Dubai’s Goan restaurant Grubshack to shut shop after nearly a decade, ‘It wasn’t a restaurant, it was our home’

When I was pregnant with twins and preparing for a high-risk delivery, comfort came in many forms. For me, one of those forms was food — more specifically, Goan food. My obstetrician practiced at City Hospital, and I still remember telling my husband, only half-jokingly, “You know what really clinched it for me? Grubshack is next door.”

In the thick of prenatal scans and tension, the idea of tucking into some spicy chilli chicken after pushing two tiny humans into the world kept me going. And the moment my doctor gave me the green light after delivery, guess where I went? I waddled my way to Grubshack, like a woman on a mission. The crab curry, the fried rice — it was a meal I still remember more vividly than the hospital food.

So when I found out that today marks Grubshack’s final day, it felt like a punch to the gut. I reached out immediately to the founder’s daughter, who helped build the brand from scratch.

We’re heartbroken,” said Marushka Coelho. “Grubshack isn’t just a restaurant. It’s part of our identity. It’s where my mom’s recipes, passed down from her mother, were brought to life.”

Grubshack started humbly in 2012 as a 12-cover, hole-in-the-wall joint in Sharjah. “We’d have people driving down from Abu Dhabi just for a takeaway,” she recalled. “We couldn’t even seat them all — they’d wait outside, sometimes for over an hour. But they came back because it tasted like home.”

In 2016, they opened in Dubai’s Health Care City neighbourhood — and this time, they wanted to replicate not just the flavours of home, but the feel of it too.

“We didn’t want it to feel like a commercial restaurant,” she explained. “We designed it ourselves. There were guitars and music instruments on the walls, old window frames, mismatched furniture — just like our home in Bombay. People walked in and felt like they were walking into someone’s living room.”

The food was lovingly crafted — not by chefs hidden away in a kitchen, but by Gemma Masceranhas, the family matriarch, who cooked nearly every dish herself.

“My mom still wakes up early every weekend and goes to the market to buy fresh fish,” she said. “Nothing frozen. Nothing from a supplier. She grinds every masala herself. You could taste the care — and people knew it.”

The tagline “From Bombay to Goa” wasn’t a branding gimmick. It was the route of their hearts — her father from Goa, her mother from Bombay — and the food mirrored that journey. From street-style Mumbai Chinese to Goan crab curry, to East Indian stews and house-made vindaloos, the menu was a map of emotion.

But as with so many good things, the pandemic threw a wrench into everything.

“Just before COVID, we brought in investors who promised to expand the brand,” she said. “They took 60% equity, and then when COVID hit, everything collapsed. We were closed for almost a year. My dad got COVID badly. He was in the ICU for 60 days — we almost lost him.”

They tried to keep the business going — pouring in personal savings, asking partners to step in, pleading for support.

“My dad’s health has taken a toll. My parents are tired. They gave everything they had. He’s been funding this restaurant himself, month after month. But you can only fight so long.”

They’ve now started letting go of staff. Only 12 remain.

“Every day, people are messaging us — begging us to stay open just one more day,” she said. “But we just can’t anymore. It’s like watching a piece of ourselves die.”

What hurts most is the emotional weight of what Grubshack stood for.

“This wasn’t just food. It was mom’s cooking — made available to everyone. It was a piece of our home, served to the city. And now, it’s gone.”

Still, there’s a flicker of hope. They’re open to handing over the brand — if the right person steps forward. Someone who understands what it meant.

“We don’t want to make this about blame or legal drama,” she said. “We just want someone to help keep this story alive. Because Grubshack belongs to Dubai. It belongs to the people who laughed here, cried here, celebrated here.”

As for me — I still remember the exact table I sat at that day after delivering my twins. My body was sore. I was hormonal, exhausted, and ravenous. But as I tore into that chilli chicken and wok-fried chicken rice, I felt… whole.

I didn’t know then that I was sitting in what would become a memory I’d mourn years later.

Grubshack wasn’t just a restaurant.
It was a refuge. A kitchen. A concert hall. A home.

And today, as it quietly closes its doors, I — like hundreds of others across the city — am silently grieving.

“We just want people to remember what it meant,” she said. “And if there’s anyone out there who can help bring it back — we’re ready.”