Ever had a bite of one of the world’s best desserts in a shopping mall?

Dubai, ever eager to brandish its wealth and craft the ultimate hedonistic experience, has attempted just that, bringing the world-renowned Fauchon straight from Paris to the Dubai Mall.

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Of course, when I hear of a gimmick like this, I’m always on my guard. Regardless of how great an eatery may be in the homeland, exporting it abroad almost never bodes well for quality.

The Dubai Mall, more, takes that culinary destruction to a whole new level, transforming even the greatest of names to a mere shadow of their former selves. Another of Paris’s most famous patisseries, Laduree, also happens to have an outpost in the mall, only to specialize in ice cream and savories rather than its exquisite pastries. Spain’s Cacao Sampaka—a chocolate store and café best known for its inventive bon bons and candy bars—has not one bon bon in sight, instead becoming a small hot chocolate and ice cream stand with a few tables.

Would Fauchon fall to the same curse? I had to find out.

As I approached, I found myself facing one of the most impressive sites in the whole Abu Dhabi Mall, an infinitude of paper butterflies hanging from countless strings across the entire domed room. Gazing up into the vast, limitless butterfly nest, I couldn’t help but wonder who would put something so odd in a mall.

Fauchon’s café keeps with the extravagant, oddly trendy vibe of the room. As I took my seat comfortable, bright silver couch and jet black glass and metal table, I couldn’t help but notice a purple glimmer shining forth from beneath the bar and casting hypnotic reflections against the modern, minimalist backdrop. It may be a simple outpost in the middle of a mall, without even its own store building, but Fauchon still manages a level of polish unseen in almost any café. Even the extra thick, jet black napkins impress.

That same level of presentation continues with the exquisitely prepared desserts. Never a drop of cream too much, never a splattered bit of glaze.

For my order, I decided to stick with Fauchon’s specialty, the French classics. And what’s more classic than a vanilla mille-feuille (a crispy caramelized puff pastry with cream), to many the epitome of French desserts?

Fauchon’s version definitely succeeds, too, at least on a technical level. The mille-feuille has just the right amount of dense Bourbon vanilla cream, which comes very creamy, buttery, and airy, like a chimera of whipped cream and butter. It thankfully has tons of vanilla flavor but little overt sweetness, and it is easily the core of this dessert.

The crispy sheets of caramelized puff pastry unfortunately fare slightly worse. They have a nice flakiness that never falls apart, but the consequence is also a bit of toughness. That toughness makes the mille-feuille tough to eat as cream splurts everywhere when you cut into it.

Nor is the flavor of the sheets of pastry up to snuff, as the saltiness interferes with the deliciousness of the nearly flawless vanilla cream. Regardless, the cream more than makes up for these minor flaws. Score: 4.4/5.0

The mille-feuille, though fantastic, shouldn’t have been enough to keep me coming back for more. But I knew I couldn’t leave without trying the chocolate mousse, which tempted me with its unmatched presentation: a fully golden shell with golden panes of shattered glass protruding from the top. It was so nearly perfect that I was actually disappointed to notice even a slight lean to the shimmering tower of gold.

And it took one simple bite to toss the mille-feuille, and its flaws, completely out of my mind. You simply cannot believe how easily this dessert is to cut through—practically like air. It’s one of the lightest chocolate mousses I’ve ever eaten.

Yet the flavor is just as intense as in the richest of dark chocolate mousses, as well as more complex than you might think at first. Inside the mousse, Fauchon lays a layer of fudge drizzle/chocolate cream, a thin layer of dark chocolate cake, and an almost unnoticeable crispy chocolate biscuit foundation. Each comes with its own cocoa intensity and texture, with the biscuit being the standout, combining a hazelnut smokiness and rice crispy-like crunch.

Even the cocoa itself has some very interesting notes. Expect to begin with the taste of red fruits, move onto a heavier cream flavor, and finish with the hazelnut flavor I referred to before. The long creamy aftertaste makes it all the better.

Simply, this is a must-try dish, and almost certainly the single best piece of chocolate I touched in the whole UAE.
Score: 4.7/5.0

In awe of the chocolate mousse, I left fully satisfied, even after dropping $22 for 2 miniature desserts about half the size of a dessert half the price anywhere else, for Fauchon had managed to do the impossible: Not only had it brought an extraordinary chocolate dessert to the UAE, but it had done so in a shopping mall of all places.

If all shopping malls start served food like this, I could definitely see myself shopping a lot more often.

