A study of Muslim women in Dubai shows how looser rules on alcohol and public eating during Ramadan changed their plates, their glasses and, for some, their faith.
A Question Over Dinner
DUBAI. A researcher arrives at a friend’s apartment. The smell of roast chicken with sumac and pine nuts fills the hallway. Then the host asks a surprising question: “Wine or Zam Zam?”
Joud Alkorani, an anthropologist at Radboud University in the Netherlands, opens her 2026 study with that scene. It appeared in the journal Food, Culture & Society. The host, whom she calls Lama, grew up in a devout family and had never touched alcohol. Yet she had recently returned from Saudi Arabia with a large bottle of holy Zam Zam water from Mecca. Her fridge now held both.
Alkorani argues that this is no accident. In her view, shifts like Lama’s reflect how the United Arab Emirates governs religion through food and drink. This article explains her findings, the numbers behind the law changes and the limits of the research.
From Prison Threat to Open Dining
Alkorani first lived in the UAE in the early 2000s. Back then, eating or drinking in public during Ramadan was illegal. Offenders faced up to one month in prison or a fine of 1,000 dirhams. Restaurants opened only at sunset, and alcohol was banned during the holy month.
Change came slowly. At some point, restaurants could offer delivery and takeaway during fasting hours. Later, they could serve food inside, although food displays had to be hidden and diners kept out of view. In 2016, rules changed again to allow alcohol sales at all hours.
Then came the big steps. In November 2020, the government announced legal amendments, including the decriminalisation of alcohol consumption. In 2021, restaurants no longer had to hide food or diners during Ramadan.
The author felt the result in April 2021. At a Thai restaurant, nobody had noticed the sunset prayer call, and the server had forgotten it was Ramadan.
How the Law on Alcohol Changed
The legal history is more detailed than a single announcement. Until 1987, each emirate set its own criminal rules on alcohol. A federal criminal code then set a national standard. In 2006, a declaration said the traditional Islamic penalty for drinking would not apply to non-Muslims.
The 2020 reform went further. According to the study, the current law says no penalty applies to drinking, possessing or trading alcohol in authorised cases and places. This holds regardless of the consumer’s religion. For Muslims, drinking moved from a punishable offence to a permitted act, as long as it happens in the right places.
Rules still differ by emirate. Sharjah remains the only “dry” emirate, where alcohol sale, possession or consumption is illegal. Meanwhile, Dubai has expanded licences far beyond hotels.
Key Turning Points in Dubai’s Rules
| Period | Public eating in Ramadan | Alcohol |
|---|---|---|
| Early 2000s | Illegal; up to one month in prison or a 1,000-dirham fine | Only in licensed shops (non-Muslims) and hotels |
| 2006 | No change reported | Hadd punishment no longer applied to non-Muslims |
| 2016 | Restricted dining with barriers and covered displays | Sales and service allowed at all times of day |
| 2020 | No change reported | Consumption decriminalised for all adults |
| 2021 | Restrictions on hiding food and diners ended | Widely available |
| 2023 | Not applicable | Alcohol tax scrapped |
Why the State Cares
Alkorani argues that these changes serve political and economic goals. About ninety percent of the UAE’s population are migrant workers and their families, and most of them are Muslim. Many come from countries that saw protests in 2010 and 2011. Therefore, the state promotes a “moderate,” private and apolitical Islam.
The author also points to the money. Alcohol used to carry a 30% tax, which brought in significant revenue for tourism-reliant Dubai. Dubai scrapped that tax in January 2023, betting that easier access would draw more visitors. Relaxing Ramadan rules helps for the same reason, because tourists can eat freely.
Importantly, she adds that this form of governing has a religious effect. A “proper” Muslim, in this model, treats religion as a personal choice and does not criticise others. By contrast, those who push for a public role for Islamic rules count as “improper.”
The Office Pressure
The study draws on fieldwork and life-story interviews between 2016 and 2021. Alkorani spoke with educated, middle-class Muslim women in their twenties, thirties and forties. All were foreign residents from Europe, the Middle East, North Africa and South Asia.
Their jobs mattered a great deal. Because their residence visas depend on their employers, keeping a job came first. Alcohol was especially common in fashion, marketing, PR and consulting. Freezones, which are privately run commercial districts, often host licensed restaurants.
Asma, a Bangladeshi woman in her twenties, shows the pattern. She started work in the Dubai Design District in 2017. That year, only one restaurant there held an alcohol licence. By 2018, there were four, and a licensed club later opened. At first she had never tried alcohol. Soon she joined colleagues after work. She even calculated that a drink during happy hour cost less than a full meal. Her theology shifted too. She called drinking “not that big of a deal” and saw it as a lifestyle choice, not a break with her faith.
Ramadan at Work
The law also changed fasting. Federal rules give all workers a two-hour reduction in the working day during Ramadan. Yet private firms may arrange it as they see fit. Several women said that many multinationals offered a trade. Employees could work normal hours during Ramadan and receive extra leave around Christmas.
For fasting women in junior jobs, that trade felt like pressure. Asma’s employer offered five extra days off between Christmas and New Year. She took the shorter hours but felt her managers treated them as a favour. She said she would “rather live in the West and fast and do normal time.”
