Moroccan's beauty is only skin deep

You can't accuse Zaytouna of being half-hearted: this is a positive theme-park of Moroccanalia. Every surface sprouts rather gorgeous ornate tiles, or silky cushions, or hubbly bubbly pipes. Even outside, an intricate little water feature stops seen-it-all Soho-ites in their tracks.

Squidged into a too-squashy banquette by the window is a good place to be, so we forgave some indifferent "pastilles" (sic): two b'stillas, one of chicken, one seafood, made with dampish pastry and uninspired fillings.

We also forgave a tiny slab of overcooked seabass with a grey mulch of artichoke and some truly inept ginger créme brûlée with the consistency of solidified scrambled egg ("That's the Moroccan way," explained our waitress before replacing it with some excellent baklava).

But a tagine of lamb with prunes and almonds was a gorgeous, gorgeous thing: rich, aromatic, with meat that melted on contact with the fork. Couscous, too, is the real thing.

The trick would seem to be to stick to the safe, trad choices and a good, punchily flavoured meal can be had here. Then you can float upstairs to the shisha lounge to goggle at a spot of light bellydancing, should the mood come upon you. And in these surroundings, it might well do.

Zaytouna Restaurant
45 Frith Street, Soho, W1D 4SD