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PJ’s oasis
We have discovered a splendid little oasis right in the heart of downtown Abu Dhabi. Thursday a week ago we tracked it down, and we were so pleased with ourselves we went back this Thursday. Described as a “faux Irish” bar, P.J. O’Reilly’s serves up traditional pub grub and half price drinks until 7.00pm each evening, half price being about the same as the standard charge in New Zealand. The high cost of alcohol in the Emirates is a result of supply being restricted to western resort-style hotels to which high-earning ex-pats flock and from which, supposedly, locals stay away. A few of the resort hotels have theme-bars replicating Irish or English pubs which suit us fine, but mostly the restaurants and bars are too expensive for budget tourists like us, other than for the occasional treat.
Such economies, along with the desire to experience local food, led us downtown recently looking for the perfect shawarma: meat sliced from a spit with potato, soaked in a yoghurt or hummus sauce, seasoned with spices and herbs and wrapped in unleavened bread. Just behind the Abu Dhabi Islamic Bank we found Jabel al Noor whose shawarna Time Out rated six out of seven stars, describing them as wonderful critters. “Chunky meat, a rich tahini taste, the tantalising hint of spice and just the right amount of pickle. We agreed, they were mouth-wateringly delicious, and with salad and fries cost 10 dirham (about $NZ6) apiece.
From our seats at Jabel al Noor we could see in the distance the evening lights of the Khadilia Sheraton Hotel. It advertises lunches and evening meals starting at 120 dirham per head (drinks extra) and, while the ambience may be more sophisticated, it is hard to imagine their food tasting anywhere near as good as that served at this humble, back-street eatery. Such is the difference between the West and Middle East.
When waiting for the bus each day, we usually see little clusters of cylindrical metal food containers with provisions for the migrants workers employed on nearby road construction or building sites. Each container has a coloured sticker on the top, but beyond that we had paid little attention. That is until reading Slumdog Millionaire which identified these little containers as tiffins. Derived from the Indian word for snack, a tiffin is a series of stacking containers secured by a tension clip on the side, each container able to be filled with separate food or liquid. The stickers denote the content of each. No beef for Hindus, no pork for Muslims and no flesh at all for vegetarians, and woe betide any tiffin boy who gets it wrong. It makes the lunch requirements for a meeting of macrobiotic, gluten-free, vegan, vegetarian, and allergy-prone unionists look simple.