Lama accepted the trade to visit her family in Saudi Arabia. Over time, long workdays changed how she fasted. In 2020, she began what she called her “own version of fasting,” with water allowed during the day.
Blurry Spaces
Leisure played a role too. Lama said that alcohol used to be something people had to seek out in hotels. Today, it appears in restaurants, karaoke bars and lounges. She called these “blurry” or “in-between” spaces.
Her own path shows how it works. She first tried a sip of rosé at a Dubai Marina restaurant while still wearing her hijab. Later she tasted sake at a karaoke bar. Eventually she drank at home. Meanwhile, she came to see God as too lofty to care about whether she drinks. She stopped veiling, although she did not describe herself as less religious.
Not everyone followed that path. Chaima, a Moroccan woman, felt uneasy as the only veiled person at a house party. She decided that veiling and drinking could not go together, so she stayed sober and avoided such events. Hanna, a British-Pakistani teacher, found that saying “I am Muslim” no longer ended the conversation. Colleagues replied, “yeah, so am I.” She began saying “I choose not to drink,” then later returned to citing her faith.
Four Women, Four Responses
| Name (changed) | Background | Response to drinking culture |
|---|---|---|
| Lama | Raised devout; works in consulting | Began drinking, unveiled, redefined her fasting |
| Asma | Bangladeshi, fashion industry | Began social drinking; saw it as a lifestyle choice |
| Chaima | Moroccan, wears hijab | Stayed sober; avoided alcohol-heavy events |
| Hanna | British-Pakistani teacher | Kept abstaining; found “I am Muslim” no longer enough |
Different Choices, Same Framework
The author stresses that the law did not push everyone the same way. Some women reconsidered their practice. Others held to their principles privately. Two women, one in marketing and one a flight attendant, resigned from jobs over alcohol, an act the author links to trust in God.
Yet she argues that all of them stayed within the same frame. Religion became a private matter of personal choice. A popular local saying captures the mood: “Dubai has mosques and nightclubs, and you are free to go to whichever you choose.”
Alkorani adds a wider note. A Heineken plan for a large brewery in Dubai, with production starting in 2027, shows the direction. Even Saudi Arabia announced a first alcohol shop in more than 70 years, limited to non-Muslim diplomats.
Limits of the Study
Several limits apply. The interviews cover educated, middle-class foreign women, so they do not represent all Muslims in Dubai. The author notes that a study of working-class Muslim drinkers would likely reveal different insights. Alkorani also says she does not judge what counts as correct Islamic practice. She uses the accounts to show how people understand Islam and God.
In addition, all names were changed to protect privacy. The study explains how laws shape choices, but it does not prove that laws alone caused any single person’s change.
Why It Matters
The core message is simple. When a state changes rules about food and drink, it changes more than menus. It alters the places people meet, the pressures they feel and the stories they tell about faith. For some women in Dubai, that meant wine and Zam Zam in the same fridge. For others, it meant a deliberate step away from the party.
Summary
A new study asks how Dubai’s changing laws on food and drink affect the way Muslim women live their faith. Joud Alkorani of Radboud University published it in 2026 in Food, Culture & Society. It draws on fieldwork and life-story interviews carried out between 2016 and 2021 with educated, middle-class Muslim women who live in Dubai as foreign residents.
The story begins with a woman called Lama, who offers the author a choice of “wine or Zam Zam.” Both sat in her fridge. Lama grew up devout and abstained from alcohol. Over the years, her views shifted.
The author links such shifts to state policy. In the early 2000s, public eating in Ramadan carried penalties of up to one month in prison or a 1,000-dirham fine. Later, restaurants gained permission to offer takeaway and then limited dine-in service. In 2016, alcohol sales were allowed at all hours. In 2020, the UAE decriminalised alcohol consumption for all adults. In 2021, rules requiring restaurants to hide food and diners ended. Dubai also scrapped its alcohol tax in 2023.
Alkorani argues that these steps serve political and economic goals. Around ninety percent of residents are migrants, and the state promotes a moderate, private and apolitical Islam. Tourism revenue also plays a role.
The study shows how this played out for women. Work pushed many toward drinking, because alcohol is common in fields such as fashion, marketing and consulting, and visas depend on jobs. Asma began drinking socially and saw it as a lifestyle choice. Ramadan also grew harder. Employers often let staff work normal hours in exchange for extra Christmas leave, which pressured fasting women. Lama later adopted her own version of fasting that allowed water.
Leisure spaces added to the effect. Alcohol appeared in restaurants, karaoke bars and lounges that once had none. Lama tried rosé, then sake, and eventually unveiled. By contrast, Chaima felt uneasy as the only veiled woman at a party and chose to stay sober. Hanna kept abstaining but found that saying “I am Muslim” no longer closed the topic.
The author concludes that the state shapes what a “proper” Muslim looks like. Religion becomes a private choice, and critics of the rules count as improper. The study has limits, because it covers only a small group of middle-class foreign women. The author says a study of working-class Muslim drinkers would likely give different insights.