Scores

Ambience: 4.5/5.0
Taste: 4.6/5.0
Value: 3.2/5.0
Verdict: 4.3/5.0

Traveling through the Middle East, few things have I eaten with so much pleasure as a warm, delicious knafeh, a savory dessert consisting of a hulking piece of melted goat cheese topped with phyllo pastry and drizzled in sugary syrup. Just the sight makes my mouth water.

Unfortunately, while knafeh is all the rage in the western portions of the Middle East (Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt), it’s not quite as popular along the Gulf. The United Arab Emirates, as cosmopolitan as it is, tends to focus less on traditional Middle Eastern sweets, too. So I’ve been going up and down Abu Dhabi and Dubai, seeking out some place that can give me my knafeh fix.

Wafi Gourmet is the first I’ve found. A large Lebanese gourmet shop, Wafi features everything from traditional Lebanese salads to kebabs and grilled fish to the widest array of nuts and spices that I’ve seen in the UAE. Consider it a Middle Eastern Dean and Deluca—a step up from the typical market, but also priced accordingly. Unfortunately, in the overwhelming barrage of food items, knafeh is just one part of the shop, rather than the centerpiece, as it so frequently is in knafeh-loving nations, like Jordan.

In turn, almost everything about Wafi Gourmet’s knafeh screams “standardized” and “mass-produced.” Knafeh is always heated in a large metal pan with a constant flame underneath to keep it perfectly gooey. Here, that pan is left cold, and the knafeh must be microwaved—almost a guarantee that the texture won’t come out right. Instead of feeling gooey and soft, it comes out chewy and somewhat hard. The knafeh was tough to cut through even with a metal knife and almost impossible with plastic.

With the knafeh having gone cold, the crust too hardened and seemed slightly off when re-heated. Knafeh typically comes with two types of crusts. At Wafi, the first, a brown biscuit crust, felt incredibly crumbly (as it should), rather than doughy and buttery. However, the second, a vermicelli crust, became stiff. Neither crust had much flavor, either, instead relying on a heavy drenching of syrup to make up for its blandness.

Thankfully, unlike most knafeh stands, Wafi at least gives you an option of syrups: honey (the Jordanian version) or rosewater-infused sugar syrup (the Lebanese variety). The rosewater sugar syrup easily came out on top, infusing my vermicelli-coated knafeh with a few aromatic overtones and a balanced sweetness that meshed nicely with the light crispiness of the paper-thin vermicelli. In contrast, the biscuit-coated knafeh, which I ordered with honey, suffered from the overwhelmingly artificial sweetness of store-bought bottled honey.

To put a finishing touch on an utter disappointment was the store’s gourmet markup. A couple half-slices of knafeh cost me $6—about 4x what you’ll pay for the same piece in Jordan, home of the best knafeh I’ve ever eaten.

Not surprisingly, I have very mixed feelings about Wafi Gourmet. On the one hand, I’m thankful I finally found knafeh in the UAE and could share the mystical experience of savory-sweet, syrupy cheese with a good friend, who had never even heard of knafeh. Yet Wafi’s commercialized, half-hearted rendition simply did no justice to knafeh—and at a price 2 to 4 times more than the authentic varieties in Lebanon and Jordan.

Scores

Taste: 1.5/5.0
- Knafeh with biscuit, drenched in honey: 1.4/5.0
- Knafeh with crisped vermicelli, drenched in rose syrup: 1.6+/5.0
Value: 1.0/5.0
Verdict: 1.2+/5.0

Starting off the weekend with a breakfast pastry from a renowned patisserie—how can you ever go wrong with that?

Unfortunately, when in the Middle East, where French brands are ever popular, even the most reliable of Parisian chains will often fail the transcontinental crossing, producing only paltry versions of its delicious sweets.

It’s no different with the great Eric Kayser, a brand that has given me some of my fondest croissant experiences in Paris. Its shops throughout the UAE have simply lost that Parisian charm, however, and it took me one sole taste of the almond croissant—a treat I had delighted in before—to realize that.

I went to the shop relatively late but was pleased to find some almond croissants lying around. As soon as I ordered one, though, I regretted it, as the café took the croissant to the back to toast it. I’m not a big fan of re-heated food, and this proved no exception, as the croissant came out feeling dull. No crisp edges, very little flakiness, and almost none of the buttery flavor I love.

Nor did the somewhat sweet custard inside do much for me, smattered as it was in a thin layer. It was almost as though Eric Kayser was trying to hide it from view. Moreover, while the croissant did feature chunks of almond, their presence was minimal. Instead, I was left with a somewhat smoky quality, perhaps the flavor of a semi-burnt croissant.

The worst part, though? I know Eric Kayser can do better. The Parisian counterparts come flaky, crunchy, and buttery, even though the staff has a lot more attitude than the Abu Dhabi storefront.

