A foodie in the UAE: Asha's

Sam and I became huge fans of Indian cuisine during our years in Cambridge (Massachusetts), a city awash with mouthwatering, all-you-can-eat Indian food buffets at student-approved prices. We had high hopes for similar prospects in the UAE, given its proximity to India and large Indian-expat community. So several months ago when a reader asked if I could provide a recommendation for a good Indian restaurant in Abu Dhabi, I was saddened to realize I couldn't think of anything.

We usually try new restaurants based on word of mouth or online reviews, but what we've heard and seen in the Indian-food department has been lacking. Even a search for reviewed Indian restaurants in Time Out Abu Dhabi returns only two results for the island, both of which serve only vegetarian dishes.

So when a colleague of mine, who happens to be of Indian descent, suggested we try Asha's in the Khalidiya Mall, we took it to heart. I had passed by it a half a dozen times before and noticed its tastefully colorful decor, but having been duped into eating sub-par food by fancy interior design more times than I care to count, I had hesitated to go in without an endorsement first. Now having one in hand, Sam and I went at the next available opportunity.

Apparently, it's a fairly large chain, with locations in the UK and Middle East, owned by Bollywood singer Asha Bohsle. We are usually snobbish about restaurant chains (especially one located inside a shopping mall), preferring to patronize locally-owned establishments, but this place deserves praise. Don't let it's mall location put you off; it's a full-service dining room, sparkling clean and easily accessible on the ground floor.

A meal will certainly cost you more than it would in the mall's food court, but not as much as it would in a hotel (especially since it doesn't serve alcohol), and believe me when I say 50 dirhams per dish is money well spent. We've eaten there twice now, and it has been consistently outstanding in every respect.

Just after seating, the waiter brings freshly-fried papadums with three relishes (hot pepper, cilantro, and sweet mango chutney). Warm and flaky, this complimentary starter is the equivalent to unlimited chips and salsa served at Mexican restaurant. Similarly, you have to pace yourself so you have room to eat your main course.

Piping hot garlic naan, perfectly steamed basmati rice, vegetarian mutter, and our personal favorite: butter chicken, so rich and tender you won't feel a need for dessert.

Eating at Asha's will be definitely go on the list of things we'll miss about Abu Dhabi. Try it - you'll thank us!

Cafe Arabia: bridging East and West

Last night we attended a musical event at a new coffee shop in Abu Dhabi called Cafe Arabia. Actually, it has been open at least six months already but has only now appeared on our radar, likely due to it being ensconced in a villa along 15th Street. It's likely one of those places that will thrive on word of mouth alone, and fortunately we have nothing but praise for the establishment.

The two-story cafe feels much like an Arabian home, warmly decorated, and full of light and life. Colorful artwork and stylish handmade wares are displayed for sale throughout, and the walls are studded with portraits of important regional personalities, providing instant conversation starters. Ample seating in spacious quarters, including plush sofas and family-style dining tables, is configured to accommodate a quiet chat between old friends just as well a lively discussion among new ones. The scene is cozy yet stimulating, especially when accompanied by a slice of spiced cake (ask for "my mom's cake") and mug of sweet Chai Bil Hail.

Cafe Arabia is the brainchild of proprietor Aida Mansour, who has intentionally created an environment conducive to intercultural exploration by way of the arts and, of course, through food and drink. Menu items are inspired by Middle Eastern and European family recipes, and the cafe plays host to numerous community events, such as poetry readings, lectures, and music recitals, encouraging patrons to linger in conversation over mezze and mint lemonade. 

Which brings me back to last night, when British guitarist, Jason Carter, and Emirati oud performer, Faisal Al Saari, allowed their musical traditions to intertwine, playing pieces representing both East and West in perfect harmony, and riffing off each other to demonstrate their individual talents, all before a captivated audience of about 50 gathered around on chairs and floor cushions (aka "poofs") in the cafe's upper room. The evening was also meant to publicize a project headed by Carter, called Jisr al Wadi (literally "bridge over the river," or more loosely "bridging the gap"), which is an attempt to build community between disparate cultures through music, a language which requires no translation. 

