Inside La Fibule is supposedly reminiscent of the type of cafe you may find down the side streets of Tangier, though the closest I have come geographically to Morocco is a week in Tenerife, so I’ll have to take their word for it. Its all low-light and cushioned, with metallic pendants hanging from the ceiling and walls adorned with paintings of scary looking men on horseback. It looks like both of the Shisha bars I have been in.
We started with a mezze of salads and dips; a carrot salad was fine enough, as was a salty paste of olives and feta. Hummus was lacking in both acidity and texture, whereas a beetroot salad merely ambled by. The star was the Badinjan; a smokey blend of aubergine, red pepper and tahine – its hummus for those that like to keep the taste-buds train. I’ll be back, if only to mop a plate of this up with the supple flat breads.
Tagines next. It had to be, we’re in Morocco, remember. One chicken with peppers, another with lamb, almonds and peppers – both remarkably similar. The base sauce was, once cooled down, an aromatic tomato based sauce not a million miles away from the shakshouka I rustle up at home. It was fine thing that soaked into a side of cous-cous with ease. It was pungent and spicy, even if both meats were a little on the dry side.
Desserts seemed an afterthought, so we finished the beers purchased from the off licence a few doors down and called it a night. With starters around a fiver, mains a little over a tenner and side dishes a few quid more, La Fibule is an affordable and enjoyable evening. I cant tell you that its a truly authentic Moroccan experience, but I can say that we left neither hungry nor disappointed. And that is good enough for me.