London: Every family has its secret script, inked in the slow-cooked stock of habit. Some are baptised into religion. Some are steeped in scholarship. A rare few pirouette through life in tutus or music practice rooms. Our family had a sporting destiny. But I elbowed the narrative firmly kitchen-wards... to a family that is unable to handle the tragedy of a bad meal.

And so, my journey in Dubai began, not in pursuit of gold dust swirling through my coffee at the Jumeirah Burj Al Arab, not in the audacious flare of a salt-flecked steak at Salt Bae, not even the pistachio and kunafa confections winking from glass domes in the city's most extravagant chocolate shops, christened 'Dubai chocolate'. No, my heart found wonder elsewhere: in the briny, bustling arms of the city's seafood markets. The Bengali soul has the strangest ways of finding comfort.

You can keep your dazzling aerial views and velvet-roped restaurants. I let the city's orientation shift in me from Tintin in Land of Black Gold to a land truly paved with golden sand. For if Dubai has a secret, it's that the sun-warmed beaches spreading endlessly at its edge are more generous than any penthouse perch.

A short ramble from Kite Beach in Jumeirah, Souk Al Bahar appears, a veritable temple of blue tiles and air-conditioned air, where the world's oceans seem to have sent emissaries: lobster brushing against octopus, oysters nestled beside Arabian sea bass, and hamour with scales that shimmer like treasure.

For a slender 10 dirham, an oyster is presented on the spot, opened with a practised flick, splashed with lemon. You tip it in, all at once, a surge of sea water, a jellied tremble, the taste of ocean slipping down your throat with a wink.

Wander along, caught between indecision and delight, until you find your lobster, or perhaps a glistening squid. Haggling is not only permitted, but it's actually encouraged. For how else do you build your relationship with the fishmonger who will then go on to tell you more about the catch of the day?

Then comes the ritual: a handover to the cleaning counter, and finally, surrender to the grill. In the open air, as the orange ball of a sun slips into the ocean and evening slides in, you break warm pita, dunking into creamy hummus, and scoop fattoush, a tumble of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, all glistening with pomegranate molasses and olive oil, topped with crisp pita bits. I stare at the plate and wonder if the grilled octopus, so artfully curled, was ever called Oliver - Jamie or otherwise - in some saltier life.

For grander appetites and moods, there's always Deira Waterfront Market. Here, the proud displays of king prawn, lobster, and red snapper are as geometric as a Kandinsky, each fish shining with promise. Next door is a fruit and vegetable market, then a souk of spices and nuts, all humming under sinuous ceiling lights. I linger among jars of honey and mountains of dates, astonished by the honey's many shades, stories, scents, all conjured from pollinated meadows and impossible heights.

And if Indian sea food bites are more your thing, head to the Calicut Paragon at Al Karama for a Kerela-style meal with porotta and appam, and chat with waiters all called Biju.

Dubai has a taste. It tastes dazzlingly fresh, no matter where you eat. The city's palate is honest. Pureness sings in every dish, a reflection of the global bounty funnelling into its markets--vegetables from Australia's Levantine Hill and the emirate of Ras Al Khaimah, meats trekking from India, Pakistan, Kenya, and Australia. And fruits from Israel and Palestine.

Is it any wonder that chefs the world over flock to this improbable city of sand, striving to interpret, express and astonish? Because, truly, where better to marry flame and imagination than in a place that offers the world's produce, fresh from the sea and kissed by the sun, every single day.

So, when you next think Dubai, think more sea and beach, less mall, for an adventure full of wanderlust.