Marrakech

It is without reservation that I claim the food of Morocco to be yummy. Yeah yummy! That being said, however, one does have to make a few mental recalculations when addressing Moroccan cuisine. The food itself is tasty, Mediterranean fare–pickled vegetables, couscous, honey soaked lamb, filo-wrapped chicken, baklava– nothing too out of the ordinary, but deliciously prepared. It is the presentation, or rather the consumption of the food that is foreign, difficult, but in the end, rewarding.

“What’s the big deal with eating the food?” you might ask. “It’s utensils,” I respond, “or perhaps the lack thereof.” “What do you mean?” you say. “You eat with your hands,” I say. “You mean like a sandwich?” you say. “No, not like a sandwich, you dolt, like a Moroccan. You know what, I’ve had about enough of you and your ceaseless questions. What are you, five years old? Wanna know where babies come from too? Just shut your trap and pay attention.”

Anyway, as I was saying, the thing that sets Moroccan dining apart is the use of the hands to eat everything. That’s right, everything. From soup to nuts (ok, there was no soup, that would just be silly) everything is eaten with the tools God gave you. This might be pleasant, charming even, bohemian maybe, piquant in fact, were it not for the singularly scalding temperatures at which all food is served. Seriously, internal temps like this are rarely seen outside of NASA testing labs. This would be unremarkable, however, if the food wasn’t so gosh darned good. As plate after plate of glorious looking food came out on a recent Friday evening, from whole chickens to lamb shoulders, we dug right in. Let it cool off? No sir, thank you. We tore at each new dish, removing the prints from our fingers with every delicious bite. The noise we made would have been horrible had it not been so comical: “Mmmm…OUCH…GODDAMMIT…ah…ha…ah…OH GOD THAT’S HOT…WHY DID I JUST PUT THAT IN MY MOUTH?…mmmmmmm…I campf feew my tong…Is that plate cooled off yet…mmm…GODDAMMIT!” and so forth.

“So what?” you might be saying. “Half the world eats with its hands. If we weren’t so OCD germophobic we’d probably eat with our hands more too.” I’m glad you brought that up. We are a little OCD as a nation. Don’t get me wrong, clean hands are good, and the fine staff at Marrakech makes sure your hands stay clean (or at least wet) by bringing around a golden kettle of cool water and a washing basin at least twice during the meal. Besides cleaning the hands, this cool waters helps to alleviate the rather incessant burning sensation coming from your mangled fingertips. I’m just saying that we could all loosen up a little bit with the antibacterial soap and lotion and wipes and marinades and live a little. Honestly, there is simply no way to keep a whole host of germs from entering your body 24 hours a day. No matter what you do, they’re going to get in there. And while good personal hygiene is the hallmark of a civilized society, a little slack in the obsessive hand-washing rope might do us all a little good.

Is the finger burning the only thing I want to discuss? Well, we did have the entertainment of a talented belly dancer. She was very exotic. Her name was Michelle. She was from Antelope.

The service deserves a mention too. The waiters at Marrakech do a fine job of working big groups such as ours, not too obtrusive, but fairly quick and polite. The atmosphere is unique, richly upholstered with rugs, hanging silks, and North African tunes piped in at a deafeningly loud volume while the belly dancers do their thing, but otherwise quietly.

Marrakech is great for groups, yet I could see returning for a romantic dinner for two (or three if you count the belly dancer). Bring your moleskin, or be prepared to shed some epidermis. No doubt that your experience will be worth it either way.

Special thanks go out to Paul at Sacramento Epicureans for putting on a great event.

Marrakech- 1833 Fulton Ave, Sacramento

Food*** Service*** Atmosphere***