the eXile - bar-dak - Lionel Tannenbaum

Issue #12/93, June 22 - July 6, 2000

MARRAKECH EXPRESS

By Lionel Tannenbaum

First of all, as a local Jew of some renown, I feel I should unambiguously state my solidarity with recently imprisoned media baron Vladimir Gusinsky. No doubt Mr. Gusinsky has as many skeletons in his closet as any one of us who has been residing here these past several years, but those of us in The Community have little doubt that the man’s Jewishness played a very large part in his being singled out for arrest. Fight the power, brother!

If I may shift religious (not to mention gastronomical) gears just a bit, it seems that Moscow now has a brand new Arab eatery - MARRAKECH - and according to the various banners that hung prominently for a few days last week, the capital’s first Moroccan restaurant. Now, were it not for the ominous sociopolitical signs all around, it might be viewed as a clear sign that Moscow truly is Growing Up, that purveyors of such “nonessential” ethnic cuisines (Javanese at Bali, for example) are now appearing. Not that I have anything personal against either Javanese or Moroccan cuisine, mind you - it’s just that neither is the sort of thing I or anyone I know ever has a real craving for.

This may be just as well as it turns out - at least in the specific case of Moroccan food - because Marrakech is a half-assed mud-person venture from top to bottom. For example, my waiter stated that, although the head chef is Russian, Moroccan cooks have been engaged (as kitchen consultants I suppose) for the first few months of operation; however, I sensed nothing in any of the dishes I sampled to support this claim. In fact, even that abomination of a place at Disney’s Epcot Center, with the fez-wearing servers and imitation monkey brains, had more flavor. To be perfectly fair, Marrakech has only been open for just over a week, so maybe they’re just off to a bumpy start. Nevertheless, I for one will not be holding my breath for any stunning improvements in the near future.

The first complaint almost all of you are going to have is the extremely limited selection: just five appetizers, a single soup (not even available the day I visited), and six entrees (really just three variations each on the standard tagine and couscous). True, there’s also a selection of “Eastern” (i.e., Uzbek) dishes, but that seems like cheating to me. On the plus side, though, the minimal menu made it easy for me get a solid sense of the place even in the absence of a fellow eater.

I started with the eggplant “ikra” (145R), garnished with tomatoes, hard-cooked egg, and some partially dried and yellowed dill sprigs. I haven’t the slightest idea whether this dish is actually a standard in Moroccan kitchens, but I do note that the version I was served distinctly traced its roots to the restaurant of Soviet-era provincial Russian hotel. Mm, mm, bland. The other “salads” - sardine and “Carfa” (carrot with cinnamon) seemed no less interesting. For hot appetizers there is Brouat, the traditional meat pie with flaky pastry crust. This one at least boasts a genuine Moroccan pedigree, and the beef variant (162R) I had was even pretty tasty. Just barely questionable meat, but who’s keeping score, eh?

Based on the above, I was somewhat dubious as to their ability to produce a reasonable tagine, the traditional meat stew cooked with prunes or artichokes and spices (289-415R). Instead, I opted for the vegetable “Bel Kuha” (278R), “bel kuha” apparently meaning over-fried vegetables. The carrots and potatoes were still passable, but the zucchini strips had been rendered quite inedible, I’m sad to report. As for the couscous itself, dry as the Sahara is the geographically appropriate simile that comes to mind. Frankly, I used to cook better couscous in my undergraduate days, and that was back when my kitchen skills barely extended beyond instant mac-n-cheese and my idea of seasoning was more butter. Oh well, perhaps it won’t make any difference to people who voted for Putin.

I’ve certainly got no beef with the classic mint tea (20R) offered under desserts, but I do kind of wonder just how authentically “Moroccan” are strawberries with cream or Neapolitan ice cream. To add insult to injury, my beer - both Pilsener (120R) and Zolotaya Bochka (50R) - tasted quite flat.

The service was slightly incompetent (“inexperienced,” to put it more graciously). As for the interior, it was rather insultingly inoffensive for the genre - a good indicator of the Russian owner’s predictable focus on inconsequential surface details at the expense of more essential attributes. Such as - and I’m only speculating on a hypothesis here - the food.

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