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Middle Child, Dubai restaurant review: “Calm Cooking, Loud Opinions and a Bistro Caught in the Noise.”
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Middle Child, Dubai restaurant review: “Calm Cooking, Loud Opinions and a Bistro Caught in the Noise.”
The food is good. Sometimes very good, but the noise around Middle Child is hard to swallow.
Middle Child's entrance inside Alserkal Avenue, Al Quoz.
The Highs
The Lows
The Highs
The Lows
Middle Child is what happens when Wes Anderson opens a bookstore in France and serves potato salad and a club sandwich whose reputation precedes it. This unlicensed restaurant in Alserkal Avenue quickly became one of Dubai’s most talked-about openings.
The entrance speaks in mustard yellow and warm wood. The back wall, clad with books and bottles, feels one Putnam ladder short. A wall of pop art that pines for the Côte d’Azur rises above brilliant yellow banquettes and, between tables of diners chatting in considered tones, I trace Ritz crackers through ribbons of spring onion oil over a sour cream and onion dip.
A selection of artwork placed over the back wall including a cover of Vittles, Middle Child, Alserkal Avenue.
That onion dip is delicious and encapsulates the idea of Middle Child.
Familiar, but not lazy. More calibrated than clever.
Years ago, Michele recommended I follow Lyn Hazim’s nosoupforyou for its studious calm and simple approach to cooking small things well. A Felicity Cloake for the gram, if you will.
Lyn later opened Middle Child in September 2025, giving physical form to her Instagram credo: not trend chasing, not maximalism, but repetition. Gladwellian graft, if you like. One puts in the hours, respects the basics and, eventually, the work begins to look like instinct.
Sour cream and onion dip with chives and chive oil with a side of Ritz crackers, Middle Child, Alserkal Avenue.
Unsurprisingly, Lyn herself is a middle child, but the venue’s cultural triptych extends beyond her familial role, occupying the notions of a restaurant, bookshop and delicatessen with a sense of humility that is considered, not performative.
You are just as likely to leave with a box of pappardelle bolognese as you are with Alison Roman’s Nothing Fancy or boxes of Maldon smoked salt. Possibly all three, which feels entirely intentional.
A bookshelf in the back of Middle Child where there is a selection of cookbooks and other publication available for sale.
The entrance speaks in mustard yellow and warm wood. The back wall, clad with books and bottles, feels one Putnam ladder short. A wall of pop art that pines for the Côte d’Azur rises above brilliant yellow banquettes and, between tables of diners chatting in considered tones, I trace Ritz crackers through ribbons of spring onion oil over a sour cream and onion dip.
A selection of artwork placed over the back wall including a cover of Vittles, Middle Child, Alserkal Avenue.
That onion dip is delicious and encapsulates the idea of Middle Child.
Familiar, but not lazy. More calibrated than clever.
Years ago, Michele recommended I follow Lyn Hazim’s nosoupforyou for its studious calm and simple approach to cooking small things well. A Felicity Cloake for the gram, if you will.
Lyn later opened Middle Child in September 2025, giving physical form to her Instagram credo: not trend chasing, not maximalism, but repetition. Gladwellian graft, if you like. One puts in the hours, respects the basics and, eventually, the work begins to look like instinct.
Sour cream and onion dip with chives and chive oil with a side of Ritz crackers, Middle Child, Alserkal Avenue.
Unsurprisingly, Lyn herself is a middle child, but the venue’s cultural triptych extends beyond her familial role, occupying the notions of a restaurant, bookshop and delicatessen with a sense of humility that is considered, not performative.
You are just as likely to leave with a box of pappardelle bolognese as you are with Alison Roman’s Nothing Fancy or boxes of Maldon smoked salt. Possibly all three, which feels entirely intentional.
A bookshelf in the back of Middle Child where there is a selection of cookbooks and other publication available for sale.
Middle Child's food and menu
Sanjay and I scan a tight menu of 14 savouries and five sweets, mostly orbiting 45 to 90 dirhams a plate. It’s an A4 sheet that speaks to a comfort seeker who still expects glimmers of interest. Our lunch of seven plates and two iced teas edged towards AED 300 a head, including tips, in an unlicensed, gentrified warehouse in Alserkal Avenue.
