I Ate My Way Through Atlantis The Royal And This Is How It Went
Atlantis Dubai is home to a huge spectrum of culinary venues and experiences that test the limits of your appetite
Before I went to Dubai, I was mostly an Asia girl.
When I thought of food—real food—I thought about my incessant trips to the sois in Bangkok, the chicken noodle shops in the remote villages of Bali, dried pollack in pojangmacha tents in Seoul, or standing in the 5-seater ramen shops in Hokkaido.
Dubai was always there, shimmering on the periphery of my consciousness, but it was overshadowed by its own maximalism: the malls, the beaches, the brands, the bigness of it all. Food felt secondary, a supporting character to the main event of excess. The kind of city you photograph more than you taste.And then I finally ended up in Dubai. Well, not just Dubai—Atlantis Dubai, which had recently claimed more Michelin stars than any other destination in the Middle East after FZN by Björn Frantzén pulled three stars.
I had arrived with a mission, and nothing would put me off this track. I had three days in this hotel and I was going to eat at every restaurant here. However, I slowly realised that between the fifteen restaurants, celebrity chefs, pool clubs, cocktail bars and sky pools, Atlantis the Royal doesn’t offer “dining” so much as a full-spectrum assault on appetite.
CARBONE
First, well, we must talk about Carbone.
My first dinner was there, and I think they seat you there deliberately on the first night to set expectations. The dining room is 1950s New York recreated in Dubai—velvet booths, crystal chandeliers, damask walls that catch the light. The servers made the infamous Caeser salad tableside – anchovies, lemon, the lettuce and umpteen amounts of Parmigiano Reggiano. When I took one bite, I finally understood why people talk about this place the way they do. But the star of the night was the spicy rigatoni. I'd heard about this dish the way you hear about legends— through whispers and Instagram posts and articles that describe it in religious terms. The sauce clung to every ridge of the pasta, tomato and cream and chili in perfect balance. If you ever go there, do pair it with a bottle of the Brolio Chianti Classico 2023. You won’t regret it. Or, the Negroni Sbagliato (if you’re not so much into wines).
CLOUD 22
The next morning, I went to Cloud 22 before I'd fully woken up. I wanted to swim in the sky pool before the day got too hot, before other people arrived. Located on the 22nd floor, the pool offers the most stunning views of The Palm Jumeirah and Dubai’s iconic skyline. After my swim, I ordered a quick French toast. But of course, I didn’t stop there. I ended up devouring the smoked salmon and caviar flatbread along with the wagyu sirloin with pineapple and red pepper salsa as well.
NOBU BY THE BEACH
Nobu is a legend amongst many Indians who frequent Dubai. The setting does half the work: sun loungers facing the sea, live music drifting through salt air. I went with the black cod with miso. The fish arrives glazed and caramelised, sweet and savoury at once, so tender it falls apart at the touch of a fork. I followed it up with the tuna tataki, the chicken sando and another dish of caviar. Stuffed with wagyu nigiris and salmon sashimis, I trudged to my room and stayed in a coma in my bed until dinner.
FZN BY BJÖRN FRANTZÉN
For those who don’t know, FZN, helmed by Björn Frantzén and Executive Chef Torsten Vildgaard, is the sibling to the three-star Frantzén in Stockholm and Zén in Singapore. The restaurant, located in Atlantis the Palm, is unmarked—just a wooden door with a bell. FZN is not just a restaurant. It is an experience with a beginning, middle and end. You start in a living room, nibbling canapés with house wine. You are guided through the house—through the wine cellar that stocks more than 600 labels, through a kitchen that looks like a surgical room.
Only then you are seated in a 27-cover dining room. The menu unfolds across nine courses—modern European cuisine with Japanese precision. Every plate looks like artwork. There was scallop crudo with white truffle, myoga (Japanese ginger) and brown butter. I tried the monkfish with lemon thyme and mushroom tea, followed by foie gras with caramelised oranges.
Somewhere in the middle, there was Langoustine with brown butter so rich I had to pause between bites, and a delicate fish course with kohlrabi and preserved lemon. The star of the meal was the “bbq” pigeon with endive and pear. And to end, we had the famous FZN housemade madeleines. Each course was paired with different wines across France, Portugal and even umeshu from the Ibaraki prefecture in Japan.
Throughout the three days, I kept trying to rank all the places. Best lunch? Best dinner? Best vibes? But every list collapsed. When you eat like you’ll never eat again, something shifts. You stop postponing pleasure and you stop negotiating with yourself.
Sometimes, it’s a bowl of noodles in a Bangkok alley.
Sometimes, it’s a nine-course tasting menu in the sky in Dubai.