Something for the Weekend #8
We interrupt the usual trope of wine and munch to talk about someone far more important. Plus where to eat this month, news and announcements.
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I did not want to go, but life happens when you least expect it.
A good friend decided to pack up her London life and move back to Norway. But, first, there would be a send-off party. Actually, a litter of them peppered across my weekends ad infinitum, as is protocol—a modern-day Viking Funeral of Pinot Grigio and Bulmers Cider.
First, there would be a Halloween party in Balham, which, back then, was “up and coming.” Balham benefited from a sprawl of newly minted young professionals strongly advised that Clapham was the centre of the Earth and Infernos, its church. This bosom in South West London nursed those who left university but could not bring themselves to leave a life of Vodbulls and David Hasselhoff slow-motion running.
In exchange, you’re condemned to the Northern Line and night buses.
Exhibit is where we lay our scene (it is still open, albeit substantially renovated). It is a dark cocktail bar under the orange glow of a Sainsbury’s supermarket—a fact I could have led with. In this maelstrom of fancy dress and the waning rule of alco-pops, I first saw Naomi.
We did not know each other.
She was dressed as Marie Antoinette. This pixie projected a simmering confidence shuffling through a crowded bar in an impractically big skirt—a meringue of white cloth—all pushed in and pushed up inside an ivory corset. Her face was dusted white, and her blue eyes piercing, occasionally catching the night’s flashing lights.
I could not take my eyes off her. I must speak to this corseted meringue under a white wig.
I would play the long game.
She would circle back, and when she did, I (over)projected a performative “wow”, remarked on how incredible her costume looked, and—importantly—asked if I could take a photo. I grabbed a friend’s camera because, folks, these were the halcyon days when smartphone cameras still sucked. She agreed. I took two pictures: one of her and one of us together. We gathered around the glow of a stamp-sized LED screen to survey the results. I offered to email her the photo. When she agreed, I dispatched a blank email to her to find her email address in my Sent items.
I’ll concede now that this was an overly engineered way of getting a—at best—third-tier contact for a girl in a bar.
It worked.
I sensed she was not desperate to get away (unlike the other women I talked to) so we shuffled over to the bar where she quickly barked, “Anything but Chardonnay”. I started to like her even more.
So Marie Antoinette and I stood in a busy bar on Halloween, politely shouting small talk in each other’s earholes behind a supermarket, when I learned that Chardonnay is a bridge too far. She grabbed her drink and floated off into the night.
My email strat worked.
We emailed back and forth multiple times a day while “working” across London. She evaded my date night requests twice and made me ask her out a third time by limerick. Reading back on those emails says much about where we were in our lives then.
We eventually met for a first proper date weeks later (in Clapham, natch). We chatted about pie, her West Country childhood, and my years in Exeter. She loved tradition and history, but she could not be further away from Stepford territory. She had a career, hated rudeness, and possessed a worrying knowledge about trains.
I was convinced that our third date in Spitalfields was a front to sack me off, so I bought her gifts from Portugal after a visit to my parents, where I found myself resisting talking about her too much. Following that trip, she would be forever known as The Fun One, a name I shared with her at some point—I forget when. It turns out she never intended to sack me off, and my parents still bring a bottle of 20-year-old Tawny Port whenever they visit.
We wanted to see the world, and I’ve never wanted to know what it is like without her.
Over the coming weeks, she would wear an eye patch, which would make her all the more quirky. Slowly, we met each other’s friends—proxy tribunals of approval. We would have Pie Sundays, where I was formally introduced to the Gingers (her housemate’s two cats; one, Nemo, would come to live with us in our first home together in Chiswick). We met each other’s families, and so life went on.
I brought her on a work trip to wintery Venice, where we both experienced its Carnival for the first time. (She insisted we find a pub to watch Liverpool play.) We booked a trip to an arctic Copenhagen for our first St Valentine’s Day. We would go backpacking between Lebanon and Syria in 2010 just before the troubles started.
We stayed in the “Perfect Hostel” in Montmartre and spent the day walking around Paris as two relatively broke 20-somethings shouldering a chronic travel addiction. (Fun fact: that hostel now boasts an average 1-star rating on Google Maps.)
We wanted to see the world, and I’ve never wanted to know what it is like without her.
Fast-forward to the present day. I’m utterly proud of what Naomi is achieving with her new interior design and renovation company. (Frankly, it is what she should have done years ago, and the “I-told-you-so” cake is all but frosted and delivered. People get to their destiny in their own time.)
