Yacht Club Dubai: the Sea, Bvlgari and Romito

Romito Without Manifesto

May in Dubai is a dare. The city slows down before the blazing summer feels like an act of defiance against the heat. It was precisely in that context – four adults and a child seeking refuge and good food – that we headed to the Yacht Club at the Bvlgari Resort Dubai. We were not seeking gastronomic fireworks or lessons in technique and origins.

We simply wanted this: a family lunch where the sea, the produce, and simplicity were the protagonists.

And Niko Romito, always him, knew exactly what to do.

From Reale to the Sea

I have followed Romito’s work for years. First, from a distance, like someone trying to decipher a secret code, then at Reale, where every dish is a thesis on the essence of ingredients. Projects followed, such as those within the Bvlgari constellation, where the chef’s philosophy is democratized without dilution.

I know what to expect: surgical minimalism, obsessive verticality, technique in the service of purity.

But the Yacht Club is different. Here, in a man-made marina where million-dollar yachts anchor under the Dubai sun, Romito doesn’t want to deconstruct. He simply wishes to celebrate the sea. Not the sea as a tourist backdrop, but the sea as raw material, as tradition, as memory of bare-foot trattorias and endless horizon view.

It is a homage to Italian roots, yes, but also an exercise in restraint: if at Reale technique deconstructs and rebuilds, at the Yacht Club it serves to elevate the simple without transforming it.

Teak, Leather, and Comfort

The space makes no attempt to hide what it is: a sophisticated yacht club inside a sumptuous five-star hotel. Teak woods, cream leather seats evoking Riva yachts, chrome handrails echoing a ship’s structure. Everything alludes to the maritime universe, but with the contained elegance characteristic of the duo Antonio Citterio and Patricia Viel, the architects behind all the Bvlgari venues.

We sat in a glass-walled room with a direct view of the marina. Outside, the berths display yachts worth fortunes; inside, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. It is not the type of restaurant where one feels obliged to whisper, but happily also not one where you must stand up and twirl your napkin while champagne rockets explode around the table.

It is, in truth, precisely the opposite: a place where one can eat well, converse, unwind, let the child explore (and yes, they offered her a Bvlgari snake teddy), and enjoy without ceremony.

We were in the hands of Chef Andrea Gurzi, responsible for the Yacht Club kitchen and a constant presence throughout the meal. He presented the dishes, explained the choices, adjusted portions, always with that rare balance between professionalism and genuine hospitality. It is not easy to manage a setting like this: demanding clientele, noble produce, the pressure of serving a menu signed by one of the most defining chefs of world cuisine.

Mediterranean Credentials

The meal began as any celebration of the sea should: Champagne (in this case, Ruinart Blanc de Blancs) and a selection of antipasti to share. Oysters, scallops, langoustines, tiger prawns, lily, and the famed gambero rosso of Mazara del Vallo arrived at the table as if presenting credentials. Almost nothing was cooked. Just the best the Mediterranean has to offer, laid out with practically surgical elegance.

Here, there are no tricks. No emulsions, foams, or gels to disguise imperfections. The product is king, and if the product is not immaculate, no technique will save it. Every element comes with subtle touches, like the cocktail sauce on the gambero rosso, the lily with its own mayonnaise, the langoustine with chilli and a light salsa, and the courgette flowers fried and stuffed with ricotta and anchovy mayonnaise.

Stand-out for two items: the courgette-flower & gamba bruschetta – crunchy yet succulent, vegetal yet maritime. I could have eaten a dozen. And the langoustine crudo, translucent, cold, with that sweetness characteristic of it.

This is how it should always be in a fish-and-seafood restaurant that prides itself: product, homage, and simplicity exalted by execution.

Soup, or a Declaration of Principles

In Dubai, under full heat, ordering a soup may seem mad. But I am Portuguese. And a Portuguese never says no to a soup, especially when it brings notes of comfort and home.

 

The asparagus, spinach, grilled leek, and lemon soup was precisely that: a liquid embrace, with the citrus freshness offsetting any sense of heaviness. The grilled asparagus floated in the clear broth, still with that smoky hint at the tips. The soup tasted of Spring, with the lemon working as a bridge between the earthiness of the vegetables and the lightness you sought for a hot day.

And yes, there was bread. Lots of bread. Crisp focaccia and addictive grissini that disappeared from the table almost by osmosis. Romito takes bread seriously – just look at his artisanal bakery projects – and it shows in every bite.

Ravioli, Paccheri, Memory

The pastas arrived like someone returning home after a long journey.

First, turbot ravioli with lemon, capers, and sea urchin. Delicate execution, butter sauce that coated the ravioli like yellow silk. Inside: the turbot; on top: iodized notes of sea-urchin, that sea-burst on the palate, making the eyes shine.

