enough to soften the vegetable, and the quinoa adding a depth and body to the bowl.

The Tap House are still learning about how things work, and I guess a few changes will be forthcoming. The system for serving food and drink from inside to out will need to improve because that door will eventually give up the will to live.  There is an acoustic battle that rages on the terraces, where all the various music genres of each restaurant clash like a scene out of West Side Story. The service will need to get a touch slicker, as there are going to be busier days ahead for them and the kitchen will need to make sure they can produce that menu and maintain quality when they are knee deep in the weeds on a hectic Friday afternoon.

Overall, though, fun food, great vibes, and cold drinks. There are few places better than Dubai in the winter time, and once they find their stride, places like the Tap House at Club Vista Mare make it even better.

Did I tell you that I looked awesome?

The Australian gastro café culture in Dubai is still going strong it appears. If something is working, then why challenge it? A solid strategy, I suppose.

Tom & Serg, Common Grounds, Bystro, Friends Avenue, The Sum of Us, Pantry Café, Stomping Grounds, Lime Tree, Book Munch – the list is long, and they are all ultimately going for the same piece of the pie.

Furthermore, they all have similar things in common – a strong coffee culture, probably smashed avocado on toast and definitely some hot sauce that isn’t Tabasco.

Arrows and Sparrows arrive fashionably late to the party and brings with them credibility and experience from their first venture, Friends Avenue café. Serving the Barsha Heights and Greens community, A&S is an intimate little neighbourhood cafe, tucked away on a shady, tree-lined side street in Emaar Business Park. Shady as is lots of shade, not the other shady, although I haven’t been there after dark. They also have plenty of parking around the front of the building, but that’s because no-one knows how to get there, so everyone parks at the back.

When the Serb and I turned up, it was almost full with young parents wiping dirty faces of (presumably) their children and millennials taking photos and snap chatting their way through their morning breakfast. There was a relaxed weekend feel to the space.

Predictably, the menu is sandwiches, salads, main courses and sides, with items such as salmon, steaks, Korean chicken, the ultimate burger and lamb meatballs, They also have a late breakfast menu as well on weekends.

A particularly strange thing with the menu was that they had gendered their eggs benedicts. There was a Mr. Benedict and a Miss Benedict. What an awkward situation to put your customers in! Although I consider myself quite manly, I didn’t feel like I could tackle a Mr. Benedict, as it was a striploin steak on toast with babaganoush, poached eggs, and hollandaise sauce. I get bloated on eggplant, and I don’t even want to think about the calories.

The Miss Benedict was a much gentler option, with smashed avocado (told you) tomatoes and a beetroot pink hollandaise sauce. I do like beetroot.

However, how was I going to order a Miss Benedict in such a crowded place?! I didn’t want to ask the Serb to order for me, as she would think I have an inferiority complex, which I’ve done very well to hide from her so far.

Furthermore, to make matters worse, a group of 6 strapping lads sat down at the table next to me, and they all ordered the Mr. Benedict. With extra Cumberbatch.

As our waiter approached the table, notepad in hand, I decided to use the point and smile technique I deploy when in foreign restaurants on dishes I can’t pronounce. I pointed to the Miss Benedict with my finger and nodded to the waiter, willing him to understand. He didn’t. He leaned in and loudly announced, “The Miss Benedict for you, sir?” Damn that customer service training.

“Yes,” I replied quietly under my breath, hoping he would move onto the Serb. But no, he didn’t. “The one with the pink hollandaise, Sir?” I nodded silently, with tears welling up in my eyes, not daring to look anywhere else except at my skinny Latte.

The Serb ordered the Green breakfast, which the waiter wrote down without uttering a word. It felt like a set-up.

The restaurant itself is cute, quaint and friendly. Concrete walls made warmer by copper light fittings and wooden tables accented by a pastel green banquet bench. There is a dividing window in the middle of the restaurant that breaks the room up nicely, efficiently creating two rooms and the hanging greenery brings a garden feel to the place. You can clearly tell what they are trying to do, and I think they get it right. A sophisticated, thoughtful, good quality neighbourhood café.

Our eggs arrived – with a loud, friendly announcement, of course. I was over it by then. Four slices of multigrain toast alternatively topped with smashed avocado and diced tomato, propped up against each other for support like drunk tourists in the Algarve. Two perfectly poached eggs sat precariously on the highest peaks, threatening to roll into the kale and asparagus at any minute. It was a lot of carbs, a lot of kale and a lot of calories as well! I spend a good few minutes making the structure of the toast more stable and then cut into the egg, allowing the deep yellow to ooze over the avo. The bread was toasted, but not soggy; the tomatoes were well-seasoned and the avocado fresh. There was a side of pink hollandaise and when no-one was looking I tried a little bit on the end of my fork. Meh – it had lost the sharp tang of real hollandaise, and the beetroot’s only contribution was the colour.

The Serb’s green breakfast was similar, poached egg on toast, but with cherry tomatoes sautéed asparagus and kale. There was also a creamed spinach and raisin mix that the Serb didn’t like and left me confused. The eggs looked a little lost in the four thick slices of toast, but again, they were cooked perfectly. Although I demolished my breakfast in some weird, masculine power move, The Serb was much more dainty and couldn’t finish hers; such was the size of the plate.

The place was busy, and there didn’t seem to be many staff on duty, but the service was better than I expected. The team were efficient and correct, our drinks arrived quickly, as did our food and as we have established, the waiter repeated our order back to us. My only suggestion is that your friendly neighbourhood café need to be a little more personable, and we certainly missed a little table banter and human connection.

