I am standing impatiently outside the Quraishi Bakery, in Al Manara, Dubai. The doughy smell of bread, just pulled from a furnace-like tandoor is being ejected from an extractor overhead, and my juices are flowing. It is one of hundreds of such bakeries throughout the city. They supply individuals like me, to delivery boys on mopeds, taking large orders to nearby restaurants. 

Inside there are just two small rooms; in the back someone, almost unseen, is cutting and shaping the proven dough and passing it through a hatch to his colleague in front. Before him is a large convex pad, or bumper, covered in a tough linen or cotton cloth. He takes two pieces of dough in turn and places them on the pad, stretching them carefully, just enough to avoid tearing.

Now he lifts the pad and reaching down into the oven, quickly bangs the pad with a satisfying thud against its side, and brings it out, empty, to repeat the process. In the time it takes him to load the next pieces, the first are ready, and using two long tools, one with a hook,  the other with a small spade, which clink together pleasingly, he lifts them out of the oven, roughly tossing them to one side where his companion bags them up, hands them to the waiting customer and takes the payment. Finally, my order is ready. I can hardly wait!