A legacy, in some sense, of Aden’s British-era stint as the Arabian Peninsula’s main shipping hub, al-Suri was established by an Omani who made his way from the eponymous city of Sur to the then bustling port to sell the sultanate’s famed gelatinous halwa. Aden’s monumental natural harbor may sit sadly underutilized today, but al-Suri has continued to thrive; indeed, I was a regular at their Sanaa location, located not too far from the Chinese embassy, during my time based in the Yemeni capital. Their original location—located in the midst of one of the district’s more charming historic streets—remains a Crater landmark, buzzing with Adenis young and old.
In an odd, if inadvertent, mirroring of a key regional fault line, two of Khor Maksor’s most popular restaurants happen to be named “Dubai” and “al-Ikhwan.” There’s obviously no actual political relevance to either—and a number of my STC backing friends are al-Ikhwan fans—but let’s face it, the joke writes itself. I’ve patronized both and they’re both good, but I hit up al-Ikhwan, which has a more extensive menu, a bit more, hence the choice to give them a review. (Note: the owner of Mata3m Dubai is known for his ability to source excellent Doa3ni honey, so if you’re looking around, he may be your guy; further, their grilled intestine is oddly irresistible).
Crater’s famed fish market, nestled in a cove in the shadow of a centuries old castle, has thankfully been among the landmarks in Aden that have managed to escape the war unscathed. It has long been a tourist attraction of sorts, with a simple concept often found in other cities known for their seafood: you go to the market, pick out your fish, and take it to one of the nearby restaurants for a solid lunch. The haggling process can often be a bit anxiety-inducing but it’s part of the charm, as is the beautifully chaotic cacophony of stalls selling an astounding array of locally caught seafood.
There are about half a dozen restaurants in the area surrounding the market, but the clear standout would appear to be Mata3m Seera. A decent chunk of my Aden-based social circle would appear to agree: I ended up running into someone I know the bulk of the inordinate amount of times I went to Seera for lunch during my most recent trip to Aden.
It’s not, to put it one way, fine dining: tables are relatively packed, décor is minimal and I’m sure things get rather sweaty during the summer months. The food, however, speaks for itself. While Yemen may be known for meat-focused meals like mandi, haneed and fahsa, there’s no question it also gets seafood, well, quite right. Seera does everything–even clams, oddly enough–close to perfection. Whether lightly breaded and grilled or sauced in a saloona, the shrimp are—as often the case in Yemen—a standout; the joys of digging one’s fingers into their grilled, slightly seasoned fish makhbaza are hard to put into words, as were the grilled crabs. Seera’s take on the traditional Yemeni seafood accompaniments—that is, oversized flatbread and spicy sahawaq—are appropriately on point. Of course, menu is limited, so if you’re not into seafood you’re out of luck—though if there’s a place that could convert a seafood skeptic, this would probably be it.
Seera Restaurant is located across the cove from the fish market
Only a few years ago, the idea of a restaurant scene emerging in Marib would have been laughable. Though the seat of the Queen of Sheba and the locus of much of Yemen’s fossil fuel wealth, Marib had, until recently, been marginalized by Sanaa-based power players, rendering the provincial capital a dust-blown town dominated by cinderblock houses.
As Marib has emerged as a comparative oasis of calm and hub of economy activity amidst the ongoing conflict, the city has exploded in size, with many Yemenis from across the country to take advantage of new opportunities. As Marib gained an urban middle class it quickly gained a branch of Yemen’s favorite amorphous restaurant grouping: a Shaibani.
The Marib Shaibani’s location underlines the city’s rapid development. Parking abuts the old airport site, initially constructed in the 80s–or so rumor has it–to facilitate the late Muammar al-Qadhafi’s arrival by private plane for a local tribal leader’s father’s funeral; once safely out of town, its since been surrounded by new construction and put out of service, the former runway functioning as a de facto football field. The showcase for Marib’s recent shifts continues indoors. Local tribesmen in thobe and jambiyya rub shoulders with newcomers in suits hailing from Taiz and Sanaa. Its a cacophonous scene, but also a pleasing one, and watching the skilled staff negotiating the crowd during peak hours makes for solid entertainment while one waits for a meal.
