Restaurants

By Jenni Muir

With its arched wooden doors, candlelit lanterns, bric-a-brac, low seating and waitresses in gold-spangled aprons, Bouga seemed like a fairytale setting for a romantic local dinner. Buzzing with a young, tightly clad crowd there for the cocktails and sheesha pipes as much as the food, we anticipated a fun night. But when we were led to a cluster of tables in the front window, the story turned sour.

Tiny tables and chairs were jammed together like pickled lemons in a preserving jar. The hood on the top of the girl behind me grazed my back incessantly. She clearly couldn't wait to leave, but was quickly and thoughtlessly replaced by a rugby-playing type chap who immediately began fidgeting with discomfort. When the chirpy waiter bounced over to warn people to breathe in because he was about to put another couple on a table already being used to hold items from the adjacent tables, they laughed, thinking he was joking. Rugger and his friend had to ask to be moved.

This cavalier attitude to guests was also apparent during ordering - our waitress seemed to think we could divine the availability of non-alcoholic cocktails by random guesses. Fortunately, however, the drinks we eventually ordered, and the food, were enjoyable and good value.

Bouga doesn't produce the fluffiest couscous in town, but accompanied by the 'royal' combination of chicken, lamb and sausages, or served alongside a sizzling tagine of beef and egg, it was a tasty, satisfying meal. Also pleasing were starters of hot cheese-filled boreks, sweet cinnamon-flavoured chicken pastilla, and a simple, chunky tomato, cucumber and coriander salad.

With staff so intent on cramming the customers in, though, we felt we had no room for dessert and hastened into the cold night.

Time Out London Issue 1908: March 14-20 2007