Cafe Arabia is currently an anomaly in Abu Dhabi, but will hopefully inspire similar ventures. From the number enthusiastically in attendance last night, most of whom only first heard about the event that morning when it was announced at Saint Andrews, it is obvious that the culture-cafe concept fills a void.

Located at Villa #224/1 between 2nd and 24th - Map thanks to American Women's Network

A foodie in the UAE: Belgian Beer Cafe

On Friday, Sam and I spent date night at the Belgian Beer Cafe (Intercontinental Hotel, Abu Dhabi), an eatery which has been on our "to-try" list for over a year. We actually attempted it several weeks ago on a lovely, uncharacteristically cool evening, but made a last-minute switch to the Italian place next door because the Belgian place doesn't serve food outside; even in the winter months, what a shame!

On the patio you can enjoy a broad array of Belgian ales on tap and munch on tiny bowls of mixed nuts whilst overlooking the yachts in the marina, but if you require further sustenance you'll have to sit inside, where the view from a window seat is reduced by a brightly-lit hallway and a wheelchair ramp. This weekend was pleasant enough that we opted to imbibe pre-dinner Leffes (blond for me, brunette for Sam) outside before heading inside for the main event.

Oof, apologies for the grainy photos - we cannot wait to purchase a new camera!

View of the marina from the patio

By the time we were seated inside our stomachs were grumbling, so we were thankful for the complimentary brown and white rolls, served to us in a paper sack, apparently a Belgian tradition. The closest I've ever been to Belgium is Paris, so I won't attempt to comment on authenticity in this post, but my impression of the bread was, well, unremarkable. If it hadn't been for the unique presentation I would not have remembered eating it (and this after only one beer).

Speaking of which, we ordered another round of drinks. I switched to Shiraz (the ever-reliable Rosemount Estate) in anticipation of steak frites, and Sam experimented with a beer we had never heard of before, Kwak, which in fact looked a little like a science experiment served in a glass beaker held upright by a wooden scaffold. It was deliciously rich yet refreshing, and a recommended pairing for pork, which the menu has in abundance (Muslims beware!).

Good Christians that we are, we were tickled by all of the pork offerings, as they are rare to find in UAE establishments, even in hotels where they are allowed. (Hotel breakfast buffets nearly always serve veal bacon, a sad, jerky-like substitute which is not worth the effort or calories). Sam, again feeling adventurous, and with a bit of prodding from me, I admit, ordered pork belly and black pudding (a mouthwatering delicacy that I encountered while in France), to be served with grilled potatoes and apple mash. We're not big shellfish eaters anyway, but mussels are out of season, so we were not even tempted to order the most traditional of Belgian meals.

"Steak frites" also wasn't offered on the menu, at least not in the format I was expecting, so I went with a close second - strip steak, grilled medium rare, with a side of fries and a green salad. My steak arrived perfectly cooked and tender, but sadly lacking in flavor. The bowl of green peppercorn sauce served on the side merely drowned what little beef flavor there was, so I left it on the side and stuck with healthy doses from the salt and pepper shakers. I wasn't able to confirm but would be willing to wager the beef was Australian. No offense to Aussies, but their cows are no match for ours! (love the wine, though).

The frites were a centerpiece of the table and of the meal, Sam and I fighting over every last one. They were cut thick and crispy outside with fluffy potato centers; neither too dry nor too greasy and well-seasoned, they didn't even require the side of mayonnaise (yet who are we to buck tradition?).

Sam's meal was rather unfortunate. The pork belly was dried out and even burned in spots, with little flavor to speak of, nothing like the tender morsels I've had in the past. The black pudding, too, did not even slightly resemble the dish I'd had in Paris, either in taste or in form. This looked rather like horse droppings, I'm very sorry to have to report. Easy-going Sam ate pretty much every bite anyway, but he paid for it much later that night with an incident, far less dramatic but still reminiscent of our recent trip to Beirut. We suspect there was something less than fresh about his meal.

Even accounting for the shoddy camera work, can you say unappetizing?

We were having a fun date though and weren't ready to leave, so we ordered a chocolate mousse to share. My expectations weren't very high, but I was pleasantly surprised with the dessert. It was understated and tasted as it should, with just the right amount of cream to warrant the name mousse while retaining a clean  Belgian chocolate flavor.

