Retrospective: Al Dhiyafa Street, Dubai

The green neon of Al Mallah shrieks out against the off-white pallor of the streetlamps. The desert-dwellers of yore (and also the desert safari-trippers of today, I would imagine) must be startled by the death of starlight at the hands of these all-powerful man-made lights. The effect is utterly uncompromising, and on reflection I think you could do worse in finding metaphors for the sudden, vigorous impact of Dubai upon the Arabian desert on which it stands.

Below the signage, there is an ever-present mass of people chatting, gossiping, giggling and joshing, clustered around stainless steel tables that litter the pavement. The enticing smell of meat and falafel on a charcoal grill seeps out from the open doorway of the restaurant, flooding the corner with olfactory temptation. There are white waxed-paper bundles strewn over the tabletops, holding the booty of shish kebabs, scoopfuls of pickled chilli peppers and warm pitta pockets clutching nuggets of grilled lamb. The waiters have the look of those who are habitues of the hard sell, but at 60p for a falafel sandwich nobody is complaining. Besides, Al Mallah is famed for having the best falafel in all of Dubai, no mean feat in this Arabic metropolis with an indefatigable appetite for Lebanese food.

For me, the most delectable treats of Al Mallah can be found in the drinks section of its plastic-laminated menu. Gaudy pictures of hurricane glasses with fluted rims promise exotic concoctions of mango, coconut, strawberry and banana. The drinks' names - the Maradona, the Platini, the Charles and the Diana - are wonderfully evocative, without giving the slightest hint as to the contents of the glass. I could guess that there won't be any alcohol involved - Al Mallah is very clearly not an establishment linked to a 4* or 5* hotel, which is a precondition for alcohol sales in Dubai - but beyond that, I have no idea whatsoever what I'm ordering. That's all part of the fun, though.

I remember sitting at these same tables on my first visit to Dubai, back in early September 2008. It was Ramadan then, which meant all but a few restaurants were shut until sunset, and those few that remained open tended to hang an obscuring curtain across their windows to become discreet from the gaze of passers-by. Al Dhiyafa street would be weirdly quiet until iftar, the meal to break the fast upon nightfall, at which point it would suddenly become thronged with people. Customers would crowd into Al Mallah, but most had enough sense to sit in the overlit but blissfully cool air-conditioned interior. Being British and therefore deprived of heat, I stubbornly sat outside and tried to convince myself that the high 30s temperature was pleasant summery weather. The sweat on my brow must have just been because of one too many chillis, I told myself. Still, I remember rushing to the fan outside the air-conditioning shop across the street on my way home.

This time it was much more comfortable. My cousin Laura and I sat sipping our mocktails next to a boisterous group of young people, speaking Arabic yet composed of men and women, a comparatively rare sight even in cosmopolitan Dubai. Around us, the busy shopfronts of restaurants, clothes boutiques, banks and pharmacies stayed lit, taking in and pushing out customers well into the night. Cars plod along the dual-carriageway up towards Al Satwa, past the back-alley tailors and the mosque or back down towards the Sheikh Zayed Road superhighway. I can't imagine this rare pedesrian paradise of a street not being there, yet it's said that this area is soon to be home to demolition trucks and wrecking balls, rebuilding it into yet another of Dubai's upmarket but faintly faceless new neighbourhoods. I can't help but mourn Satwa for the vibrant, friendly and mixed neighbourhood that it has become. And if everything is demolished, where will I find the best falafel in town on my next visit to Dubai?