This, then, is not the true Eric Kayser—just a copy with the same name. In the UAE, take a pass and visit a more authentic café.

Scores

Taste: 1.5/5.0
Value: 1.5/5.0
Verdict: 1.5/5.0

Cuisine: Chocolate.
Specialty: Bon Bons, Chocolate Cake.
Address: Marina Plaza Tower, Al Muroor Street No. 4.
Price: 22 dirhams for cake (~$6).

Ever since coming to the UAE, I’ve been going around town relentlessly—to patisseries, cafes, restaurant, ice creameries, chocolate shops, etc.—looking to get my chocolate fill. But good chocolate isn’t easy to come by in the Middle East, and I’ve as yet had no luck.

I’ve been hearing, though, that there might be one place that can satisfy even me: ChoCo’a, a local chocolatier based in Dubai. Better known for its pralines and bon bons, many of which come with interesting Arab flavors (honey, spices, nuts, etc.), ChoCo’a is supposed to serve the UAE’s meanest dark chocolate cake—a decadent, hedonistic delight filled with countless layers of rich, buttery ganache. The cake is also one of the best-kept secrets in town, hidden away for only true chocolate connoisseurs on on the sides or near the back of the stores.

So I took a trip to Abu Dhabi’s local ChoCo’a boutique, right off the ever-popular Hamdan Street. Entering the glimmering shop, full of all sorts of colored chocolates and sweet desserts, I went immediately to the side, found the one remaining piece of gigantic, thick chocolate cake, and ordered it to go.

As soon as I landed home, I ripped open the box and pounced on the cake, but not before taking a moment to admire the beautiful make—a step up above what I’ve seen at most patisseries in the country. Not only do you get nine layers—four of immaculate jelly-like ganache and five of glistening, buttery cake—but the cake comes topped with two milk chocolate swirling band (think of roller coaster-like loops).

Unfortunately, that presentation serves little use, as the dark chocolate cake at ChoCo’a simply does not deliver the cocoa high that its intense black-and-brown exterior promises. The ganache more or less manhandles the very dry chocolate cake into submission, forcing flavor and creaminess into it. That ganache, though, has a bit of lecithin-like waxiness and blandness, which you get in chocolate candies. More positively, I appreciate the light dusting of powdered sugar across the bottom—perhaps the only real mark of sweetness in the whole cake—as well as the smokiness in the finish, but it’s all too little, too late. The milk chocolate bands on top also taste like wax, amplifying the already gelatinous richness of the cake.

And, for that utter disappointment, the chocolate cake set me back 22 dirhams (~$6), the same price as you’d pay in a restaurant here.

ChoCo’a thus fails to cure the UAE’s dearth of good chocolate pastry. My search for chocolate cake continues…

Values

Taste: 2.0/5.0
Value: 2.0/5.0
Verdict: 2.0/5.0

Chocoa: Boutique Chocolate Cake

Cuisine: Chocolate.
Specialty: Bon Bons, Chocolate Cake.
Address: Marina Plaza Tower, Al Muroor Street No. 4.
Price: 22 dirhams for cake (~$6).

Ever since coming to the UAE, I’ve been going around town relentlessly—to patisseries, cafes, restaurant, ice creameries, chocolate shops, etc.—looking to get my chocolate fill. But good chocolate isn’t easy to come by in the Middle East, and I’ve as yet had no luck.

I’ve been hearing, though, that there might be one place that can satisfy even me: ChoCo’a, a local chocolatier based in Dubai. Better known for its pralines and bon bons, many of which come with interesting Arab flavors (honey, spices, nuts, etc.), ChoCo’a is supposed to serve the UAE’s meanest dark chocolate cake—a decadent, hedonistic delight filled with countless layers of rich, buttery ganache. The cake is also one of the best-kept secrets in town, hidden away for only true chocolate connoisseurs on on the sides or near the back of the stores.

So I took a trip to Abu Dhabi’s local ChoCo’a boutique, right off the ever-popular Hamdan Street. Entering the glimmering shop, full of all sorts of colored chocolates and sweet desserts, I went immediately to the side, found the one remaining piece of gigantic, thick chocolate cake, and ordered it to go.

As soon as I landed home, I ripped open the box and pounced on the cake, but not before taking a moment to admire the beautiful make—a step up above what I’ve seen at most patisseries in the country. Not only do you get nine layers—four of immaculate jelly-like ganache and five of glistening, buttery cake—but the cake comes topped with two milk chocolate swirling band (think of roller coaster-like loops).