Overall, our impression was mixed. We're glad to have satisfied our curiosity, but given the high prices and questionable pork dish, as well as the oddly-mixed atmosphere (80's pop music piped through the restaurant completely clashed with the wood paneling and brass fixtures that were desperately crying for whimsical accordion), the Belgian Beer Cafe has been permanently crossed off our list. Unless they manage to find a way to serve fries to beer-drinkers on the patio - now that would be worth a return trip!

Beirut or bust! (pt. II)

Yesterday's post was the one I wanted to write about Beirut, and all of it was true, but it wasn't the whole story. As we learned on our trip to Oxford last month, sometimes travel doesn't go as planned, and as I learned in Beirut, sometimes it just disappoints.

Day 1 was a feast for the senses. We arrived at our hotel in the late afternoon and immediately went walking in our neighborhood and along the Corniche. We ended up at the Manara Palace Cafe, where we spent the remainder of the evening eating hummus and kibba, drinking mint tea and smoking narghile, listening to waves pound intensely on the rocks, soaking in the cool, salty air, and watching the sunset. If this day was any indication, the trip was going swimmingly.

But Day 2, Sam's birthday, we awoke at 5 am to a loud clashing. Once I realized in my groggy haze that it was not the call to prayer, nor was it an air raid, but ordinary thunder, I quickly fell back asleep. But when we went down for breakfast later that morning, we learned that a storm system had hunkered down right above us, and that we should expect heavy rain all day long. This dampened our plans but not our spirits. We bought an umbrella and went to town, determined to see as much as possible.

Sam in front of the Martyr's Statue in downtown Beirut, captured during a brief break from the rain

It was an odd-feeling day, though, as if the city had been drained of energy. We found the streets nearly deserted, our map inadequate, and most establishments closed, and after a lot of wandering around didn't feel like we had seen much of anything. We redeemed the day somewhat with dinner at a cozy little university pub called Ferdinand, tucked away on Ghandi Street in Hamra, followed by a spontaneous stop in Gustav, a locally owned bakery. Learning it was Sam's birthday and our first time in Beirut, the owners/bakers gave us free black forest cake, complete with birthday candle for Sam (as pictured in part I).

And then there was Day 3. It started inauspiciously enough with a quick Continental breakfast at our hotel followed by a bargaining session with several taxi drivers for a ride to Byblos.

Quick aside: we discovered a whole new kind of driving experience in Beirut. As in Cairo and Kathmandu, lane divisions and traffic lights are merely suggestions, and car horns are a sort of local language; but unlike any other city we've been to yet, there are rules about cars-for-hire that are unwritten but very important:

First, if you say the word "taxi" to a driver, you imply that you want a solo ride to a destination and are willing to pay double, maybe triple, for it. If you instead use the word "service", it means the driver is free to pick up additional passengers along the way, possibly slowing you down but allowing you to pay much less. Second, you must bargain before getting in the car (there are no meters) or you may pay through the nose or die trying not to. And lastly, if you look like a tourist, you will automatically be charged way more than a local for the same ride, no matter how hard you bargain. Locals will advise you not to spend more than 7000 Lebanese Pounds for a ride across town (a bit under $5), but we found this impossible to negotiate while keeping our dignity. We were literally kicked out of one cab and jumped out of a couple others!

We finally found our driver, who turned out to be a delightful older gentleman who was completely enamored with his country and eager to show us as much as possible. He talked us into visiting Jeita on the way to Byblos, saying we had plenty of time and that it was a "very important" site for us to see (for an extra fee, of course). But we were happy for the chance to experience at least the foothills of the Lebanese mountains, and found the Grotto beautiful, although not terribly different from the Natural Bridge Caverns in Texas. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take photographs so you'll have to imagine it (or go to their website).

Next, the driver dropped us off in Byblos, and we immediately went in search of lunch. My stomach was feeling a little uneasy, so I figured a good meal would get me back on track. We went to highly-recommended Locanda a la Granda, an Italian-influenced Lebanese restaurant, and ate on a lovely terrace overlooking the Crusader castle to our left and the Mediterranean to our right.

We started with sweet crab cakes and a huge salad, which was a creative variation of the traditional fattoush (bread salad), and finished with tagliatelle pasta with a roquefort, honey, and walnut sauce.

