Singapore does something to you. Specifically, a plate of Hainanese chicken rice at the right hawker centre, at the right hour, resets preconceptions about what modest food is capable of. The rice alone is fragrant, loose. Each grain is separate and thrumming with ginger and stock.
Back in Dubai, the prowl began. Hainanese chicken rice is not new to me, but it is a dish I have come to appreciate for its nuance, humility and control. It does not club you over the head so much as seduce you spoon by spoon.
Done badly, it is just boiled chicken and rice. Our dog Odin — the one featured at the bottom of each article — eats just that when he’s being sick.
Chicken rice done well is meditative.
My pillars are simple: the rice, the chicken, the broth and the accoutrements. Everyone has to pull their weight. And, so far, there has been one clear frontrunner: REIF Japanese Kushiyaki.
REIF’s refined platter is the elegant finishing-school debutante presented on a wooden tray, individually plated and treated with a level of care unusual for this dish’s frugal, homespun origins.
The rice is our hero. Close your eyes, and the warm, woody, ginger-spiced notes purr around loose, not cakey, grains that slightly shimmer. The whole chicken breast is pale, cooked sous vide until tender enough to cut with a spoon, then lightly fussed with crisp shallots, coriander and red chilli. It’s buttressed with wedges of verdant bok choy that crunch, along with some garlic crisps. A clear, soul-hugging broth makes judicious use of the chicken stock. Finally, nibbles of cooling cucumber reset the palate, so every bite is as vivid as the first.
REIF’s is peak Hainanese chicken rice, so why not call off my search party of one? The price. At around AED 90 per plate, it is not everyday dining.
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My hunt marched on. Operation Goldilocks, not to find “Dubai’s BEST Chicken Rice” (‘best’, *groan*, eye roll) but, as the fable goes, to find the one that is just right.
Over the coming months, I kept a watching brief with uninspired results. Dubai is replete with plush, overpriced Pan-Asian fodder over capable simplicity.
During my last pilgrimage to Neighbourhood Food Hall, after some back and forth, Alicia Soo of Dear Dumplings reminded me of Tong Fong Fatt in Al Barsha.
Opened in late 2025, Tong Fong Fatt occupies a slender mezzanine unit with an arcade neon front. Decals depict hawker-style street scenes lining the walls. Polite chatter patters across the downstairs dining room from a lunch crowd in a neighbourhood restaurant while bald, plucked birds hang by the neck behind a glass partition. Upstairs boasts even more beige and, I suspect, the space is reserved for rambunctious small children, as I was quickly jestisooned there with my two-year-old son. It sports simple tables, simple chairs and minimal decoration. All the cosy embrace of an IKEA cafeteria with low ceilings ribboned with ducting. Compact and perfunctory. Lightly utilitarian and efficient. It feels unmistakably Singaporean in spirit.
And speaking of Singaporeans, one thing is not lost on me. During this Sunday lunch, I was the only non-Singaporean in the room. And a Singaporean, Alicia, recommended Tong Fong Fatt. That matters. There is something about a restaurant being claimed by the community it represents. Their absence would speak volumes.
Now, I do have a confession. I already ordered Tong Fong Fatt’s steamed Hainanese chicken rice twice for delivery prior to this due diligence visit.
Tong Fong sports two Hainanese chicken rice options: one steamed, one roasted. The verdict? Tong’s rice is clean, loose and fragrant with a lowercase f. The chicken is soft but sturdy, with an accompanying chilli sauce that’s moreish yet extraneous. I ask myself if it is a subtle confession that the chicken rice otherwise lacks punch.
Is it my favourite? No. REIF’s throne is unchallenged. It’s the Beyoncé of Chicken Rice, but Tong Fong Fatt’s quality-price ratio must not be overlooked.
A main course chicken rice squeaks in at AED 29 with AED 64 for a half chicken and AED 110 for the full bird. That’s brilliant value when feeding a family, he says, looking around the room.
The service is fine for a fast casual restaurant, but I admire the waitress for telling me, unprompted, that the crab fried rice uses frozen crab.
Sadly, a three-out-of-five theme runs rampant across lunch.
The wontons are, unquestionably, the best thing I eat all afternoon. Half a dozen arrive blistered, golden, and crisp — like oversized tortelloni, stuffed with minced chicken and spring onion, with a dipping bowl of what I suspect is a bright, vinegary garlic-chilli sauce.
Sliced chicken char siew arrives lacquered in a mahogany-brown glaze, tender enough, but buried under a winter's duvet of demi-glace-style sauce with a dulling gelatinous texture. I should have scraped it off. An unexpected broth is deeply savoury. My son eats the claggy, cakey rice anyway.
The kung pao chicken looks the part: glossy crimson, rice crowned with a fried egg, but it holds back where a good kung pao serves glorious chaos: sweet, savoury, acid, heat.
Goldilocks didn't find perfection in the bears' house. She found something good enough to fall asleep in. Tong Fong Fatt is that bed. But the hunt continues.
Would I make a special trip to dine in again? Probably not. I would go to Hashmi Barbecue if I found myself in Al Barsha. Would I order Tong Fong Fatt for delivery or takeaway? Absolutely.
Dubai’s Singaporean diaspora. Families looking for cheap, good eats.
Number of visits: 1 in person + 2 delivery orders.
Licensed? No.
Spend and order (see receipt):
Tong Fong Fatt, Emirates Souq 1, Al Barsha 1, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. Call +971 50 925 6138 or visit Tong Fong Fatt’s Instagram for the latest information.
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. Find Liam on Substack, Threads and Instagram.

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