Ok, here we go.
Five stars. Because sometimes you find food…read morefit for royalty in a greasy spoon while Hollywood Boulevard completely loses its fucking mind.
My wife and I have been hunting for shawarma that could hold a candle to what we know from the Midwest. We've kissed a lot of shawarma frogs along the way.
My wife is the real authority here. She's got the palate for Lebanese food, and when it comes to authentic flavors, she's not easily impressed. So imagine our surprise when wandering down Hollywood Boulevard late one evening, we caught a smell so intoxicating we just followed it through the front door. And sweet baby Jesus, did our noses know what the fuck they were doing.
Welcome to Dubai Sauce. Now, let's establish something immediately. This isn't some fancy restaurant with white tablecloths, mood lighting, and a waiter explaining the emotional journey of your lamb. It's a little glass-fronted establishment on Hollywood Boulevard. And apparently, somebody back there knows exactly what the hell they're doing.
My wife ordered the chicken shawarma, with that glorious garlic sauce known as toum, and that was it. The flavors, the bread, the sauce, everything she'd been searching for. She took a bite and essentially declared, "This is it."
I believe I ordered something with lamb, because if there's lamb on a menu, there's a good chance I'm ordering it. And honey, that lamb was good. The bread? Wonderful. The meat? Delicious. The entire meal? Absolutely fucking glorious. We ate damn near every last bite.
But here's where this particular dining experience becomes something truly special. Some restaurants offer dinner and a show. Dubai Sauce offers dinner fit for a king while Hollywood Boulevard provides the kind of live entertainment nobody in their right mind would pay admission to see. I'm talking people getting arrested, pedestrians conducting their most private biological business in full public view, and the general magnificent dysfunction that apparently comes complimentary with dinner on Hollywood Boulevard. There we sat, enjoying what felt like a king-level feast, while the world outside descended into chaos. And somehow, it was perfect.
But something happened inside the restaurant that I remember just as clearly as the food. A woman came in carrying a suitcase containing what appeared to be her worldly possessions. She sat down around the same time we did, just as the restaurant was preparing to close. One of the gentlemen working there approached her and politely explained they were closing. She wasn't particularly interested in leaving. And rather than escalate the situation, he did something genuinely touching. He gathered up some food, offered it to her, and asked whether she could please enjoy it outside so they could finish closing. And she did. No grand performance, no self-congratulation, just a man trying to close his restaurant while still finding a way to show another human being some kindness. That, my friends, is character.
Now was the atmosphere refined? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Was the neighborhood providing a level of entertainment that might make a first-time visitor question their life choices? Without question. But was the food worth every second of it? You bet your ass it was.
My wife, who knows her Lebanese food, declared it one of the best meals she'd had in a very long time, and I wholeheartedly agree. Dubai Sauce gave us exactly what we'd been looking for: wonderful shawarma, fantastic lamb, delicious bread, and garlic sauce that finally scratched that Midwest-sized itch. And somewhere between the incredible food, the madness outside, and the small act of kindness we witnessed inside, this little restaurant earned a permanent place in our culinary memories.
Five stars. For the shawarma, for the lamb, for the toum. For the hardworking Aunties behind the counter, and for reminding us that some of the best meals you'll ever eat come from places that aren't trying to impress anybody, they're just busy making really fucking good food.
Dubai Sauce, you've got the meat, you've got the garlic, and you've got the patience of fucking saints.
Hollywood Boulevard can keep its stars on the sidewalk. We found five of them inside.