Naomi is my rock, my wife, the mother to our son, my best friend, and my partner in this life and, hopefully, in the next. We’ve been through so much together—at times, more than any couple should go through.
She tolerates this writing lark. She endures food rendered cold in restaurants after multiple photos and videos (“Content,” we call it). Travel and dining together are more complicated now with childcare commitments. Sometimes, she joins my press trips, and—if anyone reading needs it spelt out—it is much easier for me, and I can often say yes if Naomi and Rufus can join. I also want to enjoy this world with both of them.
I love you, sweetheart. Thank you for the last 15 years ♥️
October happenings
Back to our usual schedule… and I’ll keep this brief!
The smash Culinary Class Wars on Netflix kept me in a chokehold all month and now I’m spending all my money at 1004 Gourmet learning (and failing) at Korean food. It is one of the more original cooking competition TV shows out there. Please green light a new season!
TakaHisa x Le Cime’s collaboration stood out as one of their best with a unique take as Le Cime cooked TakaHisa’s menu. It is still one of Dubai’s best restaurants.
We ate a week’s worth of calories and fat in one day to define Dubai’s Best Escargot, aka The Snail Trail. 🐌 The best bread, sauce and value for money are also rated, among others.
I wrote a love letter to Tresind Studio after nearly years of eating there and becoming closer to this team. Tresind Studio’s refreshed Rising India menu is an excellent canter through a progressive vision of Indian food. There are standout new dishes (I’m thinking of the Soup'fle).
Bordomavi is not a new restaurant, but it is new to me and sprawls across a spacious property in the hard-to-get-parking Jumeirah Fishing Harbour. If you love 3 Fils (not me) or Brix (more me), know the same team is at the helm. A long lunch with a visiting friend revealed these highlights: a thyme ice cream with olive oil dish and a selection of deft salads inside a sun-drenched dining room. I would return, but I have mixed feelings. I am waiting for another visit before sharing. Check out
’s thoughts here.
TERO inside Reif Kushiyaki rotates its omakase menu every two months now. J’adore Reif Othman as an intrepid, clear-eyed chef and businessman. The current menu is a homage to his summer in Copenhagen cooking with Kristian Baumann in a Korean pop-up. This omakase menu features Nordic seafood with some superb dishes, especially the maitake mushroom with stracciatella and the Tapchae noodles with seafood cream. Delicious as usual from Reif. It is a relaxed affair with enough formality and structure to feel special at the hands of one of Dubai’s G.O.A.T.s.
and I booked ourselves over to Ossiano for Chef Gregoire Berger’s new and final menu. I am writing about this 10-course tasting menu from one of Dubai’s best chefs in the background.
I published Part 2 of my musings about my travels through India’s Himachal Pradesh and Kasauli. I want to return and experience more from this region. Read Part 1 here.
Wine of the Month
Frerejean Frères Blanc de Blanc Brut Champagne Premier Cru. This champagne has lovely bruised apple, brioche, and slightly oxidative notes. It is light golden in colour with a slightly savoury finish, which means it does not become too sweet on the palate after a while. It is just as well, as I could drink a lot of this. I enjoyed it at TERO. Wine searcher says it is €60 a bottle, which is great value, IMHO.
News & What’s on the Horizon…
The Best Chefs Awards will be hosted in Dubai next week. I’m attending as press and will share updates on Instagram or Threads.
I am waiting for a long-term project to wrap up. Tell you more in 2026!
Chez Wam announced they are starting Sunday CHEZ WHAT brunches on their rooftop restaurant on the Palm. I’m very interested in Hadrien’s affable brand of joie de vivre. Sign me up!
DUO Gastrobar is opening up in Dubai Creek Harbour! DUO is one of Dubai’s best recent openings, IMHO.
Three by Eva has a refreshed Levantine menu—easily one of my favourite places in Dubai.
Apparently, Delia Smith thinks French food is ‘ruined’ because there’s less butter and cream than in days of yore. She’s missed the point if you ask me.
I write for various publications in the Middle East and Europe. You can subscribe to Liam Collens here on Substack or follow me on Instagram or Threads.
Puppy Ball, 2019/2020...? I remember having so much fun on the dance floor. Also, eagerly waiting for 2026. :)
All I can say is - Awwwwww ♥️ Happy Anniversary 🥂