Dubai is maturing as a city, and although there are whispers of market saturation in the restaurant world, there is a key change to the Urban Dubai. The establishment of the neighbourhood. Dubai is becoming large enough to have distinct communities and neighbourhoods, with their own personality and characteristics. Arrows and Sparrows have enough personality to be a welcome third place for the surrounding community and an excellent alternative to the chain coffee shops and take away centric places in that area.

Good eggs, good coffee, good effort. I’ll have to go back for lunch one day, but if they have a Madam Lasagne, I’m leaving.

With elevated ethnic cuisines reigning supreme over legacy cuisines, experiential concepts trumping traditional, and in a city that has the most restaurants per capita in the world, it takes a confident man to launch a traditional French bistro in Dubai. Especially with so many excellent French bistros available in high profile locations across the city.

Brave or reckless, it’s hard to determine what La Môme is. According to François Simon, food critic for Le Figaro, “French cuisine is in crisis,” and Spanish, Peruvian, Turkish and even North American are the cuisines of choice these days.

La Môme Dubai is the latest homegrown concept to try and steal some of the F&B spotlight and is located in the old TRE location on the 49th floor of the Nassima Royal Hotel on SZR.

La Môme claims to be inspired by 1950’s vintage France, based around Edith Piaf, and more specifically her song La Vie En Rose.  Unfortunately, you would need rosy glasses to make that connection.  Although the room is cute and has a warm feel to it; faux exposed brick, leather booths and Edison light bulbs above each table are not Paris Circa 1950.  It is Everywhere Circa 2012.

I was aghast to see the use of filament lightbulbs; they are the bane of every new restaurant since early 2010.  Yes, they were cool back then, and i used to like them. Now they are just overplayed, like that song you loved the first time you heard it, but thanks to uninspired DJ’s overplaying it on the radio, you have learned to hate it.  Natalie Imbruglia’s ‘Torn’ springs to mind.

However, remove the dubious connection to the Little Sparrow and the roses, and you have a pleasant room that when busy, has a great atmosphere.  Also, the Serb told me she rather liked the restaurant, and I was to stop being such a snob. In protest, I raised my little pinky even higher as I took a sip from my glass.

Our waitress was young and adorable, with a thick French accent that made you want to say “Oh là là.” She carefully recited the specials, checked the English translation in her little notebook and informed us that the kidneys were not available.

The menu is a single card with a concise and deliberate selection of mainly meat and fish and is, surprisingly, poultry free.  It is conventional, safe and authentic but in danger of becoming a touch boring.  However, if the food is done well, then “a touch boring” can become iconic.  Take La Petite Maison, for example.

For the first time since I was a 34 waist jean size, nothing on the entrée list enticed me.  Out of the ten starters, one was snails in garlic; the other was homemade Foie gras, and there was a salad.  The rest are seafood based – scallops, shrimp, salmon, prawns and more scallops.  Oh, and a token soup as well.

So with significant regret, we went directly onto to mains, which disappointingly also followed the same traditional pattern. Beef tartare, rib eye steak, lamb rack, and cod filet were as good as it got under the Plats section.

The signature dishes did a little better, and I ordered the Boeuf Bourguignon, and the Serb ordered the filet of beef.  My apologies for the lack of imagination in the choices, but this was a very traditional menu, and I’m not a big fan of pigeon and didn’t fancy seafood.  Plus, you already know by now that the Serb is cattle crazy.

With it being mid-week, it was a quiet night in La Môme, and as such, the team struggled to find things to keep themselves busy with.  They ended up congregating in small corners of the restaurant, like little French revolutionists talking about existentialism and the purpose of life.  In truth, I don’t know what they were talking about, but it was probably to see who got to leave early. However, they were polite, engaging and very smiley whenever they came close to the table.

The mains arrived and surprisingly they were plated with hints of expression and creativity and certainly strayed from nostalgic authenticity.  The filet arrived with pan fried cherry tomatoes on the vine adding a splash of colour, and the Bourguignon was served with a styled quenelle of creamy mashed potato.

The filet came with a side of potato gratin, which was a delightful dish.  Piping hot and creamy, drawn together by the starch and with just enough bite left in the potatoes to keep thing interesting.

The bourguignon was also delicious – sweet, rich jus coated tender, slow cooked meat that could be eaten by fork alone.  The baby onions brought a sweetness to the sauce and the beef stock added the umami that was needed to balance it all out.  However, it would have been even better if it wasn’t served almost cold.

Thanks to not having any starters, we ordered desserts with an unusual enthusiasm.  I went for that traditional French dessert – the tiramisu and The Serb ordered the chocolate mousse – to share.

The tiramisu was good, but unfortunately, couldn’t hold a candle to the chocolate mousse that is French served to you from a large copper pan directly onto your plate. It is then topped with freshly whipped cream and is utterly heavenly. It is like eating a cloud of Nutella – airy, light, decadent and delicious.  Easily the best dish of the whole meal.

It is clear that La Môme is trying to be a nostalgic throwback to the 1950’s, but the challenge with that is anyone who remembers the 1950’s is probably over 70 years old.  Although I’m not totally convinced by the concept, it is a pleasant, quaint little French bistro that shows flashes of superior cooking skills. Additionally, it is also a homegrown concept which I am, of course, a big supporter of and the staff are friendly and attentive.

The big question is, is that enough to make a difference to the restaurant landscape of Dubai. With La Môme only a month old, that remains to be seen but for now, take your 70-year-old grandmother and go check it out, if only for the chocolate mousse and the staff.