Not revolutionary, but deeply satisfying. Sometimes, haute cuisine forgets that comfort is also a form of sophistication.

Then came the paccheri from Gragnano with lobster sauce. The pasta arrived like I make it at home on good evenings: sauce thick enough to cling to the paccheri tubes, but not so much as to drown the sea flavour and sweetness of the lobster.

It is in these dishes – the most traditional, the most “obvious” – that you understand whether a kitchen has soul or is merely following a recipe.

This one had “hand”; it had soul.

Ocean, Bread and Scarpetta

There was a moment between the pasta and the stew when I asked myself whether we had made the right choice. Twenty minutes of waiting, the heat outside rising, the child beginning to lose interest in crayons and drawings. Dubai has dozens of faster, more relaxed, more obvious options for a family lunch. But when the stew arrived, that generous cauldron of fish and shellfish, I understood. Some things cannot be rushed. Nor should they.

A moment that deserves to be highlighted in bold: the fish & shellfish stew. They call it “soup”, but make no mistake: this is a full-on stew, generous, where octopus, mussels, clams, langoustines, red prawn, red mullet, monkfish, capers, and olives join in a luscious broth that demands, no, thats commands bread! And I’m a devoted practitioner of the noble art of scarpetta

All the produce was spot on, the sauce had depth without being heavy, and the composition balanced fish and shellfish, respecting individual ingredients rather than turning them into a bland mush. For a lunch that aimed to be light before an afternoon by the pool and fun, it may not have been the most sensible choice. But it was, without question, the most memorable.

Citrus Lightness

After so much seafood, so much sauce, so much concentrated flavour, the dessert acted as a gastronomic act of compassion for those of us who still had a long afternoon of pool and sun-lounger ahead.

The lemon – lemon gel, lemon mousse, lemon powder – was fresh, light, and without excess, precisely as it was needed. A citrus cleanse to close the circle without weighing on conscience or stomach.

Simple? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely.

The Sommelier and the Less Obvious

The sommelier did not go the obvious route. No Vermentinos of tourism flavour or young, easy Pinot Grigios.

We began with Aperol Spritz and Ruinart Blanc de Blancs Champagne, the classic Italian aperitif filtered through French luxury. Then, with the antipasti, a Filodivino 2018 Castelli di Jesi Verdicchio Classico – a wine that knows the sea well and can pair with it like few others, thanks to its acidity, breadth of mouth, and minerality.

For the pastas, the sommelier suggested a Ca’ del Bosco Selva della Tesa 2019 – a Chardonnay with pedigree, from a singular vineyard, distinct and with enough body to support the richness of the lobster pasta.

When I saw the next bottle, I feared! A Pala Siyr 2019, with fish and shellfish? The choice seemed risky, almost arrogant. But at first taste, I understood: served at just the right temperature, the dark fruit of the wine did not compete with the sea, it conversed with the olives, the capers, the wilder side of the sauce. It was a calculated risk. That worked.

A Final Note

When you dine at Reale, you expect a lesson. A deconstruction of gastronomy, a minimalist manifesto, an experience that challenges and provokes. It is there that Niko Romito shows all his technical and philosophical genius, where every dish is a thesis on the essence of ingredients.

But at the Yacht Club, he does not seek to revolutionize gastronomy nor deconstruct traditions.

Here, Romito proves that it is possible to maintain technical integrity, respect for the product, and a refined signature without turning everything into an intellectual performance.

Romito in nonna-mode. Chef’s technique, grandmother’s soul.

Although here and there the Romito DNA is more evident (in the pasta cooked slightly beyond al dente to avoid a mealy flavor, for example), the overall experience is one of comfort and hospitality.

The service was extremely kind and professional. We stayed at the table for almost three hours. The child explored, we conversed, laughed, and ate slowly. The kind of lunch that seldom happens anymore, the one where time slows down and the food fulfils its noblest role: bringing people together, creating memories, feeding more than the body. And yes, the four-year-old at the table was treated with the respect and attention you don’t always find in luxury restaurants.

For drama, deconstruction, and encounters that shake the foundations of our culinary vision, the right destination is Castel di Sangro, or even the Il Ristorante at the Bvlgari Hotel Dubai. But to relax, enjoy, and let the food do what good food should always do – feed the body and warm the soul without demanding anything in return – the Yacht Club performs to perfection.

And in the end, as we walked back into the blazing Dubai sun, the comforting feeling remained that Niko Romito is one of the few chefs who knows how to adapt his voice without losing it. Who understands that there are moments to challenge and moments to embrace.

Fresh fish. Respectful technique. Time at the table with no rush.

It is not revolutionary. It is simply rare.

And when you have a four-year-old who has just passed three hours at the table without tantrums – because the food was good, the service attentive, and no one made her feel that she was intruding – rare is exactly what you need.