I'm not gonna be coy about this. I fucking love Moroccan Soup Bar. I want to make friends with its sister so I have a reason to go to its dad's Australia day barbeque. I want to make eyes at it across the room, catching its eye then looking away, only to return my gaze to it a moment later, half-smile dancing at the corner of my lips. I want to spend two hours agonising over what to wear on our first date, then to take MSB's breath away as I walk into the room. I want to have mindblowing, passionate, unprotected sex with it on the first date and then have like 10 million of its babies. It's that good.
Just for something different, I'm not going to list all the awesome things that the Moroccan Soup Bar has, instead I'm going to list the things they *don't* have.
1. Soup. Weird, right?
2. Bookings. This means you might have to wait, and you might have to wait a while. . Plan ahead for this, rock up, put your name down and go for a walk. My friend Apollo and I waited 45 minutes for a table for two, at 7pm on a Wednesday. But you know what, it's worth the goddamn wait. Even though....
3. ...they don't serve alcohol. It's Moroccan, those dudes don't drink. I have some great stories about trying to get drunk in Marrakech, but that's for another day. OR IS IT? No, it is. But hey, that doesn't matter, because while you wait for a table, you can drop in to Monkey Bar next door, or Deco Bar one block up the road. See? It's all coming up Milhouse. Furthermore, instead of grog, MSB serves traditional mint tea and Arabic coffee, and while I'm not going to try to tell you that's as good as a nice chianti (it's not) , they're both pretty damn nice.
4. There's no menu. Ever. Nope, not even on the wall. Not even verballed. The waitress just rocks up to your zellij table and asks if you want the $20 per head menu or the $25 per head (this one gets you some extra snacky stuff to start but unless you're starving, you wont need it). The $20 menu gets you a plate of dips and bread with some picked veg and stuff, followed by mains and dessert.
5. No meat. No, wait, don't go. Let me finish. There are 3 mains dishes, one of which blows my mother fucking mind, more than that episode of American Dad where you think Stan is obese but it turns out he's anorexic. It's a bowl of chickpeas and fatouche chips, smothered in yoghurt and drizzled with melted butter. I have no idea what this dish is called, but it's the most insanely buttery, dreamy, crunchy, spicy thing on the planet. Eating this dish is kind of like listening to Lana Del Rey cover Stairway to Heaven live in your private Cote D'Azur mansion while you bathe naked in a pool of puppies. On cocaine (you, not the puppies). FLAVORGASM. In case you still give a shit about what the other two dishes are, there's a mix plate of lentils and tagine, and some chunky braised veg on spiced couscous. I know, sounds dull, but its not; after describing that first one I know there's no point trying to make anything else sound interesting. Then some baklava and a tiny cup of viscous, grainy Arabic coffee that will keep you awake long enough to write a 600 word review on the experience.
Decor-wise it's not trying overly hard to be über-Moroccan, which I count as a good thing: trying to be über-anything is typically über-embarrassing (I'm looking at you, Ke$ha). They've stuck with a tasteful assortment of photographs of Moroccan places and faces, and thrown in a bit of chilled out Northern African tunes to add to the vibe. Nicely done.
One more thing: if you don't wanna wait for a table, bring a six pack, a few good sized Tupperwares (they don't supply take away containers) and get your feast to go, and take it across the road to the Edinburgh Gardens. If you can think of a better way to spend a summer night, there's a good chance you have Lana Del Rey covering Stairway to Heaven live in your private Cote D'Azur mansion and a pool of puppies. And cocaine. read more