A few bites into our main course my stomach really began hurting. And despite two visits to the bathroom over the next hour the pain only intensified. I tried to ignore it, and agreed to go with Sam to explore the Crusader castle and Roman ruins, but just as we entered the outer walls a wave of nausea washed over me.

Walking up the gently-sloping path to the castle, I'm looking a bit sluggish.

Not sure what to do, as we were far from any indoor plumbing, I just sat down. Sam stood nearby, talking me through a new game plan. After a few minutes I decided to risk the journey back to the restaurant where we ate lunch so I could wait out whatever this was inside its facilities. The restroom there was private and tastefully decorated, and if you're going to be kneeling in front of a toilet, it makes it less awful if the floor is clean. [I'm sure the management would have appreciated this strategy, but I really didn't care at this point.]

Sam led me by the arm at a snail's pace back toward the entrance of the castle, but after twenty yards or so I suddenly found myself retching the entire contents of my stomach, which was mostly fattoush, into the most strategically-placed trashcan I've ever encountered. I honestly think it appeared out of thin air! Also, for whatever reason, even though it was a Saturday during tourist season, there was no one around, praise be to God.

Oh, except for Sam, my dear husband, who faithfully held my sweater with one hand and captured my shining moment with the other. Isn't he sweet?

After composing myself (which Sam also documented) and leaving the scene of the crime, I spent the next two hours sitting on a secluded rock outside, in a most picturesque setting, deciding whether there would be a repeat performance.

Finally, we determined I was far enough out of the woods to make the drive back to Beirut. No bargaining this time; we took the first offer we found. Once again, if you're looking for a silver lining, God sent us a devil of a driver, a blessing because he shaved 30 minutes off our 90-minute trip with his brazenness. He didn't say a word the whole time, and we didn't mention my ailment, but he drove as if he knew I might be sick in his car.

After a fitful night's sleep, Day 4 consisted of me holding my stomach and groaning, flipping repeatedly through 200 mostly non-English, mostly sports channels on satellite TV (though catching portions of Annie Hall, Jerry McGuire dubbed in French, and The Colbert Report), writing postcards, dozing in and out, trying to eat a cracker, and promptly throwing it up. I sent Sam out to enjoy our remaining hours (it was a gorgeous day, and his birthday trip after all), and he came back to collect me for our late afternoon flight. By takeoff I was on the mend, and slept the entire way home (another blessing, as I was not looking forward to that flight).

The only pic we got together - in the terminal waiting for our flight back to Abu Dhabi

I'm still not sure what it was. Food poisoning or water parasites seem unlikely, as Sam and I had eaten all the same foods and drank only bottled water, so I guess it was a 24-hour bug. Who knows? I may even have gotten it had we stayed home in Abu Dhabi this weekend. Regardless, it was probably inevitable after a dozen trips that one of us would have a vomiting story, so I suppose I won't hold it against Beirut. I may even give it another shot some day. However, I'm not eating fattoush again anytime soon.

A foodie in the UAE: ode to Sam, part deux

Anyone who read Sam’s birthday blog from last year knows that I think pretty highly of my husband’s many upstanding qualities. This year, inspired by a recent comment from his sister, I thought I’d dig a little deeper, and show you just how perfect he is for me...

inside,

and out,

morning,

noon,

and night,

for richer,

for poorer,

with chopsticks,

and sticky fingers;

the man loves to eat, and I love him for it!

Happy 34th birthday to my partner in crime.

A foodie in the UAE: BBQ Al Qasr

The Emirates Palace Hotel is one of our favorite places to while away a Saturday, and it's always on the agenda when we have visitors. Aside from being enormously beautiful, it is very easily accessible. Garage parking is complementary, and there are rotating free art exhibits in addition to a permanent Saadiyat Island exhibit. In the massive lobby, you can order coffee or a cocktail at Le Cafe, and lounge as long as you like on plush sofas, reading the paper or people watching, while being serenaded by a harpist or sitar player. It's a lovely place to spend an afternoon.

From our positive experiences in the "low-end" parts of the Emirates Palace, we imagined that the fine dining offerings would be truly spectacular. So, when Sam's little sister, Ann, who had just finished law school and taken the bar exam, came for a visit in early March, we wanted to take her to dinner there to celebrate.

