Pet hates at Dubai’s restaurants

Dubai has some excellent restaurants. That is worth establishing before I explain why going out to dinner here can leave me longing to go home.

The food is often very good, the choice extraordinary and the service attentive. You can eat your way around the world without leaving the city, provided you allow sufficient time to navigate the traffic.

But somewhere along the way, certain restaurants seem to have forgotten what I thought was the basic proposition: a comfortable seat, something agreeable to eat and drink, and a conversation with the person opposite.

Instead, dinner has become an experience. Here are some experiences I could happily forgo.

Trunks for the memories

The beach bar and restaurant is a particular menace.

You arrive for dinner in a suit and find yourself beside someone in swimming trunks and nothing else. Their day at the beach has continued seamlessly into your evening out. They seem entirely comfortable. You wonder whether the upholstery will ever recover.

I do not demand that everyone dress for dinner. Dubai is warm, informal and beside the sea. These are among its attractions.

But there should be a point at which swimming ends and dining begins. A shirt would mark the transition nicely. So would drying yourself.

Scan for your supper

Having taken your seat, you are invited to point your telephone at a small square on the table.

The QR menu requires you to find your glasses, unlock your phone, establish a connection and navigate something designed for a considerably larger screen.

You enlarge the starters and lose the prices. You find the prices and accidentally close the starters.

This in a restaurant where someone has already opened the door, pulled out your chair and unfolded your napkin.

Could that same person possibly bring a menu?

Facing the music

Then there is the soundtrack.

I accept that my musical tastes are unlikely to form the basis of a successful Dubai restaurant concept. I am not asking for Sinatra, though I would not complain.

I am asking to hear my companion.

Instead, dinner is accompanied by a relentless beat suggesting that the management expects dancing to break out between the main course and dessert.

“WHAT?” becomes the evening’s principal conversational contribution.

Ask for the volume to be lowered and you risk being treated as someone who has fundamentally misunderstood the venue. Perhaps I have. I thought it was a restaurant.

Your new best friend

“Have you dined with us before?”

An innocent question, but often the start of a lengthy induction. The concept must be explained. The menu must be interpreted. The waiter’s personal favourites must be considered.

Then come the inquiries. Is everything wonderful? Are we enjoying ourselves? How were those first two mouthfuls?

Somewhere between indifference and constant intervention lies good service. It involves noticing what a table needs, including, occasionally, being left alone.

I wish the staff well. I admire their patience with people like me. But our relationship need not develop into a close friendship before the bread arrives.

Your time starts now

The fixed dinner slot is hospitality’s answer to the parking meter.

You are welcome to relax, indulge and enjoy the evening, provided you complete these activities within the allocated period.

This produces an odd combination of encouragement and pressure. Would you like another bottle? Certainly. Would you like dessert? Perhaps. Could you vacate the table shortly? Apparently.

I understand the economics. Tables must earn their keep.

But when dinner costs a substantial sum, I would prefer not to feel that I have booked a squash court. Especially when the kitchen has used up a generous portion of our allotted time.

Red, white and cold

Finally, the red wine arrives. Chilled.

I know. Some reds benefit from cooling. Room temperature in Dubai can be unsuitable. Wine knowledge has advanced since I first developed an interest in the subject.

Unfortunately, knowing all this has done little to improve my reaction to a glass that feels as though it has just escaped from an ice bucket.

I would like to taste the wine before my hand has warmed it.

This may expose me as hopelessly old-fashioned. I can live with that, provided the bottle can spend a little time outside the fridge.

None of these grievances will stop me going out to dinner. Hope survives experience.

But if someone opens a restaurant with printed menus, audible conversation, discreet service and dry, clothed customers, please let me know.

I promise not to ask about the concept.

Frank Kane is Editor-at-Large of AGBI and an award-winning business journalist

Further reading:

• The human touch can bridge the service gap
• Dubai restaurant scene ‘at risk of hitting saturation point’
• Vineet Bhatia pushes ahead with new dining concept in Dubai