A slice of kunafa, a lifetime of memories—from an Abu Dhabi shop more than 40 years old

A dessert with cheese or clotted cream. It’s orange in colour and drenched in a thick, orange syrup.

That was the first description I saw when I looked it up on Google.

It was just several months since that I had moved from Delhi to Abu Dhabi, and I had never heard or tasted something like this before. Cue an evening, when my husband, mother-in-law were discussing whether to order it.  

I saw that it had cheese. I was sold.

It arrived in a box, this orange, pie-like, gooey pastry. We cut it carefully. I took a bite—and it felt like all the best things in the world had collided to create kunafa. I had to stop myself: just one piece at a time.

But the best Kunafa that I had wasn’t the one we ordered home.

It was the one and only time when we bought it from a small Al Aqssa Sweets outlet, in Tourist Club area Abu Dhabi, where my husband grew up. He always remembered the home as 'Near Navy Gate', from childhood, too. It was just 1 KM away from it.

 That kunafa is tied to a special moment.

It was minutes after my brother-in-law and sister-in-law had gotten married.  It was also the day that my in-laws had landed in UAE and could finally see them almost two years after COVID, and could celebrate their marriage.

 And such days, are best to be celebrated with something like a Kunafa. So, we drove to the neighbourhood, visited the shop that had existed for more than 40 years.

 In sarees and flowers, we walked under the sun just to get a slice. More than eating it, I remember watching it being made. He pulled out a round metal tray, laced with ghee, and began layering fine golden strands of kataifi dough, delicate and shredded. The dough was crackling as he pressed  it down, then spooned a generous layer of soft white cheese, mild, slightly salty, right in the middle. Another layer of dough went on top, and the whole thing was gently spun over a flame, rotating slowly until the underside is crisped to a golden amber. He flipped it with a practiced flick.

The air was filled with browning butter. As it sizzled, he prepared the syrup: Sugar, water, and rose water. When the kunafa was lifted, steaming and crisp, he doused it in the syrup. It hissed and soaked in instantly, turning the pastry glossy and orange-gold.

Before serving, he sprinkled pistachios on top, green against gold, and cut a slice. The cheese stretched in delicate threads. It was crisp on the outside, soft and oozy inside, warm and sweet, with just a hint of floral perfume.

There’s an unusual pleasure from eating from a shop, especially if it’s an outlet that has an existed for over three decades. Even if the landscape of Abu Dhabi changed and was different from what my husband remembered, the Kunafa shop had stayed on.

There’s a rare joy in eating from a shop that’s been around for decades. Even though Abu Dhabi has changed, that kunafa shop had stayed. I eat kunafa sparingly now — sometimes a gift, sometimes a quiet evening indulgence.

But the best one I’ve ever had? Still that slice, from the shop 'near Navy Gate.'