Right from the old school of fine-dining establishments in Middle Eastern hotels, Maxim seems to revel in its essential wrongness. The waiting staff look stiff and starchy in their formal uniforms, red velvet is prevalent throughout the overly dark room and there’s a pianist tinkling out prissy , incongruous hits. But the food is generally excellent. French cuisine is the order of the day here with live flambéing and an abundance of bisques and paves. It’s so good in fact, that even the barmy atmosphere begins to grow on you after a while.