One of the funny things about the Emirates Palace, though, is the lack of online information about its restaurants. In addition to the lobby bar, it has about ten dining establishments that are open to the public (meaning you don't have to be a hotel guest to make a reservation). Each is very briefly described on the Emirates Palace website, but unless you go in person to the reservations desk at the hotel, good luck trying to find out much more.

I'm someone who wants to know as much as possible about a restaurant before I go, especially if I know I'm going to drop big bucks, so it is frustrating not to be able to read multiple reviews of the food, find out about the chef, or at least see a sample menu online. Restaurants here almost never have their own websites, and apart from the occasional Time Out Abu Dhabi review, which typically spends more words on the decor than the food, there is very little additional information to be found via Google (at least in the first page or two of results; I'm only willing to go so far).

I finally emailed the reservations desk at Emirates Palace and asked for a dinner menu for BBQ Al Qasr, which I chose from the list because it's an al fresco venue, only open in winter when it's bearable to sit outside. (Being March, we feel compelled to take as many of these opportunities as possible before we are soon shuttered inside for the duration of the summer months.) I received a prompt and polite email in return, but was told outright that the hotel is not allowed to give out that information. My initial reaction was who in the world do they think they are? What kind of restaurant can't share its menu with prospective diners? But then I became intrigued. I wanted to find out what they were being so mysterious about. So I made a reservation.

The atmosphere was lovely. We were seated in a semi-private, beach bungalow right next to the water, with the smooth voice of the evening's jazz soloist floating lightly through the cool air. The service was impeccable. Our waiter anticipated our needs, even turning on the heat lamp behind me when he noticed me tie my scarf around my neck, and left us wanting for nothing without the slightest bit of pestering.

The food was mostly very good. To an American audience, the BBQ in BBQ Al Qasr would imply ribs, pulled pork and lots of paper napkins, but here it just means the food is cooked on a grill. We all three ordered Caesar salads, steaks and mashed potatoes, paired with Mondavi Cabernet. (Completely boring, I know, but read on and you'll know why we ordered this way.)

As all Caesar salads go in this region (and I've sampled many trying to find the exception), it was bland and unmemorable. The garlic mashed potatoes were really tasty, due to what must have been a full stick of butter per serving. The steak, labeled on the menu as US-raised Angus, was a bit gristly in parts but perfectly cooked, and it had an intense meaty flavor that I have missed since being in Abu Dhabi. [Side note: Most beef here seems to be imported from Australia, and it's hard to describe, but it tastes different from US beef...less beefy. I don't know if it's simply what I'm used to or if US beef it is truly superior. Australian readers, feel free to pipe in - I'd be curious to know your thoughts on the subject.]

As for the prices, they stung! We told Ann to order whatever she wanted, but she sweetly ordered the least expensive options available, as did we. Even with only one glass of wine apiece, still we managed to rack up a small fortune. Considering the solid but overall uninspired cuisine, for what they charged, a servant in white gloves should have cut my meat and fed it to me. I know it's the Emirates Palace, and possibly the only hotel in Abu Dhabi serving US beef, but in my mind no establishment has the right to such price gouging unless they are able to deliver food so good it causes your eyes to close involuntarily. The only eye-closing at our table was due to wincing at the bill. And in the end, I don't even have a theory as to why they wouldn't email me a menu.

Ah, well. It was a really fun time, and Ann's accomplishments are certainly deserving of every dirham spent. She's also about to get married, so we'll be away for the next couple of weeks traveling to Colorado for the wedding, with a three-night stopover in London and two nights in San Antonio to see my family.

Here's our Annie, the law school graduate and bride-to-be!

A foodie in the UAE: this foodie went to France

My dining experiences since arriving in the UAE have been, shall we say, less than thrilling. Horrifying, at times, but rarely thrilling. Two birthdays in a row Sam took me to different French restaurants that both turned out to be disappointments. (In hindsight, compared with the second experience, the first was pretty decent.)

