Dubai brunches and I have a complicated relationship. They’re the extroverted friend who insists on flaming shots at 2 p.m. while you’re still trying to remember whether you ordered the sushi or the sashimi. Too often, the trajectory is a straight line from “elegant grazing” to “someone’s lost a shoe under the table”, with no narrative arc in between. So, when an invitation landed for a new monthly concept called Maneki Brunch – one that promised to unfold gradually, like a well-paced plot twist – I was intrigued and, frankly, a little suspicious.
The setting is Shanghai Me, that sultry Pan-Asian gem tucked into DIFC, where the glamour of 1930s Shanghai meets the kind of lighting that makes everyone look as though they belong in a Wong Kar-wai film. If you’ve ever tried to find the valet there on a Friday night, you’ll know the area is less “Gate Village” and more “a very chic puzzle designed to test your emotional resilience”. But we’re not here for a nocturnal scramble. We’re here for a Saturday afternoon that, as it turns out, understands dramatic structure better than most Netflix limited series.
The Beckoning Cat, but Make It Narrative
Named after the Maneki Neko – that sweet, waving Japanese cat symbolising good fortune – the brunch borrows its ethos from the idea of abundance arriving fashionably late. It launches on Saturday, 6 June (hello, Gemini-season spontaneity), before settling into the last Saturday of every month, from 12:30 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. And it moves with intention. Think of it as a three-act play in which the opening scene is still civilised conversation and, by the final curtain, you’re dancing between tables, wondering whether you’ve just made five new best friends or accidentally joined a group chat.
We arrived to a calm, dining-led atmosphere: dim sum so delicate it could double as an art installation, sushi platters arranged like edible mosaics. A friend – deep in her situationship era – picked up a har gow with her chopsticks and whispered, “This is more commitment than I’ve had in six months.” We laughed, but she wasn’t wrong. The menu, built around Shanghai Me’s signatures, reads like a love letter to depth and balance: Beef Tenderloin in Black Pepper Sauce that might actually make you believe in monogamy, Shrimps in Chilli Sauce bringing the heat without the drama, and a clay pot of Mapo Tofu that’s all soul and zero pretence. Premium add-ons, such as roast duck carving and caviar, hover nearby for those who believe brunch is a verb – and that verb is “upgrade”.
A Fragrance Discovery and the Art of the Slow Reveal
Then, almost imperceptibly, the tempo shifted. The music lifted – somewhere between a deep-house whisper and a daytime disco heartbeat – and the room began to breathe differently. It wasn’t a jarring transition, but a seduction. This is where the partnership with Floraïku, the Japanese-inspired perfume house, bloomed. Between courses came curated fragrance touchpoints: scent strips placed like secret notes, a poetic spritz in passing. I landed on a fragrance called I Am Not a Flower, which felt like a personal attack dressed in bergamot – but in the most elegant way possible. It was a masterstroke in sensory storytelling, because nothing says “you’re entering a new chapter” quite like realising you smell like a mysterious epilogue.
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At this point, I should mention the packages, because even dream sequences come with practicalities. AED 348 for soft beverages (hello, sober-curious crowd), AED 498 for house beverages, and AED 648 for champagne – which, let’s be honest, is for those of us who treat bubbles as a personality trait. But the real luxury isn’t the price point; it’s the pacing. In a city where brunch can feel like a competitive sport – how many coupes can you conquer before sunset? – Shanghai Me feels quietly radical. It trusts that we might actually want to taste the food before forgetting the afternoon entirely.
Fortune Favours the Slow Build
The Maneki Neko’s presence is deliberately subtle, woven through details and gifting moments rather than appearing as an animatronic cat waving from a podium. (Thank you, design gods.) A lucky charm here, a gestural nod to abundance there. And that’s the point, I think. Fortune isn’t only about the jackpot; it’s about the perfectly timed shift in tempo. In life, as in brunch, the most electric moments rarely announce themselves with a foghorn. They arrive softly, like a beckoning paw, and suddenly you’re in the second act – hair down, inhibitions politely excused – having the kind of afternoon that doesn’t demand a three-day recovery period.
By the time the curated dessert platter arrived – a sweet little denouement – I looked around at the room, now humming with the energy of a night out, and realised something. The arc wasn’t just clever programming; it was a metaphor for the kinds of connections we’re all craving. The ones that build gradually. The ones that let you appreciate the dim sum before the dance floor. The ones where you’re still clear-eyed enough to remember the playlist, the perfume, and the name of that new friend you’ll definitely text tomorrow.
So go. The next Maneki Brunch is on 6 June, and after that it becomes your standing last-Saturday-of-the-month plan. Bring a date, bring a situationship, bring the group chat. Just pace yourself. The best plot twists, as any good writer knows, happen in the second half.
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