The great fun about teppanyaki, apart from the chef's live performance, is that you never know whom you will be sitting next to. The other thing is that you should never make assumptions about your fellow diners.
I was in my favourite Japanese restaurant in Dubai recently, Tokyo@The Towers in the Jumeirah Emirates Towers complex, and was seated next to two guys who each, I thought, had a military bearing.
I don't think I was eavesdropping, although you can't help overhearing when you're seated so close.
Their conversation was in German, but I picked up a couple of words, such as logistik and sturm. That got me interested, and I quickly reached the conclusion that these were two arms dealers or mercenaries on a bit of R&R in the emirate.
One was dark-haired, northern European, tall and well-built; the other looked Scandinavian, also tall but wiry, with a few days' beard growth. Typical soldiers-of-fortune types, I hastily decided.
The "Scandinavian" had a neat trick with his sake bottle: when he finished off one of the little jugs, he would call over the waitress and complain: "Look, there's something wrong with the bottle, there must be a hole in it, the drink keeps disappearing."
It was amusing to watch the waitress's reaction: profound apology followed by laughter when she realised he was pulling her leg.
He and I struck up a conversation. "So what are two Germans doing in Dubai," I asked. The "Scandinavian" looked shocked. "What makes you think I'm German?" he asked me.
"Well, you were speaking German with your friend," I said, without realising how limp it sounded.
"I can speak five languages fluently. You and I are speaking in English - does that make me English?" he replied. He assumed an air of offended outrage, but I realised it was the same kind act he put on for the waitress.
"Touche," I said. "Now you must be French," he joked.
His name was Steve, he was Belgian, a Flemish speaker. He was interested in what was happening in the Middle East, in Egypt, Syria and Yemen, but from a military perspective. What did it mean for the Gulf, for Iran, for Saudi Arabia? He had a pessimistic view of the situation, and thought there would be a broader conflict before long.
His friend, Oliver, was indeed German, from Hamburg. He had not really been following our conversation. He had been watching the teppanyaki chef, but when we were introduced he appeared to go along with Steve. "Yes, things can only get better for us in this market," he said.
That clinches it, I thought, but did not say, you're mercenaries on a scouting trip in the Gulf, looking for opportunities to sell your deadly services to the highest bidder.
"So, what do you guys do for a living?" I asked.
"We're in lighting, we supply and sell lighting systems to hotels, malls, places like that," Steve said. "I've been in Dubai for five years, it's a great place to do business. Oliver is my biggest business competitor, but we become friends over teppanyaki."
They gave me their cards, which confirmed just how wrong I had been.
I apologised mentally, and called myself stupid for falling into conspiratorial assumptions.
Later we went to Harry Ghatto's, the crowded, smoky karaoke bar next to the restaurant, and talked about the lighting business.
The Al Gosaibi family of Saudi Arabia recently lost a London court case and now faces demands for repayment of US$250 million (Dh918.1m), the tip of an iceberg of debt that runs into billions.
Now I notice that certain properties owned by the family in London's swish Grosvenor Square have had "charges" placed against them by advisers to the family in its long legal battle with Maan Al Sanea. In that part of London, property like that is worth millions of pounds.
The Al Gosaibis are unable to sell the properties without the consent of the UK law firm Withers, the international accounting business Deloitteand the New York law firm Baach Robinson and Lewis, all of which have provided services in the court actions raging round the world.
"They just want to ensure they get paid," said a person familiar with the matter.