rev:text
| - I think I speak for myself when I say dining should be not only a palatable experience but a moral one. Now, where I'm from taking a 9 yr. old bride is not kosher, and neither is a middle-aged man preying on younger women on social media, especially women whose chastity is bound by an oath to God. Now what does that have to do with Marrakech's food? Absolutely nothing, I think.
The chicken I ordered was sprinkled with nuts of some sort. Now, I'm a fairly uneducated man, and to be frank, this ignorance is quite uninhibited, but I do think this chicken's integrity is compromised by such a gratuitous sprinkling of cashews, almonds and walnuts. The sauce was a curry, I think, and yellow, like the sort of "man" that fishes women out of their hijab with artful keystrokes and the peacock exuberance of wealth acquired young but earned a few generations ago. Bootstraps come cheaper when your parents couldn't ever be caught dead scraping bitumen out of a barrel for a colonial pound a week.
Also, the most palatable spice to the food here is the triple-filtered tap water and the midriffs swishing around our table-tents.
The food is okay, the atmosphere is loud, and I'm talking a melange of Indian funk and the gut-wrenching undertones of pedophilia consorting with a babble of PIE languages and the smell of caterpillar smoke.
|