Sirine Boudjadi heads to Ruby Wu’s at Radisson Blu Hotel Doha, where she discovers flavours from across China done with precision and warmth. 

It’s my second time at Radisson Blu Doha, and even on my first visit I remember being curious about all the restaurants tucked inside, 14 in total, each with its own little world. I left knowing I’d have to come back to explore more. Tonight, it’s Ruby Wu’s turn, and I get why people talk about it. Long before the food arrives, it’s the room itself that wins me over. Because I don’t often walk into a hotel restaurant and feel like I’ve stepped onto a film set.

Inside Ruby Wu’s

Halfway up the staircase, a red sign and a carved stone horse mark the entrance. Inside, the room opens wide and warm. Red lanterns hang low from the ceiling, glowing softly against cream walls. Everywhere I look, there’s something to take in: a stream running through the space, crossed by wooden bridges; slate floors cool underfoot; the gleam of dark wood and lacquer catching the light. I move slowly, drawn by the stillness and colour. Each table looks ready for a scene: white plates, burgundy napkins, porcelain spoons… The palette holds steady: red, black, gold. Along the walls, silk scrolls bloom with peonies and bamboo, blue-and-white vases stand in the corners and bronze statues guard the stair railing.

Heat, Spice, and Steam

Once seated, the atmosphere takes over: low light, a bit of chatter, servers gliding between tables. We start with a few appetisers and they set the tone right away. The Prawn Mayonnaise lands first: deep-fried, lacquered in pale-green wasabi mayo, each topped with a bright cluster of orange tobiko. The batter is whisper-thin, crisp enough to crack between our teeth before melting into the creamy heat of the sauce. The wasabi’s bite doesn’t shout: it hums, fades, leaves a trace of sweetness. The Wonton Soup follows, clear and fragrant, with delicate dumplings bobbing in the broth. Each one hides a filling of shrimp and chicken, its flavour slowly seeping out with every stir. The surface shimmers with a trace of sesame oil; below, slices of shiitake and black fungus drift like slow-moving ribbons, adding a soft, earthy depth. 

Steam curls up as the Chicken Dumplings are served in their bamboo basket. We can tell they’re handmade: the folds neat, the dough thin, almost translucent. Inside, minced chicken thigh mixed with cabbage and carrot comes together into a juicy, comforting mouthful. There’s a rhythm to it: lift, dip, bite, repeat. Simple, steady, satisfying.

By now, the table’s already a small mosaic of dishes, when the Tiger Prawns in Garlic Sauce show up to claim their place. They’re arranged over glass noodles that glisten in garlic sauce, the scent alone enough to pull us forward. The prawns are split open and the meat firm yet tender. It’s a classic southern Chinese combination: soy, garlic, and oil. Effortless in theory, impossible to get bored of. 

The real scene-stealer of the night? The Crispy Duck. Everyone instinctively leans toward it and we get why. The skin is perfectly rendered, bronze and shining, the meat still juicy underneath. It comes with thin pancakes, fresh cucumber and leeks, and a glossy plum sauce that smells faintly of citrus and spice. There’s something communal and tactile about it. The concept is playful: you build your own bite. A bit of duck, a smear of sauce, some crunch of vegetables, all wrapped in the warm pancake and eaten by hand. 

To tie everything together, we try the Yang Zhou Fried Rice, the quintessential Chinese comfort dish. It’s golden and fragrant, the grains perfectly separate, dotted with shrimp, bits of chicken, egg and scallions. There’s a faint smokiness from the wok, that ‘wok hei’ aroma we only get from real heat and quick hands. It definitely could stand on its own but here it works like the anchor of the table: familiar, balanced, exactly what we want beside the stronger flavours.

Desserts Worth the Wait

Just when we think we can’t eat another bite, dessert proves us wrong. The Mango Pomelo Sago is the first to appear, bright as a sunrise. It’s a Cantonese classic, one of those chilled desserts we find in Hong Kong cafés, meant to end a meal on something light and fresh. The glass glows golden with a mix of mango purée and coconut milk, thick with tiny tapioca pearls that give it a gentle chew. Segments of pomelo sit on top, adding a pop of citrus that cuts through the sweetness, and a sprig of mint keeps it clean.

To finish, we’re also lucky enough to try a new dessert, not yet on the menu at the time of our visit: the Banana Fritters. A small tower of crisp spring rolls stuffed with warm banana and Nutella sits at the centre of a black plate. Beside it, a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a little bowl of coconut sauce. The contrast does all the work: hot against cold, crunch against cream, chocolate meeting fruit. Indulgent, and exactly what you want with the last sip of tea. D

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