The food itself is on par with what one would get at Shaibani Modern or Shaibani al-Beik in Sanaa, meaning quite good; notably, its the default catering choice of the office of Marib governor Sultan al-Arada’s office, which is as good an endorsement as any. The meat, fahsa and aqda are all clear standouts; some days, despite the distance from the sea, they manage to get fish in, which is also prepared ably to “original” Shaibani standards. Seating is available both on floor and table, with an extensive family section on the ground floor.
The Marib Shaibani is located adjacent to old Marib Airport
If you’ve been around me long enough, you probably have come to realize that I spend a lot of time thinking about grilled chicken. I don’t really know why. Perhaps its memories of humid Maryland summer’s spent by the grill; perhaps its the divergent ways grilled chicken can go very right (crisp skin, succulent meat) or very wrong (a soggy mess).
The divergence, I eventually discovered, is as true in Sanaa as it is in suburban Baltimore. And its fed a continuing, low key obsession with madhbi, Yemen’s finest flame-grilled chicken.
This latest trip to Cairo took me to al-Sada restaurant, which has quickly emerged as a favorite among my Yemeni friends. The owners hail, as the name would suggest from al-Sada in Ibb, but a big focus of the menu is madhbi and mandi, both of which originally hail from Hadramawt.
I had heard the meat was excellent but, nonetheless, my friends and I opted for chicken (for whatever reason, my friend Hamza almost invariably opts for chicken over meat). It didnt disappoint. The chicken mandi was slow-cooked with precision, its skin smooth but–unlike many a chicken mandi–anything but slimy. The skin of the madhbi, cutting a sharp contrast, was crisped to perfection, covering still-juicy, tender meat. Spicing was on point, as was the service, even though we arrived long after the lunch rush. Setting was barebones, though booths and, thus, a family section, are present in the rear of the restaurant.
Al-Sada Restaurant is located in al-Doqqi, Cairo.
Crossposted at medium.
See my latest, a reflection on visiting Um Kulthum’s tomb in Cairo, here.
The Gulf is one of my favorite places to eat. The more luxurious aspects of cities like Dubai and Doha may get more attention internationally—and many of the region’s various high-end restaurants are, indeed, quite excellent—but it’s the potpourri of holes in the wall that tend to be found in more humble office blocks and shopping centers in the shadow of said cities’ towering skyscrapers that I tend to be most drawn to. In some sense it’s a matter of just having a change of scenery, getting a break from cafes, malls and hotel lobbies. But more than anything it’s about embracing the unknown—walking for a few blocks and popping into the first interesting option without reading a menu or review (something that, owing to the ubiquity of wifi and my own neurotic nature, has grown all the rarer). The results are often unexceptional, but just as often, they’re unexpectedly excellent. The best Thai Red Shrimp Curry I’ve ever had was in Riyadh; I’ve stumbled upon revelatory regional Filipino cuisine in Abu Dhabi. More often than not, I end up opting out of hotel breakfast and hopping to the nearest decent looking South Indian place for idly or a dosa.
During my most recent trip to Abu Dhabi, I had aims of once again going exploring. Unfortunately, it was July and, even after sunset, it rather hot and extremely humid. Two blocks in, as the air grew oppressive and I failed to find any solid leads, I though back to the Yemeni restaurant advertising mandi and madhbi that was across from my hotel. I ran back, quickly browsed the menu and ended up ordering takeout.
I opted for the chicken madhbi, though the menu was quite varied and reasonably priced. It was ready in about 15 minutes, after which I proceeded to haul myself back to my hotel as quickly as possible, plopping myself on the floor and almost jumping in before snapping a quick photo.