Middle Child’s menu at lunch time.
Is it worth it?
That sour cream and onion dip is fortified with caramelised onions and boasts a verdant divot of spring onion oil, and the sidecar of Ritz crackers feels admirably judged. The steak tartare is hand-chopped, toothsome and assertively seasoned, but impractical with only three Melba-style toasts. Lyn, come on. Give us five.
A tidy pile of radicchio and clementine salad balances bitter with the sweetness of citrus juiciness, caramelised onions and Parmigiano’s umami. I could order that and the steak tartare for one, and stop, but then you would miss the “big plate of housemade French fries” (actual name).
All dishes are brought by a team so personable and brimming with joie de vivre, I might just attend their first child’s christening. Fancier digs should take note.
Radicchio and clementine salad, Middle Child.
Middle Child’s menu at lunch time.
Is it worth it?
That sour cream and onion dip is fortified with caramelised onions and boasts a verdant divot of spring onion oil, and the sidecar of Ritz crackers feels admirably judged. The steak tartare is hand-chopped, toothsome and assertively seasoned, but impractical with only three Melba-style toasts. Lyn, come on. Give us five.
A tidy pile of radicchio and clementine salad balances bitter with the sweetness of citrus juiciness, caramelised onions and Parmigiano’s umami. I could order that and the steak tartare for one, and stop, but then you would miss the “big plate of housemade French fries” (actual name).
All dishes are brought by a team so personable and brimming with joie de vivre, I might just attend their first child’s christening. Fancier digs should take note.
Radicchio and clementine salad, Middle Child.
Middle Child refuses overt performativity. The plating is simple. Garnishes have a purpose. Nothing begs to be photographed before it is eaten
Middle Child, does everything delight? Non.
Two dishes—the striploin and a soft serve—lean one-dimensional. The 200g striploin steak with jammy onions is tooth-chatteringly sweet. It’s more jam than onion or beef, and begs for a good glug of vinegar. And pepper to boot. The roasted rice soft serve with crispy puffed rice tastes like a big spoon of malty brown miso has been added, an idea more conceptually interesting than its reality. The best part of the banoffee pie was the rubble of dark chocolate on top of a slice that looks rushed and crafty rather than considered.
Still, Middle Child refuses overt performativity. The plating is simple. Garnishes have a purpose. Nothing begs to be photographed before it is eaten (although we do).
Striploin steak served medium rare with jammy onions and French fries, Middle Child.
At its best, certain dishes are among the best of their kind I have eaten in Dubai—and that is praise enough.
This brings me to the noise around it.
My frustration is not with Middle Child, but with the ear-throbbing hyperbole that gathers around it that is somewhere between wildly overstated and unhelpful. It’s unfair on Lyn, who has built something thoughtful and personal, and unfair on diners, who arrive amped for a revelation.
Banoffee Pie, Middle Child.
Middle Child is a good restaurant with flickers of being a very good one and a recognisable lineage of bistro-adjacent cooking by someone with no prior hospitality experience—and I add that last part as a compliment.
But, exalting Middle Child does it no favours, nor does it leave much room for sensible conversation, which is where restaurants like this are best understood. The fact that it’s the 2026 One to Watch reveals more about MENA 50 Best than it does about Middle Child.
Banoffee Pie, Middle Child.
Verdict: Yes, for lunch. Its menu reads a little unambitious for dinner, though reasonable people will disagree. None of this troubles me, nor should it trouble you.
In a city that constantly mistakes excess for excellence, Middle Child’s confidence lies in doing less. It understands its scale. It knows its audience. It does not shout. You eat, you browse, you leave content rather than dazzled.
Strip away the mythology and the noise, and what remains is far more interesting. A cosier Lighthouse. A restaurant that knows exactly what it is, and has the good sense not to pretend otherwise.
Roasted rice soft serve with crispy puffed rice, Middle Child.
Those who like restaurants that reward attention rather than appetite alone. Diners who enjoy thoughtful food, calm service, and rooms that do not compete for conversation. Readers. Browsers. People who value restraint over spectacle. If you are looking for drama, noise, or a sense of occasion that announces itself loudly, this is probably not the place.
