/ 27 November 2008

Confessions of a chardonnay socialist

I believe it was English upper-class twit Tara Palmer-Tomkinson who once exclaimed that she just couldn’t imagine stepping into a plane and turning right. And while my travel choices usually incline more towards budget than bling, I’ll grudgingly concede that she might just have a point. Last week I managed to silence my greenie leftie leanings and immerse myself in a few days of shameless foodie luxury (all in the name of journalism, you understand).

My walk on the well-heeled side started the minute I sank into my business class seat to Dubai. It was about the size of a Lazy-Boy, complete with a vast walnut-veneered touch-screen TV and a terribly handy little drinks holder for the Taittinger that the cabin crew were so liberally dispensing. Champagne cocktails and tiny canapés were served after take-off, to tide us over until dinner.

I didn’t fancy the look of my pre-ordered vegetarian meal (on the entirely reasonable grounds that it contained too many vegetables), so it was whisked away and swiftly replaced by an excellent spinach and ricotta panzerotti with parmesan sauce and sage butter that could rival anything served in an Italian kitchen. I had been saving myself for the pudding — the most important course of any meal — and was forced to restrain myself from having a second helping of the warm lemon meringue sponge (after all, I had to leave some space for those Godiva chocolates, didn’t I?).

In addition to keeping us constantly well fed and watered, our stewardesses Abba and Kieran supplied us with snippets about Dubai, wrote down the addresses of the best shopping spots in the city and then made up our beds with comfy mattresses before tucking us in.

Landing in Dubai’s new terminal three building in the middle of the night is a little overwhelming, mostly because it’s so new and shiny and incredibly hi-tech. Our luggage arrived at the carousel before we did (so helpful to have it tagged “priority”), and before we knew it we were in an air-conditioned, chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz heading for the Harbour Hotel and Residence. I didn’t understand the “residence” part until I stepped into my suite: three bedrooms, three bathrooms, fully equipped kitchen, dining room, sitting room, balcony and a brilliant view over the marina.

I kept getting lost on the way to the bathroom, but luckily managed to locate my en-suite, which was filled with all manner of wonderful things, from L’Occitane lotions and loofahs to Frette towels and bathrobes. I’ve never understood the impulse to nick things from hotels, but a white Frette gown could test the hardiest soul (no Ma, I didn’t!).

I’m not sure exactly what the national cuisine of Dubai is, but in a city with a huge expatriate population, lashings of disposable income and restaurants boasting some of the world’s top chefs, it hardly seems to matter. I’m a great fan of English food writer Jay Ranyner, even though the Heston Blumenthal style of cooking, from frog blancmange to foie gras ice cream has never sounded particularly appetising, nor is my palate discerning enough to rate such dishes, so I was somewhat out of my depth when we arrived at The Observatory for dinner the next evening.

On hearing that they had a vegetarian in their midst, Chef Jordi Servalls — formerly of El Bulli, the world’s best restaurant — emerged from his kitchen to inspect me, crisply informing me that vegetarians don’t exist in his native Catalonia (refer to him as a Spaniard at your own peril). As fellow diners ordered appetisers such as Iberico ham with asparagus and coconut vichyssoise with Gulf fish sashimi on barley Osizushi-maki, anise air and citrus pectin, he gave me a sorrowful shrug and said “I’ll try. If you don’t like it, I’ll try to do something else.”

We compounded his dismay when my dyed-in-the-wool Durbanite dining companion asked him to recommend a hot and spicy dish. “I don’t use spices at all,” said Servalls in horror. “They don’t add anything, they just take away. I focus on the natural flavours of each ingredient.”

And so began our introduction to “molecular cuisine” — a cooking style which uses vacuum technology (don’t ask) and a “bath” of calcium salt solution to produce spheres of incredibly concentrated taste that explode in the mouth.

