North Africa in the Square Mile

When you bring food back from a holiday, or try to recreate a dish enjoyed, it never tastes as good at home. The hiccup being that it is virtually impossible to evoke the mood you were in when you enjoyed that pasta in Venice, munched that squid in Corfu, devoured that burger in a Californian diner or slurped that tom kha soup in a Thai cafe.

You can’t pack smells, people, vibrancy and ambience into your suitcase.

The excitable press release for the newly opened Kenza in the City trumpets it as an 'oasis' (press
releases use words like that) ... 'evoking the energy and passion of the Maghreb'.

The definition of this Arabic word is ambiguous. Specifically it can mean 'sunset' or 'treasure' but collectively it’s Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia. It therefore describes a complex, geographically immense area with a bewildering number of cultural influences, not to mention foods.

So, if you can’t make a simple bowl of pasta taste the same in London as it does overlooking the Grand Canal, how on Earth can you shoehorn most of North Africa into a basement near Liverpool Street station?

Kenza, I decided cycling through the post apocalyptic eeriness that is the City at night, is nothing if not ambitious. Devonshire Square,
home to mini Maghreb, is a dull complex of office blocks. At night you would be hard pushed to find a location evoking less energy and passion.

A Kiwi girl checks our names at the door. During the day, she tells us, she is one of those sales girls at Abercrombie and Fitch selected for her blonde all-American looks. An odd hiring, perhaps.

We are led down a spiral staircase. Around us the pulsating oranges, purples and reds of North Africa sing from the walls and fabrics. There are ponds with floating red rose petals, candles and intricately carved wooden screens. I feel like James must have felt as he entered the giant peach.

The ornate hand-painted floor tiles, the lanterns, the screens and the vibrant fabrics were sourced by Tony Kitous, the owner. This is his second London restaurant, the other is Pasha in Kensington. (I never liked that one. The interiors were a little too gap year and the food repetitive.) Kenza, which seats about 140 and also has a bar, is more sophisticated and decadent.

We were shown to an alcove that accommodates about eight. It is advisable to request one when booking. The menu is Moroccan, with a dash of Lebanese, and the food domestic, rather than ceremonial. We were persuaded to have the special cocktail. It wasn’t. A disappointing thing with vodka, basil and too much ice.

Some raw vegetables arrived. The radishes were delicious, crisp and hot and the pickled turnip firm and tangy. Music played, Moroccan I think, and the waiting staff — attractive and young to attract the hoped-for City clientele — seemed efficient.

The sommelier (formerly at China Tang in the Dorchester) had an enthusiastic knowledge of North African and Lebanese wine.