Unlike many second-generation entrepreneurs eager to make their mark, the brothers deliberately resisted the temptation to tear everything down.

"Usually, whenever you see a younger generation going to the business, the first thing they do is revamp," Fadl says.

"They say everything that's been done is wrong. Actually, we didn't do any of this."

Instead, they became custodians.

"We believe in the consistency of the tradition," he says.

Abed laughs as he describes the balancing act.

"We don't want to be dinosaurs, and at the same time, we don't want to be TikTokers."

That philosophy extends beyond marketing campaigns.

When ingredient prices rise, the brothers say their first instinct isn't to protect profit margins.

"Our margins can probably be 30 or 40 per cent more than what they are now," Abed says. "But you're thinking short term."

Instead, Fadl says they often absorb higher costs for as long as possible.

"We always say, let's do it. Let's show the customer the value."

Nearly every answer during our conversation circles back to one person—their father.

"My father established something in 2000," says Abed.

"When me and Fadl started working with him, there was really something that was very well established. We didn't have to fix anything. We just had to continue with his vision."

Perhaps his greatest lesson wasn't about food at all.

It was about succession.

"He said, 'I did not sell for the money,'" Fadl recalls.

"I sold because I didn't want my kids to inherit a family business. I want them to inherit a proper company.'"

That meant introducing private equity, governance and accountability.

"Whoever has a partner has a boss," Fadl says.

It also meant giving his sons room to fail.

"He really let us experiment," says Abed. "He let us make mistakes."

The toughest lesson came during Covid-19 and later with the closure of their Palm Jumeirah outlet at The Pointe.

"I was stressing a lot day and night," Fadl admits.

"You always feel, whenever you are in the crisis, that this is the end."

Instead, Festival City outpost soon opened and exceeded expectations.

"When you step back," he says, "you look at the overall picture."

Today, both brothers are raising children of their own, and the conversation turns from succession to parenting.

Fadl tells me he recently made his children fly economy.

"Life can be this," he says. "Life can be this. We are very blessed to be able to do this, but life can be this... We want to teach our kids that this is not life."

It feels like the perfect metaphor for the family's own journey.

From a neighbourhood butcher's shop in Lebanon to a restaurant in Beirut. From one bold move to Dubai to a homegrown UAE success story spanning three generations.

And perhaps, if the brothers have their way, many more to come.

Near the end of our conversation, I describe what the family has built as an empire. Fadl smiles before gently correcting me.

"I like when we call it an institution."

Because institutions, unlike empires, are built to outlive the people who started them.

2018 in review: It’s all about the numbers

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