Iranish Iranian Restaurant review
Iranish peaks into a cuisine that I know only fleetingly, and assures me that I want to know more.
Fifteen years ago this November, my then-new flame and I lay in a dishevelled bed in those still, early hours after a (very) late night out. Humming with the smell of bar hopping, sticky sweat and stale cigarettes, we each took turns swigging from a bottle of Laurent Perrier unknowingly pinched from my housemate (sorry, Seb). Folded into each other's arms to do what all new lovers do: write down all the places in this big, wide world we wanted to see together.
Slowly, we ticked off that list: paragliding over Ipanema Beach before sucking down caipirinhas in Copacabana. We sat in Umayyad Mosque, then strolled through Old Damascus’ Al-Hamidiyah Souq, munching Booza’s pistachio and honey-crusted ice cream just months before the troubles. We chipped in Trinidad Carnival, biked to beaches in Cuba and climbed Iceland’s ice-blue glaciers.
A smile rises as I write about these things. Two people met by chance in a bar on Halloween and laid down only a few days later to plan, plot, and dream, if only in jest. We have done a lot—more than our younger selves ever knew. But the thing we never did was visit Iran.
I know two things about Iran.
Firstly, what we hear: the knuckle-dragging, human rights flogging and sabre-rattling vitriol that isolates and brutalises tens of millions, especially women. It’s one of the reasons we cannot set foot in the country.
Then, there is what I’ve experienced with the Iranian diaspora.
I know a few Iranians. All of them are lovely, smart, articulate and hopeful. People with a past who fled to make a future for themselves. People who only talk about home in terms they are prepared to say out loud–usually of misty eyes or gritted teeth.
People whose homes I’ve eaten in. Colleagues with whom I’ve worked. Those charming Persian ladies who ran stores brimming with vibrant sumac and saffron, fragrant black lime and bedsheets of sanjak along High Street Kensington. Those folks in Dubai with whom I occasionally sit at a table because we share an Ozempic-shattering interest in food.
Iranish Iranian Restaurant’s menu
Dubai’s restaurants, warmly endorsed by word of mouth, sate my appetite for Iranian food (more than Persian). A generous colleague originally from Iran scouted Iranish and sent word of their kebabs (positive) and rice (extra charge, hmm). I trust him. He habitually eats across Dubai’s Iranian restaurants, and we discuss the spoils weekly.
The menu is admirably short: starters, salads, mains, then sides, barely more than 20 items. No desserts, strange. I would typically talk about neighbouring tables picking through the Iranish salad of kiwi, cucumber and celery, a smokey mirza ghasemi of aubergine, tomato and egg or joojeh chicken platters lysing with walnuts and pomegranate. But there is no one else here on a Friday lunch time.
It is only me, a chef, and two cooks. An engaging waitress, resplendent in magenta, glides around an empty dining room of beige and grey brightened with mounted tapestries, almost like visiting an old auntie’s house for lunch. Speakers pip Novan softly. Flowery, scalloped plates decorate wood tables. Iranish is twee, sort of homely, but feels semi-finished in a just-moved-in way. The waterless fountain misses its garden centre.
Iranish Iranian Restaurant’s food
I am admirably warned, “That’s enough”, after ordering a few dishes. The vine-wrapped dolmas are out. Shame, next time?
An unexpected vegetable soup arrives fortified with plump barley and a meaty broth of lamb stock. It is a comforting, warming bowl deserving of a good cold and a blanket.
A hockey puck of Kashk e Badmejoon slides towards me. A dense puree of aubergine and yoghurt whey ripples with dried mint and the delicious gummy chew of golden fried onions scattered on top—the kind that sticks to the teeth in the best possible way. Friable, soft planks of Barbari bread are dragged through a portion easily shared between two, especially when surprise soups turn up.
Mast o khiar, a spiced yoghurt cucumber dip-cum-ointment dressed in what looks like rose petals and verdant dried mint, lubricates the insides like an antacid for the meat feasts to come. I ask that my funeral directors embalm my face with this at least three days before an open-casket funeral so people hold each other close and mutter adoringly about my youthful appearance.
A duo of Soltani lamb kebabs dressed in fresh mint come with the mast o khiar. One is minced—fatty, rich, and soft—with the other kebab in tender morsels large enough for your back teeth to have a good time. All pelted are plenty with sprightly, citric sumac where your mission is to stab the lamb, press the meat into the plate and gather up the sumac, leaving none behind. There is enough for one person, but two could conceivably share them. You may not want to. The rice is stained a tell-tale bright yellow to signal a liberal spooning of saffron. The kitchen may cook the rice in broth, but I am unsure.
I have just one quibble with the rice: It comes with foiled-wrapped butter, like what you usually get on airlines, against a bread roll unyielding enough to cause bodily harm. Just bring a bit on a plate.
The moustached grill chef bears more than a passing resemblance to a video game’s final boss and Dario Cecchini, but he can cook.
Iranish Iranian Restaurant, Would I Return?
As I walk out the door, the engaging, brightly dressed waitress tempts me to return for the lamb neck cooked for 8 hours, which, I am told, is ‘too delicious’. This leads me to ask, would I return?
The will is there, but I do not live near Iranish. Orfali Bros Bistro, Monno, YAVA and others also beckon. I want to return with my wife and those friends who also want a little slice of Iran but cannot get it. We would settle for something Iranish around a large table (away from the fountain) as solo dining is fun, but Iranish leaves the impression that it comes alive with others.
Iranish Iranian Restaurant, How Much Was It?
Five items, including two starters, a main, a side, and a bottle of local sparkling water: AED 168, including VAT, excluding service. This pricing is not bad, but it’s even better value, given two people could comfortably share the same.
Noon, AED 8
Mast-O-Khiar, AED 15
Kashk E Badenjan, AED 36
Soltani, AED 74
Iranian Rice, AED 15
Sparkling water, AED 20
Iranish Iranian Restaurant is located at Shop 20, Wasl 51, Al Wasl Road, 1st Jumeirah, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. Visit Iranish Iranian Restaurant’s Website or call for more information.
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Curious about other Iranian places your colleague scouted and signed off on. I have been eyeing Berenjak for a while now. Thoughts?
Enjoyed your post - beautiful food.