An endless stream of amuse bouche wended their way out of the kitchen: green olive sferic with white truffle; green pea sferic with carrot and vanilla ganache; and my favourite — an intensely flavoured, crusted tomato and mozzarella sferic. Determined that the vegetarian “get it”, Servalls himself came out to oversee the serving of the a dish of micro-vegetables (“like bonsai”) grown using cryofiltration techniques. Tips of raw green asparagus — about the size of a baby’s pinkie — were served with yoghurt, tiny gnocchi and apple blossom while my carnivorous companions tucked into foie gras with a Cuba Libre topping.

My “chef’s surprise” appetiser arrived: a bed of sunflower seeds treated like risotto with pumpkin seed oil, topped with pearls of blue cheese sferic and a foam of ginger air. My main course was baby vegetables with pumpkin cream (sans cream, of course), cranberry air, quail eggs and romesco sauce with texturised piquillo pepper. The Durbanite had settled for the lobster inverted rice with coral mayonnaise, which sounds innocuous enough until the chocolate pop-rocks sprinkled on the top start exploding in the mouth (a nod to the use of chocolate in savoury Catalan dishes).

Having noted my over-enthusiasm for the dessert menu, Servalls insisted we sample the entire selection (except for the date-scented camel milk ice cream with rose mousse wrapped in rose water ravioli which was, to my great disappointment, not available). I was in heaven. All were sublime, but the milk rice pudding with candied mushrooms and pine nut milk in Coca-Cola jelly came a close tie with the trio of chocolate, which comprised a gianduja soup, maracaibo chocolate brownie, white chocolate mousse, Fisherman’s Friend ice cream and pink pepper caramel. (No, that’s not a typo, it’s Fisherman’s Friend as in the cough lozenge. Servalls loved them as a child and wanted to create a dessert that had the same punch, but wasn’t too strong. He succeeded). Move over Jay Rayner — I could get used to this.

What to do in Dubai
(apart from eat)
Dubai is a major shopping destination and no trip would be complete without a trawl around the stores, whether your tastes veer towards Chanel and Coach or to local handicrafts and textiles.

The best way to get from Bur Dubai — the glitzy new part of town — to the old part of the city in Deira is by abra (water taxi). Rides across the creek cost one dhiram (R2,75) per passenger. This is a great alternative to sitting in the city’s traffic jams which last from 4pm to 8pm each day (hardly surprising given that petrol costs just $0,45 per litre.)

Just metres from the quay is the souk, which must be where the Three Wise Men shopped: spice shops are piled high with frankincense, myrrh, sandalwood and saffron while every window in the gold souk drips with ropes of bright yellow gold, bracelets, earrings and even solid gold bars (with not a single bullet proof-vested, shotgun toting security guard in sight).

Pure cashmere pashminas in jewel colours drape entire walls, alongside hand-made slippers stitched in gold thread vying for space with the red-and-white chequered headdress (smagh) worn by many Arab men, and my personal favourite, the floor-length abayah encrusted with multicoloured rhinestones spelling out the legend “Playgirl”.

If you prefer your shopping indoors and air-conditioned, try the giant Mall of the Emirates which has top-end designer stores such as Roberto Cavalli, Marc Jacobs and Dolce & Gabbana. The exchange rate being what it is, you might want to head off to Zara, Harvey Nicholls or Phat Farm. When you’re all shopped out, hit the slopes at the 400m long indoor Ski Dubai centre and après-ski retire to Café St Moritz, where you can sip a cup of hot chocolate in front of a virtual flickering log fire.

Getting there

  • Emirates flies direct to Dubai daily from Jo’burg and Cape Town.
  • Business class fares are R26 838 (including taxes) while an economy class seat will set you back R6 958 (including taxes). Rates fluctuate, so visit www.emirates.com/za for more information or bookings.
  • A single suite at the Hotel & Residence starts at $434 per night and a double at $499. The rate includes a deli-style breakfast at the hotel’s Counter Culture which has its own bakery and gourmet coffee corner.
  • http://www.emirateshotelsresorts.com/the-harbour/en/

  • Visitors to Dubai require a visa.

Nicole Johnston travelled to Dubai as a guest of Emirates