So, for a starved foodie about to reach the gastronomical promised land, I was a little more than excited to be on my way to France. As someone who loves to read about others' experiences with food, it has been impossible to avoid catching the mania surrounding French cuisine. In fact, it has been built up so high in the foodie biographies and blogs I've devoured over the years that there was a little red light flashing in the recesses of my mind, warning me not to be disappointed.

But I wasn't.

After living in the UAE, a land where all bread, no matter what kind, mysteriously becomes stale an hour after baking, the bread of France was manna for my foodie soul. It was a key player in nearly every meal.

As an afternoon snack, a six-cheese panini and a glass of red wine—

For breakfast each morning, a freshly-baked baguette, toasted and slathered in salted butter and honey (It seems like a caricature to show a French person carrying a baguette under his arm, but honest to God, every 10th person on the street was carrying a baguette under his arm)—

Or, at any time of day, a flaky, buttery croissant punctuated with intense bursts of fine French chocolate (not pictured, sorry). After a particularly sublime croissant on our first afternoon, bought on a whim from Le Boulanger de Monge, I think I shall spend the rest of my life trying to find its equal.

Next on the list of delights: all things made creamy by whatever magic the French work with milk...

Cream of carrot soup - I never knew carrots could be this good! (of course, the artisanal bacon doesn't hurt)—

Blue cheese that looked a bit funky but melted like butter in my mouth with only the most pleasing tang—

Pineapple and caramel panna cotta that must have been strained by angels to turn out so heavenly—

And, oh my, the chocolate!

Milk chocolate soup poured over pink praline ice cream (you can't see the soup here, but the smile says it all)—

At tea time, Laduree's macarons (not only chocolate, but salted caramel, pistachio, and raspberry, yum!) and champagne—

And at brunch, hot dark chocolate, poured thick at Cafe de Flore on Boulevard Saint Germain, with just the right amount of sweetness—

Which followed our eggs, cooked two ways, with ham and cheese, perfect, perfect—

It's a wonder I didn't come home a couple of dress sizes larger, but after three days of eating this way I did start to falter a bit. For my first course on our final evening, I couldn't help it, I asked for this—

Which better prepared me to eat my next course, delicate pieces of chicken and morels swimming happily in a white wine cream sauce—

As I eyed my sister's meal, consisting of whipped potatoes topped with a delicacy new to us, black pudding, which tasted like someone had gathered up and broiled the bits of stray meat and juicy drippings after slow-roasting a particularly flavorful pig. Served with a sweet apple compote to offset the saltiness of the pork, it was a highlight of the evening—

And to finish up, profiteroles, which I blissfully plunged one by one into their warm chocolate bath—

It's not that all French cooking is perfectly executed; we did have an edible but rather underwhelming steak frites at a brasserie around the corner from our apartment one rainy evening. And right in the middle of a fantastic meal on our first night, we ran into a surprisingly dry slab of roast duck, despite a broth so rich and flavorful I wanted to drink it—

But the difference is that the ingredients used in French cooking are simply superior to what I've found most anywhere else. The French possess an obvious respect for the bounty of the earth and an appreciation for the variety of flavors and textures that are possible when foods are carefully and creatively cultivated. With even the most basic staples (grain, milk, eggs, cocoa, grapes), they manipulate foods into so many forms that the palate could never be bored.

To anyone fortunate enough to be heading to Paris, my advice for happy eating, especially if you don't speak French, is to plan ahead. It is overwhelming to face down the innumerable restaurants there and figure out which one to patronize, especially if you are already hungry, which can lead to hasty decision making (hence our steak frites letdown). Also, there are various idiosyncrasies to keep in mind, like many places being closed during prime weekend dining hours, or not being at the address listed online, or having a phone reservation system which is only in French, that will pose challenges to your spontaneity. Before heading out, research a few food blogs (Try David Lebovitz or Paris by Mouth), make a list of promising candidates organized by neighborhood, and figure out the hours and exact location of each establishment. Call ahead where possible, and always have backups.

As for recommendations, my favorite finds were the planned Les Papilles in the 5th, cute as a button, and home of the carrot soup, blue cheese, and panna cotta shown above, and the unplanned Le Chardenoux in the 11th), proudly but unpretentiously serving the black pudding, chocolate soup, and profiteroles. Both bistros were cozy and inviting, with soulful food and great wine at reasonable prices. Bon appetit!