Into the deep

AT $67, the dim sum is no steal at Dubai's most extravagant restaurant but Al Mahara's dramatic underwater setting is a real drawcard, writes Susan Kurosawa.

Fishy business ... the opulent Al Mahara restaurant in Dubai is a fine dining experience.

WE are in luck: the submarine is working. Our reservation reconfirmation email (which followed the confirmation email and the briefing on what to wear and how much we would forfeit if more than 30 minutes late for our lunch booking) advised the submarine was undergoing routine maintenance.

I became worried about whether to enrol for speed-snorkelling lessons or, at the least, to wear flippers. But all is operating merrily for our access to the Al Mahara at Dubai's rocket ship-like Burj Al Arab hotel.

This subterranean restaurant – its name means oyster shell – is the fine-dining option at Burj Al Arab, a hotel so glitzy-glossy it feels as if the air is spritzed with gold dust. There are beautiful women gliding around the fountained atrium wearing too-tight costumes straight out of Footballers' Wives. English is the language of the lobby but the accents are from Minder and eastern Europe and the look is bling-a-ding.

Off the boudoir-red waiting bay, we are ushered into the simulated submarine, which is reminiscent of a theme-park ride: seats face towards a console commanded by our driver, a pretty Russian girl who pushes buttons and twiddles a joystick to enhance the illusion we are navigating the coral formations, looming clownfish and giant clams rushing past the sub's windows.

After three minutes, there's a shudder and we have arrived at Al Mahara, where the dining tables are set in an arc around a 360-degree seawater aquarium. Why would one build a fish-bowl restaurant? Because one is richer than Croesus, presumably: there has been no skimping of funds at Burj Al Arab, a hotel that, at seven stars, all but rockets out of the accommodation galaxy.

Our table is windowside, which seems a bonus at first, but as the meal progresses we realise the inhabitants of the aquarium appear magnified as they ease along the glass. There is something disconcerting about eating one of Nemo's cousins with a piscean audience over one's shoulder.

There are also banquettes in a blue-and-white ripple design positioned a row back from the aquarium, offering a less elliptical view.

All tables come with marine-themed glass decorations, stiff white linen cloths and hallmarked silver cutlery. The menu, naturally enough, is focused on seafood.

My partner starts with Shanghai dim sum (AED190, or $67.65), a platter of eight fried and steamed parcels, mostly with finely chopped vegetarian fillings enlivened with Chinese red spices.

My choice of soy mud crab ravioli with white truffle mango mayonnaise (AED165) is complicated, delicious and too filling.

For mains, I go for the dover sole with steamed potatoes (AED165), which is decried by my partner as "cruise-ship food" but I feel like eating fish unadorned by anything save a squeeze of lemon.

The sole is filleted beside the table but the procedure, involving a traymobile and silver-service flourishes, is so fiddly that the fish is luke-warm when it is finally served.

This extended scenario gives me time to ponder the aquarium, with its moss-covered anchor, turtles, black-tipped reef sharks, pretty black-spotted sweetlips with markings that look like sequins and a humphead wrasse with a face that's as sad sack as Tony Hancock's.

I imagine the fish are talking among themselves, as they do on television's Creature Comforts, bemoaning their place in the world, such as the shark character in The Sea episode: "What I really hate is when you get, erm, all that like, seaweed, yeah, I suppose it is seaweed, that kind of like catches round, you know, that brown stuff like, erm, tagliatelle ... that's when I get a bit freaked out and I kind of think I'd rather be in a swimming pool."

My partner's main of kombu-wrapped red tuna with peking duck, shimeji mushroom and fava bean with yuzu essence (AED165) sounds like the contents of a psychedelic Volkswagen van circa 1975.

He says it is indescribable: not bad, just defying explanation.

Oddly, our dessert is the same price as our mains, although thankfully a quarter the size. (Al Mahara does not stint with its serves.) We share a mango brulee (AED165), which comes with curry ice cream, a concoction not as scandalous as it may appear; more as if grandma has popped a few safe sprinkles of Keens curry powder into the mix.

The service is as solicitous as one would expect in a restaurant of such exalted stripe. Mistaking the mesmerising effect of the aquarium for my intense interest, one of the waiters tells me the tank is made of 18cm-thick acrylic, not glass, and the fish, which come from the Red and Arabian seas, Sri Lanka and the Maldives, are not magnified. Until that moment, I was pretending the leopard sharks were an optical illusion and probably not much bigger than tadpoles.

Al Mahara has picked up various dining awards, surely bestowed for novelty and opulence. The food is perfectly fine, but far too expensive. This is a one-off experience and the diner is paying for something other than what they eat. Our meal, including a bottle of mineral water, costs close to $400. Luckily for the Tables budget, it is Ramadan and not only can't we drink but the waiter refuses to show us the wine list.

On the way out, the submarine is waiting but we are told most people just take the lift back to the lobby. The fantasy is over.

All Tables visits are unannounced and meals paid for.