EricMBloggie

Dinner at Marrakesh really started in the tiny waiting area. Valentines couples canoodled, exchanged long gazes, and made out in the mostly communal seating arrangement. We were joined by a J. Crew couple– reservations under ‘Chad’– who were far too kissy-faced considering their proximity. I weighed my options of, “Dude, Chad, I know it’s V-Day, but control yourself” versus keeping quiet, and decided not to ruin their night. Plus, there’s a good chance we’d be sitting near The Yacht Club Couple, which would be Awkward City.

Since we were lacking reservations, there was a twenty minutes wait to be to be seated. We were led to our seat by a sweating, harried host reminiscent of an Israeli shop owner. I thought I was going to have to haggle down the price of the meal. I thought it was a BYO, but when he saw the bottle of wine, he discreetly took it, “so the other customers don’t know you brought it.” He even had me taste it as if the bottle came from their collection. It was actually sort of fun, like we were in on a secret, fooling everyone else. I’m pretty sure the couples to our right and left had brought their own ‘B’ as well. Did they receive the same treatment? I hope not. Jokes aside, he was a nice guy, and accomodated us, despite late arrival and reservation-deficiency.

Part of the appeal of the seating, besides the notable Chad-lessness, is the unique set up. The whole restaurant is adorned with lush fabrics, tapestries, and pillows. Dim lighting and a lot of red-tones make it intimate, even though you’re sitting right next to other diners on the bolstered benches.

[In trying to insert images into the post, I lost the next two paragraphs TWICE.  I am mad, so I’m going to rewrite them poorly.]

Waiter:  Dressed like Aladdin, uncomfortable, mumbly, but nice.  Not a very good server.  Forgot our water refills.  Never washed our hands with the rose water, which is bad because you eat with your hands, but we were hungry, so we went for it anyways.

First Course, Three-Salad Platter:  Cucumbers and Tomatoes very good, tangy, crunchy, vinegary.  Eggplant - a lot of flavor, but unpleasantly mushy texture.  Carrots - tasted great, don’t know what was in them, but I liked it.

[I also lost the beginning of this paragraph, I’m very upset. I’m going to post this now, and probably edit it later.]

The next course was the B’Stella (also spelled B’Stilla or Pastilla,) a powdered sugar and cinnamon-topped ground chicken pie. When the flaky, phyllo dough crust is broken open with the hands, it releases heat demons from the scalding hot hell-fire inside. Breaking it down into big pieces worked to cool it enough to eat. It would have been nice to have some pita to act as gloves in this process. It was interesting having something this sweet, so early in the meal, but it combines very well with the savory chicken. I suspect there are better prepared B’Stellas out there. The ground chicken had a spongy texture. Traditional preparations of the dish use pigeon, which would have probably stood up to the sweetness better, since it’s gamier and more flavorful. Even shredded chicken, rather than ground would be a better choice.

For our first main course, we got the Chicken with Lemon and Olives, which after some research (read, Google) reveals itself to be a very standard and traditional Moroccan dish. Forget that we asked for, and then was told it was the spicy cumin chicken, it didn’t matter. Braised in either a dutch oven or a tagine, with preserved lemons, this was delicious. There was a deep lemony flavor, but it wasn’t acidic or tart. The chicken is beautifully braised with crisp skin and moist meat that has trouble holding on to the bone. I’m definitely attempting this dish at home, and have already found plenty of recipes for the chicken and preserved lemons.

Before the second course of ‘Tajine of Lamb with Almonds and Honey’ came, the entertainment for the evening arrived: A Belly Dancer. For a guy that revels in awkwardness like myself, this might have been the most delicious part of dinner. A thick, white college girl wearing a standard belly dancer costume, dances her way into the middle of the room to middle eastern music. She shakes her hips and clacks together her little finger tambourines looking for tips. No one looked like they wanted to give her money. She convinces the Drunk Guy next to us to dance with her. He resists at first, but when she insists that it’s part of the custom, he goes for it. He sort of half-grinds up on her, not sure what’s appropriate. There’s a moment in there that’s a little blurry, but I remember her holding his arm back as if to say, “I’m not a stripper, I’m a dinner-time belly dancer.” To complete the transaction he holds out a dollar. She insists she shove it in her waistband. He declines, “not with my girl right here,” as it would be poor decorum to stuff money in there on Valentines Day. The belly dancing continues, and she comes up on the Latino couple across the room. Our Drunk Guy calls out the Latino Guy, who holds out a dollar bill, “Get up there, I embarrassed myself, you should too.” Then they had a slightly drunk and too aggressive conversation about How Real they were Keeping It. The latino guy did his obligatory dance moves, proving his manhood and his Realness. At this point, they were both pretty insulting towards her, and I could feel that she wanted out of there. They were both laughing at her and cracking jokes. This course of the meal was the Awkward Sandwich. It was delicious. The Belly Dancer left the scummy guys and went on her way. And then our lamb was brought to the table.

This is another Moroccan greatest-hits dish. The slow cooked chunks of lamb shoulder smothered in a sweet honey sauce, dotted with almond were rather mild. People who characterize lamb as gamey would be surprised that this comes from the same animal. Similarly mild to some lamb loin I recently made, this dish is less meaty than many cuts of beef. It was good, but at this point, I was slowing down. Pace yourself at this feast, or you might echo my owns concerns of “I think I’m going to die,” by the time you get to the next course.

The couscous arrived after a long wait. I suspect that despite the refusal to leave out the raisins, it would have been a pretty easy request to accommodate. They were sprinkled on top, not combined throughout. This dish shared many of the same flavors as the preceding foods, such as cinnamon, cumin, and other middle eastern spices with which I’m unfamiliar. There were big chunks of carrot and potato and the aforementioned raisins. We barely made a dent in the couscous.

Sometime mid-couscous, Drunk Guy asked the waiter in his best accent, if the meal was “fini-tay” (no, not finito, there was an accented ‘e’ at the end of that one), and it indeed was. All of the couples filtered out. Drunk Guy even shook our hands, saying it was nice eating with us, which I don’t think was a good idea, since we were all using them to eat. Latino Guy informed everyone of a Columbian club near Roosevelt Boulevard that was having THE Puerto Rican band tomorrow.

Finally, the bowl of fruit and baklava was served, along with a mint tea. The tea was almost unbearably sweet. The baklava was also sweet, seemingly infused with some Super Sugar that packs 100x’s the punch of normal sugar. Both of these items would have been better if I wasn’t about to tear and the seams. I wonder if anyone actually eats the fruit. After a meal that extended and large, can you really fit an apple, orange, or banana? Sure, I had a grape or two, but that’s it.

The price is fair; you get an absurd amount of food for $31 (after the included tip), a beginners course on the flavors of Moroccan cuisine, and an atmosphere different to what you’re accustomed. Wear your Fat Pants, and don’t plan on moving anywhere quickly for the next 24 hours. Also, this isn’t a quick bite to eat; plan for a two and a half or three hour feast.

Recommended! Great for dates, or groups of people whose hands you don’t mind in your food.

Marrakesh
517 S Leithgow St
Philadelphia, PA 19147
Phone: (215) 925-5929