By Sahil Anand, Founder and Managing Director, RARE Brasserie & Bar
There’s a moment I look forward to most nights at Rare. It usually comes late, when the energy shifts, the big tables thin out, and the sound in the room drops to something closer to conversation than celebration. Someone lingers by the piano. Sometimes they sit beside it, quietly, not playing. Just… being.
That kind of stillness is rare. And it reminds me why we built the place the way we did.
Dubai is a city that loves a good opening. A city that rewards drama, spectacle and scarcity. I’ve been around long enough to see how often “cool” gets mistaken for meaningful. A concept is launched, the guest list is curated, and the lighting is dialled to Instagram gold. The room fills fast,but often forgets to last.
I didn’t grow up in kitchens. My background was trade shows and client calls; worlds that seem far from restaurants but are built on the same foundation: attention to detail, rhythm, and people. My first real foray into hospitality was in 2018 with CMP, and now with Rare, I wanted to do something different. Not louder. Just better.
We didn’t want gimmicks. No secret doors, that are not a secret or dry ice smoke screens. Just a bar that felt like a bar, a brasserie that welcomed you no matter the occasion, and a team that could read the room better than any script ever could.
But here’s the funny thing about trying to do something different in Dubai: you can end up looking exactly like everyone else. There’s a strange pressure to innovate by imitation. It doesn’t matter if the cuisine is Greek, Japanese, or Peruvian. There will be a tuna tartare, truffle fries, sliders, a burrata, and a “signature” dish that tastes oddly familiar. I’m not knocking it. Those dishes are delicious. But let’s not pretend they’re groundbreaking.
The same goes for interiors and music. So many places are designed to feel “unique” but end up being variations of the same aesthetic: moody tones, curated playlists, and a DJ you didn’t ask for. It’s a kind of copy-paste culture, slick on the surface, forgettable beneath it.
At Rare, we wanted the opposite. Something with texture. Familiarity. A place where you can show up solo at the bar, halfway through a book or halfway through a breakup, and still feel like you belong. Where birthdays and date nights unfold next to after-work drinks and Tuesday-night regulars. No performance. Just good lighting, real service, and a soundtrack that knows when to lean in and when to step back.
I don’t mind if we’re never the “hardest table to get.” That spotlight moves fast, anyway. What I care about is whether someone walks out and says, “Let’s come back here.” That’s the long game. That’s the version of “cool” I’m chasing.
So maybe that’s our quiet rebellion. In a city obsessed with what’s next, we’re focused on what stays.
You’ll find us here, behind the bar, by the piano, pouring something honest, with a rhythm all our own.
