Stepping through the heavy wooden door into a dining room softly illuminated by ornate brass lamps, I’m enveloped by a sweet muskiness. The air is redolent with the mystical fragrance that has been wafting around me ever since I landed at Muscat International Airport, where scent diffusers work round the clock to welcome visitors with the aroma of frankincense. The resin is burned in little clay braziers throughout the Omani capital, perfuming its houses and souks and restaurants. The one I just entered is no different — after all, it’s called Bait Al Luban, or “House of Frankincense.”
I’m greeted with a welcome drink of frankincense-infused water. It’s what I imagine holy water should taste like, with an earthy undertone and sacral finish. I can see how it may be an acquired taste — the waiter looks surprised when I ask for seconds — but I enjoy it so much that straight after lunch I stock up on nuggets of culinary-grade frankincense at the nearby Muttrah Souk. The milky-white resin is harvested from the gum of the trees that grow wild in southern Oman’s Dhofar governorate, a region famed for its 6,000-year-old frankincense
