If you don’t cry from the onions, you’re not doing it right.
That’s what my grandmother used to say as she sliced what felt like ten pounds of onions for her legendary majboos in the heart of Abu Dhabi. Her eyes would water, sure—but she’d smile through it, hand me a wooden spoon, and say, “Smell that? That’s how you know the rice will be perfect.”
And she was always right. Every. Single. Time.
Majboos isn’t just a dish. It’s a memory—layered with cumin, cardamom, chicken, and love. A dish that could silence a room full of hungry cousins. That’s powerful stuff.
So why, oh why, is it so hard to find a proper majboos these days?
The Problem: We’re Losing the Real Recipes
Let’s be honest—we’re living in the age of shortcuts.
One-pot recipes. Ten-minute versions. Air-fried hacks. And hey, no shade—modern life is busy. I get it. But somewhere between convenience and “content,” we’ve lost the soul of dishes like majboos.
You know the ones. The recipes that don’t come from cookbooks or YouTube. The ones passed down in smudged notebooks, whispered over bubbling pots, measured in pinches, not teaspoons.
The kind you make not because it’s easy—but because it means something.
I once made majboos from a recipe I found on a food blog. The photos were pretty. But the taste? Meh. No heart. No depth. No teta.
Agitation: What We Lose When We “Modernize” Everything
The real issue? When you strip these dishes down to their quick-and-easy versions, you lose their stories.
And majboos, especially the Emirati kind from Abu Dhabi, is full of stories.
It’s the dish that marks family reunions, Friday lunches, baby announcements—even funerals. It’s warm. Hearty. Spiced, but not spicy. Always with basmati rice. Always with a protein—chicken, lamb, sometimes fish.
And always, always cooked with intent.
It’s not “just rice.” It’s not biryani. It’s not pilaf. It’s majboos—layered, slow, smoky, aromatic—and deeply woven into Emirati culture.
Solution: Bring Back the Rituals. One Pot at a Time.
So how do we save it? By making it. Sharing it. Talking about it. Even failing at it once or twice until we get it right.
I’ll share my grandma’s version. It’s not fancy. But it’s real. Straight from Abu Dhabi, with notes she passed to me in a crumpled envelope one Eid. And yes, I tweaked it slightly because I don’t have her patience—but the soul? Still there.
Also, if you want to experience majboos made right (but you’re not exactly ready to chop onions for an hour), head over to https://kosharyzizo.com. Their take on Middle Eastern comfort food is legit, and they know how to keep the heart in every bite.
Subheading: Grandma’s Abu Dhabi-Style Majboos (Real Deal Only)
Let’s get into it.
What You’ll Need:
- 1 whole chicken (or 1 kg chicken pieces, bone-in is better)
- 2 cups long-grain basmati rice
- 2 medium onions, thinly sliced
- 5 cloves garlic, smashed
- 1 large tomato, chopped
- 1 tbsp tomato paste
- 1 dried lime (loomi, pierced with a knife)
- 1 cinnamon stick
- 4 cardamom pods
- 5 whole cloves
- 1 tsp ground turmeric
- 1 tsp ground cumin
- 1 tsp ground coriander
- ½ tsp black pepper
- 1 tsp salt (more to taste)
- 4 cups water or chicken stock
- 2 tbsp oil or ghee
- Fresh coriander or toasted nuts (optional garnish)
How to Cook It:
Begin by searing the chicken in a large pot using oil or ghee; enough to seal in the flavour but not enough to cook the chicken all the way through. Once the chicken pieces are golden on the outside, remove them, keep them aside. In the same pot add a little more oil (if necessary), and add the sliced onions, and sauté for a few minutes, until they are golden brown, and the smell saturated your kitchen like it was Friday lunch at grandma’s house. Now begins the spice show! Add the garlic, all the ground spices, cinnamon stick, cardamom pods, cloves, and dried lime (if using) together and mix into paste; all while keeping on medium to low heat until it becomes a golden coloured, aromatic paste. Now, pour in the chopped tomatoes and a large spoon of tomato paste, simmering down until thick. Add the chicken back into the spicy mix, and cover it well. Pour in your water or broth, and let it all simmer for 30 to 40 minutes until the chicken is cooked through. Remove the chicken, and rest it to keep warm. If you’re after textures that are a little cleaner, then you can strain the broth—if not, go for rustic. You should have about 3.5 to 4 cups of liquid; bring it to the boil, then add in your rinsed basmati rice. Take the heat down, cover it, and let it steam for 15 to 20 minutes or so until the rice is fluffy and filled with flavour. When you are done, fluff up the rice, layer the chicken on top, cover it again and let it rest (the resting here really helps the flavours intermingle).Serve with heart and if you’re up for impressing, sprinkle with some toasted almonds or fresh coriander.
Little Tricks Grandma Never Wrote Down
Here are some things you won’t see in most recipes but will definitely make a difference. If you want to kick the dish up a notch, flatten the dried lime (loomi) a bit more to ramp up the acid—trust me, it livens up the dish. Soak your rice for 20 minutes prior if you’re looking for that fluffy impression everyone talks about. Always, always, always choose bone-in meat—this will significantly react with flavor. If your tomato paste has too much bite, you can always soften it with a touch of sugar. Oh—and take your time on the onions. If they’re not golden enough, keep cooking. It really does matter more than you think. Extra tip? Make it a rainy day! Don’t know why, but it turns out better on those days.
Real-Life Moments Around Majboos
I’ll never forget the time I tried making this on my own in university. I was homesick, broke, and stubbornly craving home food. Burned the onions. Forgot the loomi. Used regular rice. It was… okay.
But I remember standing by the stove, barefoot in my tiny dorm kitchen, tearing up—half from the onions, half from missing home.
And then, months later, I nailed it. Used her exact ratios. The smell hit me like a memory. I called my mom crying. That’s what this dish does.
Subheading: For Canadians Curious About Majboos
If you’re reading this from Canada (hey Toronto, hey Halifax), don’t stress if you’ve never tried majboos.
Think of it like the Emirati cousin of paella or pilaf—but gentler, more fragrant. It’s perfect for chilly evenings, weekend gatherings, or when you just need a bowl of something warm and grounding.
You can find loomi and Arabic spices at Middle Eastern or South Asian grocery stores—Toronto and Montreal have tons. If you’re short on time (or just hungry now), head to https://kosharyzizo.com. Their team knows how to honor traditional recipes without losing the soul. And that’s rare.
Clean, Sharp Conclusion
Majboos is more than food. It’s culture. History. Identity. It’s a steaming plate of stories told through cinnamon and cumin.
So yeah, maybe it takes more than one pot. Maybe it makes a mess. But it’s the kind of mess you’ll remember. The kind you’ll pass on.
Try the recipe. Share it. Or just order it from someone who gets it.
Either way, don’t let it become another lost art.
