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The red velvet curtains and low, cushion-filled seats make this more of a lounge than an eatery. And, yes, there’s a deejay. At weekends, the maddening crowds of Chelsea’s clubzone (read: barely 21-year-olds) suck down shisha smoke and so-so cocktails—and ignore the food. A shame, because the Merguez makes an ideal small plate (the fire of the lamb sausage balanced by zippy baba ghanoush) and the slow-cooked chicken tagine is subtly spiced. A delicious North African version of peach and strawberry cobbler lets the chef show he can do more than just funky, cold Medina.