‘it’s tagine with a jeem,’ says abdurrahman to sampaafulhu as we walk into the restaurant.

i walk ahead of them into the middle deck of the place, a newish moroccan outlet in maafannu, near bondibaiy park. we’ve not had tagine in our great city since GG’s closed during covid. when i enter, the low ceilings make everything seem unnecessarily compact. i take a seat at the booth on the middle deck. abdu and samfa think it’s much too close to some very animated people who’re seated across from us.

‘arabs,’ says abdurrahman.

‘how can you tell?’ i ask.

we finally pick a table at the side, near the curtains. it smells like damp. and there’s a very conspicuous security camera right above me, more than a little unnerving. something or the other with this place it seems.

‘did you say something?’ asks samfa.

‘it smells,’ i reply.

‘oh yes,’ she says. ‘my god. i suppose we’ll get used to it in a bit.’

and all this while, a server was following us around. we give our orders, or rather i give my order, a lamb tagine, and my companions ask for muhammara.

‘ah, we do not have muhammara unfortunately,’ apologises the server.

‘oh man,’ says samfa then, in a minute, they ask for a zalouq (an eggplant dip) and some time to decide on mains.

i take a look around. the walls and ceiling are decorated with wooden screens bearing arabic geometrical patterns, not bad at all. also, no natural light up here so it feels kinda clubby.

‘wait, is that smoke?’ asks abdu.

yes, the place seems a bit hazy.

‘husenfulhu said there’s a shisha lounge below us,’ says samfa.

‘but is it supposed to be all smoky up here?’ asks abdu, scrolling through the menu on his phone. ‘have you decided on mains?’

‘yes, let’s get the chicken liver and the chicken tagine.’

they try to find the server, but she’s not to be seen.

‘but for a long while it was like she’d never leave,’ tsks samfa and gets the attention of another server.

she explains that we’ve already ordered.

‘did you order the lamb tagine with apricot or vegetables?’ asks the server, a man with a french accent.

‘the server didn’t ask us that,’ says samfa.

‘please make it with apricot,’ i tell him and the others give their orders.

within a few minutes, the lamb tagine arrives encased in a clay bowl. i open the lid and the aroma is incredible.

‘wow,’ says samfa. the server places a basket of bread on the table.

i observe the tagine. it’s small, there’s just two pieces of lamb, one has a good bit of fat, the other a lot of bone. and there’s just one dried apricot placed on top of the meat. not a good look for a dish with a 200 MVR pricetag. stingy, in fact.

meanwhile, the bread has a rough, crisp crust and is soft when i break it up. i dip it in the gravy.

‘mmm, it’s great. the sauce is really meaty, lamby,’ i say. then i try picking off a piece of the lamb. it’s chewy. not great texture, yet rich in flavour.

i notice the server still standing by the table.

‘do you have any remark?’ she asks and abdu grins.

‘it tastes nice,’ i say. ‘but the meat could be more tender and i’d like more apricots.’

my remarks, if you will.

‘yes, i needed to know about the lamb specifically,’ says the server.

the others have some of the tagine while i sample the zalouq. a nice, light pairing of eggplant and tomato. good enough.

‘really like the tagine,’ says abdu. ‘really nice but wish the meat wasn’t chewy.’

samfa nods in agreement then taps my arm.

‘husenfulhaa,’ she says. ‘could you slow down on the bread? you really don’t have to eat so frantically.’

the rest of the food is brought to the table including a pot of moroccan mint tea. the server pours us our drinks from a height, drawing us to the arc of tea. i try to capture it on my phone but i’m too late.

‘i like it,’ says samfa, sipping her drink.

‘have some with sugar,’ says abdu. ‘it’s better.’

‘can i try from yours?’ she asks. he gives her his tiny glass and she has a sip.

‘wonderful,’ she says. ‘i’m having this with sugar from now on.’

‘how about you husenfulhu?’ asks abdu.

‘i’ll have mine with honey,’ i say, and abdu scoffs.

‘maybe you like your matcha with honey too,’ he says.

we return to our food, and i chew the fat quietly. there’s taste in the fat. still.
‘this chicken liver is too strong,’ samfa breaks the silence.

‘something a bit off about the chicken tagine, too,’ says abdu. ‘i think it tastes a bit like boiled chicken. and not in a good way.’

i dab up the remaining lamb tagine with bread and ask the others if they would like dessert.

‘sure,’ says abdu and we look through the menu, settling on the pistachio mahalabia, a pudding-like dessert.

‘ok so,’ abdu goes. ‘after five months, i finally ended up watching k pop demon hunter.’

‘my niece is watching it too,’ says samfa excitedly. ‘it’s good. she’s really deep into it.’

‘yeah,’ says abdu. ‘it’s got a good message. that demons can be made from circumstance. it’s a more nuanced worldview than, say, thundercats.’

‘nuanced,’ i mutter.

‘anyway, you know, i went through a phase in my mid-teens where i watched only oscar nominated films.’

‘haha,’ laughs samfa. ‘husenfulhu has a friend who’s still like that. at 45, can you imagine.’

‘really?’ asks abdu.

‘haha,’ i laugh. ‘yeah he only watches stuff that’s scored 80 percent or more on metacritic.’

‘unbelievable,’ says abdu. ‘anyway, back then i watched a lot of clint eastwood movies. million dollar baby, unforgiven, pale rider. cos they were all oscar nominated.’

we laugh.

‘i don’t think i’ve seen a single clint eastwood film,’ i tell abdu.

‘i find that hard to believe,’ he replies.

our dessert comes with three spoons and we dig in. it’s not too sweet, creamy, crunchy from the nuts, and the pistachio taste shines.

‘hey, easy on the nuts husenfulhu,’ says samfa and abdu giggles. soon it’s almost done.

‘here, you can have the last nut,’ abdu says.

‘a nut for a nut,’ i say.

in the end we end up paying 980 for all of it.

‘that wasn’t great,’ says abdu as we walk towards VB mart closeby. samfa wants to do some shopping for the house.

‘i think the tagine was a seven,’ i say.

‘maybe. but what about the others?’ says abdu. ‘that chicken liver was totally unnecessary.’

‘mm. well. at least we got used to the smell,’ i say.

‘hmm?’ asks samfa.

‘of damp. in the restaurant,’ i explain but she has already moved on.