Dear unknown all,

this was the first and only post of my “The non-Brit Food Review” Blog, which I planned to curate while in Dubai, to show the Way, the Light and the Life to all those wannabes who like to place their glutea on a random chair in the weekend and shout “lemme som sciardonne’,  mate, I’m as dry as a dry sausage fest!” with their breath already foul with beer, and thinking they’re having a GREAT NIGHT, mate, what a GIG it was!

Well, think again.

Read over. Learn some. Discover some. Criticize none. As you can’t talk. YOU cannot talk, I am suspicious you can’t even THINK straight, so, firstly, learn, read and meditate, meditate and read, and then, if TRULY necessary, approach gently, as I like to use only my bare hands to kill people.

This is for the Brits, of course.

Same rules will be valid for my new attempt, “The non-Ducht Food Review”, though I have to say: Dutch are a mystery to me! Amazing people, funny, warm, kind, with a NICE country (I love northern weather, all drizzling and cold, don’t you? Well FUCK YOU far away from here if you don’t, A_.U_.B_.) but they eat TERRIBLY at home, most of the time, WORST in the office and on their working/studying place, which is why they think that they eat GREAT when they go out. Not a chance!

Pretty average food, bit pretentious in presentation, far away from the substance, far away from the REAL DEAL!

Which is like: in the “Pork Rotie au Pommes” , yes, you should worry about the apples, they have to be organic, they have to be green, blah blah blah, but, hey, wait a second, what about the PORK?? I want to have faxed the fucking ID of the pork I will be eating! I want to know him intimately! It has to be a friend of mine, I have to cry when I slaughter it! It is the noble sacrifice of a noble animal to feed and nurture my not-so-noble self! It has to be GOOD F.F.S.! Stuff the apples, I can by some AMAZING sauce or juice to fix the apple taste, where can I buy some PORK JUICE to fix the pork? Uh? Pork juice, anyone? Straw or glass?Bloody hell! There are plenty of nasty things you can do to make an apple grow bigger but NOT EVEN CLOSE AS MANY AS YOU CAN TO A PIG! And you are SURE that the pig has eaten it, you can SEE it happening! With an apple tree what do you do? Uh? Clorophile-check? X-ray a PLANT? CAT scan?????

THEREFORE: the basic first. We (My beloved Ingrid and I) will go out every now and then, we’ll keep the bill, we will show it in detail and discuss it in sarcasm, as we like to do. Then we will try to do it at home, the best we can, we will film the purchasing of the ingredients and the associated bills, the cutting&cooking and we’ll show you the final result. Then we will EAT IT OF COURSE YOU FOOL and tell you how good or bad it is, which was better between the restaurant’s and our own, compare the prices and the overall experience and give the final judgement on it. After which: lekker tartje, koppie Te, lekke slape! Stay tuned!

Oh, a brief note before starting: also my real job (selling great Olive Oils from Italy and other countries) website links here, but the two efforts are separate except for one thing: I use my oils for cooking, as obvious. You can do it though with any other extra-virgin first cold press olive oil you can find in any QUALIFIED shop (hint: AH is NOT a qualified shop!), if you uncertain on how to choose it, a simple rule of thumb: a bootle of oil CANNOT cost less than a packet of CIGARETTES! NOT-A-CHANCE. For the rest, explore, experiment and enjoy the ride, you can only get healthier. Well, maybe also a little fatter.

But fat people make sex KA-BOOM, mind what I’m telling you.

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Stuff the Friday brunch! I am Continental, I do Continental! I don’t drown in booze on Thursday night, I have no hangover nor an ugly fat bag to forget, left home the day before, I am not a Brit and I don’t do Friday brunch! I do Friday’s Breakfast, which means: PAUL! Not the MoE’s one, no-one sane will ever get even close to it (also because “Le Pain Quotidian” on the second floor is oh-so-much-more-CONVENIENT-FOR-GOD’SAKE!!!).

I’m talking about Mercato, the original Jumeirah’s Mall. You know, the REALLY fake looking’s one. The one on its own category of looking fake, the “MERCATOMALL” category. Beware of the moment she will tell you: “You disgust me, you are as fake as MERCATOMALL”.

But there’s a nice PAUL in MERCATOMALL. And it’s nice and quite, no problem in finding a seat,great service, except…

Except that SOME PEOPLE (Yes I do mean Lesbaneses) like to queue as early as 9:00 am to cater to their spouses and husbands and lovers and sugardaddies and sugarmommies, and to their families, and to their TRIBE, THEIR CLAN, THEIR GOD-FORSAKEN ETHNIC GROUP! Therefore 150 croissants are gone by 10:00 am, and PAUL (Any manager reading this? HALLOOOOO, ANYONE IN CHARGE OVER THEREEEE?) cannot do more than the assign quota for reasons which are beyond the expression’s skills of the attendant who is left alone on Friday, to face my rage.

Mais, Merde!

As the French say when they are rather displeased.

I still got my Lavazza’s cappuccino and the roccofallic sesame baguette, with butter, jam(s) and Nutella for Ingrid (which she calls “Pasta”, but she’s Dutch, and she’s lovely, so she has my blessing, since she is my blessing). The Lavazza cappuccino is just a normal cappuccino at the tasting (the cups are obviously wrong, you are serving cappuccino in tea cups, there are on the market cups for cappuccino, I am pretty sure of that, they are called, you know, “CAPPUCCINO CUPS”, you can go in a shop and say: “I want some CAPPUCCINO CUPS” and be offered, wonder of wonders, some CAPPUCCINO CUPS, or instead,  Ingrid can give you some good make and model, you can contact her but not too much, not too much or or I will contact you, and I will contact you way too much, oh yes way too much for you to like it!). But it smells better! It’s fragrant of coffee! It delivers  nasal pleasure! There’s also a miniminilittle plumcake which is make of a solified foam of butter and sugar, slightly aromatized, as we didn’t get enough calories with the rest of the breakfast, which is nice!

But the food is really the reason to go to Paul, it’s the real deal! The real McCoy! The real VAN DAMME!

Key hints for improvement: real magazines to read. BUY some. Not just complimentary copies. REAL magazines. “Property weekly” is not enough. “Gulf Yachts” IS-NOT-ENOUGH. 7DAYS…do I need to say more? A few copies. Some German one, those with impossible names, like the Suddeutsche Zeitung or the Frankfurter Allgemeine, something like that. Maybe some Japanese one! Or Chinese, the new wave. Or Iranian, more customer-oriented. Have a choice.

The service is like the decor: a little random. You can be very lucky, and get the good chair and a good waiter, or you can just wish you were elsewhere, but “elsewhere” won’t give you the food!

Ziad is my favorite, he will inherit this blog, one day. He’s Shrek-ugly, as much as polite (which is not easy, when you’re shrek-ugly, by the way!) and has a tape machine instead of his inner-ear. We change order on purpose 3-4 times just to see what happens, but he alwaysdelivers, damez-vous monsieur!

The bill for two, with a small bottle of local water to SPLURGE, is around a baby (100 dhs), which is annoying (22 euros? ehm ehm!) for we STILL are in goodybooby MERCATOMALL, n’est pas Les Champs Elysees, but…is it worthy? I will say: “Only for the food and because it is easy to find a seat on Friday at 11:00″.

No, Mr. Carlo, I asked you: “IS IT WORTHY?”

OK, you are going to find that out really soon! YOU HEARD ME MOTHOFUCKKA ! YOU STARTED DOOM NOW DOOM what you say? We have to go that mama is waiting? Oh well…

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