Radicchio and clementine salad, Middle Child.
Number of visits: One.
Dishes ordered: Seven. Sour cream and onion dip (45 dhs); radicchio and clementine salad (59 dhs); steak tartare (92 dhs); extra toast (free); steak with jammy onions (167 dhs); French fries (39 dhs); banoffee pie (45 dhs); roasted rice soft serve with caramelised puffed rice (32 dhs).
Drinks: Hibiscus and berry iced tea (32 dhs). Middle Child is unlicensed.
Total spend (last visit): AED 543 dirhams, including taxes, ex tips.
Middle Child, Alserkal Avenue Warehouse 10, Al Quoz, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. For the latest information, check out Middle Child’s Instagram.
Liam is a restaurant critic, food and travel writer based in the Middle East. He co-authored The Rise of Indian Food: Recipes Reimagined by Trésind Studio, out 6 May from Phaidon Press. You can find Liam on Substack, Threads, Instagram, BlueSky or Facebook.
Still, Middle Child refuses overt performativity. The plating is simple. Garnishes have a purpose. Nothing begs to be photographed before it is eaten (although we do).
Striploin steak served medium rare with jammy onions and French fries, Middle Child.
At its best, certain dishes are among the best of their kind I have eaten in Dubai—and that is praise enough.
This brings me to the noise around it.
My frustration is not with Middle Child, but with the ear-throbbing hyperbole that gathers around it that is somewhere between wildly overstated and unhelpful. It’s unfair on Lyn, who has built something thoughtful and personal, and unfair on diners, who arrive amped for a revelation.
Banoffee Pie, Middle Child.
Middle Child is a good restaurant with flickers of being a very good one and a recognisable lineage of bistro-adjacent cooking by someone with no prior hospitality experience—and I add that last part as a compliment.
But, exalting Middle Child does it no favours, nor does it leave much room for sensible conversation, which is where restaurants like this are best understood. The fact that it’s the 2026 One to Watch reveals more about MENA 50 Best than it does about Middle Child.
Banoffee Pie, Middle Child.
Middle Child: Would I Return?
Verdict: Yes, for lunch. Its menu reads a little unambitious for dinner, though reasonable people will disagree. None of this troubles me, nor should it trouble you.
In a city that constantly mistakes excess for excellence, Middle Child’s confidence lies in doing less. It understands its scale. It knows its audience. It does not shout. You eat, you browse, you leave content rather than dazzled.
Strip away the mythology and the noise, and what remains is far more interesting. A cosier Lighthouse. A restaurant that knows exactly what it is, and has the good sense not to pretend otherwise.
Roasted rice soft serve with crispy puffed rice, Middle Child.
Middle Child: Who Should Go?
Those who like restaurants that reward attention rather than appetite alone. Diners who enjoy thoughtful food, calm service, and rooms that do not compete for conversation. Readers. Browsers. People who value restraint over spectacle. If you are looking for drama, noise, or a sense of occasion that announces itself loudly, this is probably not the place.
Radicchio and clementine salad, Middle Child.
Middle Child review information
Number of visits: One.
Dishes ordered: Seven. Sour cream and onion dip (45 dhs); radicchio and clementine salad (59 dhs); steak tartare (92 dhs); extra toast (free); steak with jammy onions (167 dhs); French fries (39 dhs); banoffee pie (45 dhs); roasted rice soft serve with caramelised puffed rice (32 dhs).
Drinks: Hibiscus and berry iced tea (32 dhs). Middle Child is unlicensed.
Total spend (last visit): AED 543 dirhams, including taxes, ex tips.
Middle Child, Alserkal Avenue Warehouse 10, Al Quoz, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. For the latest information, check out Middle Child’s Instagram.
Liam is a restaurant critic, food and travel writer based in the Middle East. He co-authored The Rise of Indian Food: Recipes Reimagined by Trésind Studio, out 6 May from Phaidon Press. You can find Liam on Substack, Threads, Instagram, BlueSky or Facebook.
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