Welcome to Amused Bouche, a monthly round-up of bite-sized musings on the things that caught my eye, crossed my path or got a bit between my teeth.
July’s blaze beams down on Dubai each summer. Last week, my car screamed that it was 49°C. That is not logically correct but the sweat across my forehead said otherwise.
It is not all bad. Traffic all but evaporated. Restaurants are quieter. It’s easier to get a seat, and the seasonal discounts vying to lure those of us who did not escape the swelter are thrown like confetti. So off I went.
This month, I was invited to the rather grand Rialto inside Dubai’s showpiece Jumeirah Al Marsa. Weeks later, what lingers in my memories is that cinematic, mid-century grandeur. The vaulted ceilings, curves, theatrical lighting, warm creams and contrasting deep ocean blues. It’s special. It feels sexy. It is Sophia Loren in her prime. It speaks to drinks at the bar with cicchetti... and who knows what after.
Rialto’s Venetian reference leads you to hope for a regional menu but, as with many Dubai Italian restaurants, it leans “Italy’s Greatest Hits”, like ossobuco alla Milanese, the beefy bistecca alla Fiorentina and a cacio e pepe with gnocchi. Order the sticky, meaty, slow-cooked beef cheek tagliatelle stirred tableside and a fist-sized tuna steak under a green peppercorn sauce thick and rich enough to trace your name in.
Would I come back? Yes, but largely to marvel at the dining room’s ode to Italian 1950s grandeur, nursing a brisk Ferrari and grazing through the cicchetti. In my view, Rialto sits in conversation with Dubai’s grandest Italian restaurants, but this is a crowded field, where modest structural moves would elevate Rialto from good to great. Come for special-occasion date nights, corporate entertainment and someone else picking up the tab.
More often, I am propelled towards Dubai’s smaller nooks or lesser-discussed places. They are often the most satisfying with the added exhilaration of finding somewhere to spotlight. Indian and Filipino spots are my current muses.
Malgudi boisterous metamorphosis from its modest origins into a vivid orange-and-blue spectacle modernises what is still available in its Karama and Silicon Oasis outlets.
Adapt or die, they say, but Malgudi’s rejuvenation, its retina-shaking brightness, loud music and a menu so overly engineered that McLaren should hire its designer all test my resolve to return.
Despite it all, the food stands up. Podi cheese balls are Indian arancini soaked in thigh-rubbingly good tamarind and ginger chutney; the generous, gnarly medu vadas are crisp and filling; the Mulbagal cheese is a thicker, almost American-style pancake dosa, and I mean that as a compliment. Take a group, eat like royalty, but make a reservation, especially on weekends when the line is 45 minutes deep. I still prefer Sri Krishna Bhavan (review here) and Malgudi Karama. Alas, Motor City is closer.
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There are reportedly 450,000 Filipinos living in Dubai, accounting for nearly one in ten residents. And yet, I rarely hear conversations circulate around sweet adobo or sour sinigang. Not everything is to my taste (I find a lot of it quite sweet), but watch this space.
The matchbox-sized Naima’s Cafe and Bistro by Chef Dabo on the fringes of Oud Mehta and Healthcare City stood out: a concise, exciting menu with a contemporary take on Filipino food and a Filipino outlook on other south-east Asian dishes, like their sweeter, mahogany brown Pad Thai. Order the Humba empanada and calamansi. I am told Salvi’s next door is worth visiting. N.B. Parking is very limited. Jacob’s Homemade cooks homestyle Filipino dishes in industrious quantities for catering. The lechon’s crispy, blistered crackling is a top-five dish this month; also order the silky, allium-rich sisig. A plate of Kooya’s chicken inasal with garlic rice and an iced calamansi fuelled my three-hour watch of The Odyssey in IMAX (a must-watch). Next? La Cochi looks like a riot worthy of the hangover.
My odyssey to find Dubai’s best Hainanese chicken rice led me back to Shiok following a chef’s recommendation. Here’s my updated top three as a non-Singaporean:
REIF Kushiyaki
Shiok
Tong Fong Fatt
Social media responses to my recent restaurant reviews reinforce a growing suspicion that we have lost comfort with mixed verdicts: good room, bland pasta. Unaffordable wine, charming service, and so on.
People become defensive, sometimes argumentative, but I see it more when a review fragments a restaurant instead of marching in a singular direction.
To some extent, it has long been that social media is the refuge of those brave only behind their avatars.
Still, I cannot help but notice a qualified verdict — delivered without malice or agenda — reads to a portion of readers as either evasion or incorrect. It seems we’ve forgotten that life is more complex, more nuanced than absolutes, and rarely a monolith of brilliance or bad.
Good criticism will not only tease it out, but apply a microscope to both what something is and what it is not.
Truth be told, the middle ground is where most restaurants live, and that conclusion is unfashionable in our PR-fuelled, vaporizing attention economy. Is this a condition of social media more generally, where nuance never travelled well and the loudest verdict is algorithmically rewarded? The squeakiest wheel gets the spoils and now we are TL;DR conditioned?
Or is this more potent in Dubai? Is there something else going on here? A dining culture gravitationally pulled by enthusiasm, a transient population, legal caution and clear commercial incentive, where the space for “yes to this, but no to that” has narrowed to almost nothing.
14 years ago, I was walking through the cobbled alleyways of Seville with my dad when I received a call from my then-girlfriend.
“Do you remember those kittens that we talked about? The ones in Thessaloniki?”
“Kittens, plural?”
“Well, he’s here. And so is his sister.”
This is how Brontes came into our lives. A one-eyed Greek street cat rescued from a sack found in a dumpster in Thessaloniki to be crushed along with her also one-eyed brother, Polyphemus — both named after the Cyclopes.
Greek. One-eyed. It was too good to pass up. Ever since, all our pets have been named after mythological creatures.
She moved with us across London and several homes in Dubai. She was the pet matriarch after her brother died seven years ago. She taught Galatea and Karkadan how to cat.
It is soul-destroying to witness a pet wither and die as a disease eats away at both their body and the character you know.
She died at home in the cat bed she slept in as the kitten that came into our lives. She hated the vets, so we decided that the last moments of her life would not be filled with visceral fear and hatred. The kind souls at Amity Veterinary Clinic came to our home to ease her passing with dignity.
I miss her shrill demanding insistence and understated menace. I miss how she would poke her one eye around a corner — it’s not like she needed both. I miss that I was her favourite.
So, one last time, night Brontes. Go boldly and mischievously, reunited with your brother. We mortals will bury you together.
Get your copy of The Rise of Indian Food here.
Read The London 100: a list of restaurants tied to loyalty, love and ritual, as recommended by you.
Read Restaurants in Piedmont: Michelin Stars, Enotecas & Local Gems Across Monferrato, Asti, Alba & Turin.
Support The Places We Love: Dubai’s Community-Led Favourites.
A deep dive in Jumeirah Lakes Towers and Dubai Hills — two Dubai dining hotspots IMO.
Discover Why Bread Is Not A Course.
Some of the World’s Greatest Dining Spaces.
Liam is a food and travel writer based in the Middle East. He co-authored The Rise of Indian Food: Recipes Reimagined by Trèsind Studio, out now and available here. Published by Phaidon Press. Photography by Shresth Maloo. He owns EatGoSee and contributes to other publications. You can find Liam on Substack, Threads and Instagram.
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