London - Moro

Moro sells cook books by the lorry load. In fact, somewhere, there is probably a haulage contractor who has a fleet of juggernauts dedicated to the cause of Moro.

Samuel and Samantha Clark, neatly clipped to Sam and Sam, are a kind of culinary Osbornes.

Apparently, while travelling through Spain and Morocco, in a camper van, (a Mercedes M Class probably would not have had the same kudos), on their three month honeymoon, the Clarks discovered and defined what was to become their philosophy of food.

The restaurant opened in 1997, followed by Moro, The Cookbook, in 2001.

Book two, Casa Moro, is named after the Clark’s Spanish home, and book three, Moro East, is named after their garden allotment in Hackney, East End, London.

In the introduction to Moro East, Sam and Sam talk of bicycling to their allotment, how it was bulldozed to make way for an Olympic Stadium, and then, through scratching around in pastures new, with a few seeds and lots of optimism, Sam and Sam hope that paradise can be regained.

Moro is truly marketing genius.  One advertising guru once said that successful marketing is all about emotion.  Moro certainly dampens that handkerchief.

And so to Moro, the restaurant, in Exmouth Market, a pedestrian precinct on the edge of East London.

This is Guardian country (the British newspaper of eternal political students). The restaurant resembles a university refectory packed with mature students. Ethnic, opinionated, and the odd shoulder chip, but not a hint of Prada or Escada.  Is this the land of lentil eating lesbians?

Tapas picking diners line the bar, which runs the entire length of the restaurant.  We were seated against the opposite wall, painted a stark dark green.  It was a pity that the mirror behind the bar was not replicated on our wall.  It would have been much more fun to voyeur the restaurant from the safety of my seat.

A dominant image of an evening at Moro is the Ladbrokes betting shop across the precinct, perfectly framed by the vast Moro window.  How odd to dine on some of London’s finest culinary excellence (allegedly), sipping a Vega Sicilia Gran Reserva ’91, at a cost of £180, whilst viewing the odds on that evening’s Premiership football matches.

And so to the food, which has gripped the dinner partying middle class.

I started with Mussels cooked with chorizo, tomato and chickpeas.  Had the camel’s companion served this at home, I would have reminded her of the way The Cliff in Barbados prepares mussels, in a red curry sauce with fresh pineapple - ethnic but much more interesting.

She was unimpressed with the Charcoal grilled fresh Cornish anchovies with harissa (a North African sauce).

To follow I ordered charcoal grilled lamb with saffron potatoes and alioli.  Whilst huge chunks of boiled potatoes had me back in student digs, the quality of the lamb was excellent.  However, the same could not be said of the ‘Wood Roasted Middle White pork with Seville orange sauce and Moros y Cristianos (black beans and rice).  The Billy Bunter fat to meat ratio of the pork was such that the camel’s companion left most of the portion untouched.

As the waitress cleared the plates she scolded,

“You won’t be having any pudding because you didn’t finish your main course’.

Yoghurt cake with pistachios and Warka with Seville orange cream and blood orange salad sounded intriguing, but alas, ‘twas not to be.

The bill was promptly dispatched, we settled up, and left in disgrace.

 
Moro
34/36 Exmouth Market
London
EC1R 4QE

020 7833 8336

http://www.moro.co.uk/