Please note that since writing this blog post, Arabic Lounge has closed down
Given my obsession with all things North African, it’s a wonder I hadn’t been to Arabic Lounge before now. What’s more, my belly dancing teacher occasionally performs there, so I had more reason than just the food to give it a try.
Moroccan food is rather like the dancing I associate with it. It should be voluptuous but controlled, decadent but down-to-earth, and all this while looking effortless. Without wanting to give away the ending, Arabic Lounge was everything I’d hoped it would be. The light, flaky pastilla danced onto the plate, terracotta cinnamon criss-crossing white icing sugar. Sweet on the outside, spicy and robust underneath. The chicken inside was laced with almonds and saffron and melted in the mouth, like a belly dancer’s sly smile.
The tagines – one with veal meatballs and spicy tomatoes, the other with chicken, lemon and green olives – unveiled themselves from their pottery vessels in a cloud of steam and anticipation. I embarrassed my fellow diners by gnawing the bones and sneaking left-over olives into my mouth before the waiter (who, incidentally, had a fantastic arse) could spirit away the plate… After two courses and a bottle of Moroccan rosé (which, if I’m honest, was the only criticism I have of the meal), I was about ready to jump on a camel to Morocco, sell my body as the only pale freckly belly dancer in North Africa and spend every day willingly losing myself in a souk, never to return…