Chicken madhbi is generally, at worst average, but at its best, it can be almost transcendent despite its relative simplicity. Quality of ingredients aside, I often wonder how much of it is randomness. Does better chicken madhbi stem from better kitchen staff? Is it about the quality of the grill? Or is it simply a matter of fortuitous turn, one that manages to catch the interior of the chicken at peak juiciness while the exterior and skin are just managing to crisp? I don’t know to be honest—I’m not a food scientist. Either way, texture wise, this place managed one of the best chicken madhbi’s I’ve had outside of Yemen. Taste-wise, it similarly excelled. The sahawag and rise were nearly perfectly spiced, as was the chicken (all too often, the spicing of mahdbi outside of Yemen too closely resembles that of Levantine farouj).
On that end, al-Marhabani gets a nod of approval. I look forward to eating through their meat options next time I’m in AD.
Al-Marhabani is located in central Abu Dhabi roughly across the street from the Abu Dhabi Marriott
Crossposted at my medium site
The last name Shaibani is more or less synonymous with solid, well priced Yemeni food. While the Shaibani family hails from Taiz province, Shaibanis are present in numerous Yemeni and international cities, with roughly half a dozen of them dotting Yemeni capital’s upmarket Haddah street. The first Yemeni restaurant I ate in was a Shabiani—a place I was guided to while somewhat jetlagged with my friend Azd’s father, equal parts confused and amazed by the as-yet-unknown culinary banquet that I was eventually confronted with. When I heard through the grapevine that a Shaibani—or at least a place being called a Shaibani—had opened up in the Brooklyn neighborhood of Bay Ridge, I was immediately intrigued.
In many regards, it was a long time coming. Long boasting one of the most vibrant Arab neighborhoods in the US, Bay Ridge is also a key hub of the Yemeni-American community. Once a heavily Italian, Irish and Norwegian neighborhood, over the past few decades, Ba Ridge has developed into Brooklyn’s Edgeware Road equivalent, with shops boasting a mix of Arabic and English signage and a flurry of restaurants, Arab groceries and specialty shops popping up.
Ironically, as Yemen has descended into war, Bay Ridge has boomed. Many Yemeni-American businessmen and shop-owners have directed a lot of money that would have previously been sent home internally, something that’s lead to an uptick in investment. As I walked down 5th Avenue, the neighborhoods commercial hub, with my friend Rabyiah, a Yemeni-American organizer and activist who grew up in the area, we ended up stopping nearly every minute as she pointed out a new shop, each one representing a different story of hard work and perseverance. Incredibly, this has all come as Yemenis continue to be targeted by the Trump administration’s travel ban. It has affected nearly the entirety of the community, in many cases literally ripping families apart. But it has also served as the catalyst for unprecedented mobilization of Yemeni-Americans as epitomized by formation of the Yemeni-American Merchant Association (YAMA) and, most famous, the 2017 bodega strike, which saw New York’s roughly 5000 Yemeni-owned bodegas shut in protest of the travel ban.
Located in a redbrick building that reminded me of one of the front of my favorite Italian-owned Hoagie places in Philadelphia, the Brooklyn Shaibani similarly gestured to the culinary benefits of immigration. Rabyiah and I ordered fahsa, aqda and haneed, my general go-tos. The fahsa was excellent, as was the bread. The aqda—though delicious—struck me as quite unorthodox; the means of cooking both the chicken and vegetables was rather different than anything I ever remember eating in Yemen. The rice was perfectly spiced to the point of literally giving me flashbacks. To add to everything, they even sell Yemeni sweets made in a shop in Patterson New Jersey that I was, until now, wholly unaware of; the breadth and taste sweets themselves was quite impressive, even by the standards of Yemeni places in the wider Middle East.
The Brooklyn Shaibani is located at 3717 5th Avenue, Brooklyn NY 11209.
Crossposted on my Medium.