Restaurant: Zizou Tagine
Location: Balham
By Boeing: 5493 miles
By Boris Bike: 1.18 miles
Wondering why the indigenous population of North Africa consistently apply wax to their jackets I arrived in high spirits to the smart, welcoming entrance of Zizou Tagine in Balham, one of South London’s trendiest neighbourhoods. I was confident that Berber hospitality would extend to preparing food for me, a relief given the Mongolian penchant for delegating that task to their customers, and provide a more convivial experience than my African adventures thus far. With my dining companion giddily excited about a recent trip to Marrakesh and brimming with anecdotes we walked into the sumptuous, low-lit ambient room and were led to a far table.
I stooped and I stooped and I stooped until finally lowering myself into the chair. I concluded that times must be tough and the lease was shared with a crèche. I hadn’t sat so low since squatting on a cushion during a surreal afternoon witnessing Yogic flying in Hove. Jealous of the becushioned bench I had chivalrously declined I rested the menu on my knees, that were jutting up at roughly the angle of an Olympic ski-jump.
The restaurant was evocative and cosseting with a deft dash of decadence that made you instantly forget the cold bleakness of an urban winter. Above us was a forest of lanterns, following from the Mongolian theme, but each was different and striking in design, catching the eye and enticing it to admire the detail.
Rich, draped velvet curtains dampening the draft from the door, intricate iron fretwork and rich, patterned cushions transported us to the exotic land of souks that feels like a world away and yet is near enough for an out of the ordinary weekend away. For a country heavily reliant on tourism it is no surprise that the welcome is warm and the reception lavish. For while Morocco is an Arabic culture its name translates as ‘the farthest west’ and its French colonial past and Berber heritage give its culture a unique depth.
The indigenous Berbers, a proud and striking people, give the land its vibrancy. A recent genetic study showed that they are closely related to the Sami people of arctic Scandinavia. How they ended up thousands of miles apart is part of the myth of early man but their presence on the northern extremities of a continent makes Morocco distinct from the African interior.
Its fertile northern shores are Mediterranean in appearance and attitude while to the South the vast arid expanse of the Sahara leads to a more mysterious, intrepid, unknown continent. And in-between the looming peaks of the Atlas mountains the villages nestled amongst which have hardly marked the passage of recent centuries.
By way of appetizers we ordered a trio of pastries that were light and delicately flavoured. Reminiscent of Cypriot and Levantine mezze they featured amongst them lamb, beef, goats cheese and spinach. Looking around the restaurant at the light shimmering off the necks of Merlots and Montepulcianos we looked in vain for a wine list, or indeed any alcoholic offering. But, Morocco being a largely Muslim nation, they did not supply their own. My reaction to this was, in hindsight, childish. Rather than accept this lack of social stimulants in good humour I merely ordered another, a super strength cardamom infused espresso, that doused all the delicate flavours that had hitherto been happily dancing on my palate. Both the waitress and my dining companion gave polite rebukes with stern, quizzical glances. And rightly so.
There seemed little option for the main course but to order tagines, named after an earthenware vessel with a exuberant, conical lid, a prime example of which I left in the boot of a car for twenty months after kindly being given it by my brother. Needless to say I never tested its renowned ability to produce succulent stews. Mine featured chicken thighs with preserved lemons while I looked covetously across at a lamb shank with dates and poached pears. It was a decadent dish for a decadent setting.
Continuing in that spirit we ordered traditional mint tea that was served from an ornate silver pot. It made caramelised candyfloss seem sour such was its all encompassing sweetness. The mint cleansed the palate and sugar saturated the mouth. It was like bathing under a cascading waterfall of Lilt. it was a fitting end to a sumptuous, sensual meal. 19 new hotels opened in Marrakesh last year to sate such appetite for exotic cultural experiences. I wouldn’t be surprised if it is difficult to get a room.