Unfortunately, that presentation serves little use, as the dark chocolate cake at ChoCo’a simply does not deliver the cocoa high that its intense black-and-brown exterior promises. The ganache more or less manhandles the very dry chocolate cake into submission, forcing flavor and creaminess into it. That ganache, though, has a bit of lecithin-like waxiness and blandness, which you get in chocolate candies. More positively, I appreciate the light dusting of powdered sugar across the bottom—perhaps the only real mark of sweetness in the whole cake—as well as the smokiness in the finish, but it’s all too little, too late. The milk chocolate bands on top also taste like wax, amplifying the already gelatinous richness of the cake.

And, for that utter disappointment, the chocolate cake set me back 22 dirhams (~$6), the same price as you’d pay in a restaurant here.

ChoCo’a thus fails to cure the UAE’s dearth of good chocolate pastry. My search for chocolate cake continues…

Values

Taste: 2.0/5.0
Value: 2.0/5.0
Verdict: 2.0/5.0

Only in the Middle East does a hulking slice of sugary melted cheese count as dessert.

It certainly runs counter to conventional wisdom: Desserts should be sweet, not greasy. But one taste of the legendary knafeh, a medley of melted cheese and syrup with a biscuit crust, and even the biggest sweet tooth will be hooked.

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That is exactly what happened to me as I strolled through Amman, Jordan, where knafeh isn’t just a snack, but a national fascination. Looking at all the irresistible little knafeh stands and bakeries on the side, I knew I had to try it. But I also knew that, given the countless options, if I wanted to do knafeh the right way, I had to recruit some help.

So I went straight to the locals, asking a couple where to get my knafeh. Two choices came up frequently: Habibah, one of the most famous knafeh stands in the whole Middle East with endless impersonators; and Jabri, the lesser known hidden gem that only locals frequent. Conveniently enough, both are on the same block.

I decided to start off with the local secret, Jabri. As I stepped inside, I found myself surrounded by an endless assortment of Middle Eastern and international pastries: cakes, baklava, maamoul, biscuits, etc. Making my way through the three-story bakery, I found two gigantic, round metal pans the size of four large pizzas. Each pan was filled with pounds and pounds of molten cheese—I had found my target.

You might be wondering at this point how exactly a knafeh is made (or what exactly is inside). Basically, soft cheese is heated to the point that it becomes perfectly gooey and chewy. It’s then topped with either vermicelli-like crisped dough (“shredded phyllo”) or a thicker, softer, and doughy biscuit-flavored crust. That combination is then left on a heated tray, so that it is always served steamy and gooey. Upon serving, the crust is then drizzled with either molten honey (e.g. in Jordan) or rose-flavored sugar syrup (e.g. in Lebanon), depending on the region of the Middle East. The cheese may also vary across regions. Jordanians tend to prefer using plain, flavorless goat cheese.

Back to the story, I ordered a mixed plate of both the vermicelli and biscuit-topped varieties and dug right into it. Jabri’s version unfortunately doesn’t live up to the lure of its façade. The first variety, a goat cheese base with orange-colored (but not orange-flavored) vermicelli, had a fruity, sweet tang, but it ultimately failed as a dessert because the the extremely thick, gooey goat cheese overpowered all the sweetness. The goat cheese came incredibly chewy and rubbery, too, like melted cheese on pizza, and it had an equally pizza-like, one-dimensional greasiness.  Moreover, while the vermicelli had a nice crisp, they tasted slightly burnt, and the fruity flavor faded almost as soon as it came. Score: 2.0/5.0. Very one-dimensional.

The second knafeh, again with a goat cheese base but topped with browned dough, not surprisingly suffered from the same problem: excessively rubbery, greasy goat cheese that overshadowed the other flavors and textures. This time around, the crust had more flavor, but it needed some more sweetness. Indeed, it tasted more like fried bread than like sugar. The top felt limp and soft, too, rather than crisp. However, this knafeh made excellent use of pistachio chunks, which covered almost the whole serving, providing some crunch in every bite and countering the oily cheese. Score: 2.5/5.0

On the more positive side, ordering a mixed plate—half of each type knafeh—isn’t an option at many knafeh stands, particularly the far more famous Habibah, so Jabri does save you some money. I’d still be hesitant to pay $1.40 for a plate, though.

Ultimately, then, Jabri not only disappointed me, but left me doubting whether Middle Easterners were onto something with the idea of savory desserts. So I went on my way, heading towards Habibah, hoping that perhaps it would be the one to make a convert out of me (and luckily, it would).

Scores

Taste: 2.2+/5.0
Value: 3.0/5.0
Verdict: 2.5/5.0