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Momo, London: ‘An unexpected joy’ – restaurant review | Grace Dent on restaurants


Momo, the Berber restaurant on Heddon Street in Mayfair, is 22 this year, and has been overhauled and relaunched to mark the occasion. In 1997, this was the place that, beyond doubt, set my eye on becoming a restaurant critic, once the old guard began expiring from gout. I spent 65 minutes there one evening, back when it was one of the very coolest places to be seen – other than the top bar at TFI Friday or doing backing vocals for Finley Quaye on Westbourne Grove.

Momo, as the hottest restaurant in London, was a perfect, galling example of how places treated their famous, in-crowd guests, as opposed to normal diners who weren’t in Donatella Versace’s retinue. It was certainly a very pretty room – a sort of faux-Marrakesh, enchanted souk – and today it’s largely the same, just even better, complete with a golden, hand-painted dome centre stage, art‑deco sofas, illuminated palm trees and flattering, peach-hued lighting.

Classic Momo couscous with a small platter of lamb cutlet, spiced chicken thigh and spiced merguez



‘A bit style over substance’: the ‘classic Momo couscous’ comes complete with a lamb cutlet, spiced chicken thigh and merguez.

Back then, the menu was thrust into our hands by a semi-belligerent server with a reminder that our table, booked months in advance, would soon need vacating. Couscous was whisked away mid-mouthful by staff who had one eye on the door in case Patsy Kensit’s hair stylist required emergency shisha advice. An attempt to visit the downstairs ladies’ room became a security issue, incurring warnings that I should not attempt to go off-piste and enter the cocktail bar, favoured by Tom Cruise, because it wasn’t for the likes of you and me. The bill was £46 for two glasses of warm pinot grigio and two tagines. It says more about me than Momo that I’ve simmered on this for 21 years.

A satisfying denouement would have been that I returned to review the new Momo one recent Saturday night to find a roaring bin fire of wrongness. Instead, it was an unexpected joy. The front of house are now a smiling squadron who fuss over the entire clientele, which may no longer be A-list, but the West End crowd of moneyed tourists, well-heeled Essex birthday parties, fourth dates edging towards commitment, “Instagram models” and people with interesting facial resculpturing. Under Mourad Mazouz (the man behind Sketch), Momo has clearly weathered the storms of being cool, then uncool, then totally irrelevant, before being shabby, stripped and rebooted.

Quail pastilla



Momo’s ‘outstanding’ quail pastilla: ‘A delicate, rich, sweet Moroccan filo pie, as sugary as it is savoury.’

It has certainly got over itself. The new menu, created by chef Hervé Deville, is still a slightly eccentric mishmash of Algerian, Tunisian and Moroccan, but now with modern Mediterranean or, more accurately, British flourishes. Yes, there is chicken couscous and lamb shoulder tagine and scotch beef tangia with green olive panisses (a type of chickpea fritter). The “classic Momo couscous” comes with a small platter of lamb cutlet, spiced chicken thigh and merguez, for £26. It arrived with great fanfare and a clattering of crockery, was as watery as I recalled, and, by and large, a bit style over substance.

The dish that melted my heart and righted two decades of hurt, however, was harira, a velvety, spicy, dal-like Moroccan soup brimming with cinnamon, turmeric and ginger. It turned up with spoons of clarified lemon paste and a harissa so hot, it could blow your (new, tighter) face off. Quail pastilla was outstanding, too: a delicate, rich, sweet Moroccan filo pie, as sugary as it was savoury, with nougatine pieces and a potent, blackcurrant sauce. For vegetarians, there’s green asparagus tagine with spiced rhubarb or heritage beetroot couscous, and I shall never forget the frankly weird teff “pancake”. It was a bit like injera flatbread, but also a bit like chocolate swiss roll, albeit one covered in boiled brussels sprouts and chunks of jersey royal, and came with a jug of green harissa bouillon.

Namelaka



Momo’s chocolate namelaka: ‘Be warned: it has a rich bed of diced beetroot and hot harissa lying beneath its cocoa crumble topping.’

Momo is still noisy, blaring out the type of dance music that to older ears may feel like being attacked by bees. But if you were entertaining friends, it would be a struggle for anyone to find Momo “boring”. It’s a vibrant place, full of diners who don’t take themselves very seriously, posing for family group shots and singing happy birthday. The food is fine, too, and you can’t say fairer than that. Puddings are worth sticking around for. A plain-sounding riz au lait was possibly the greatest rice pudding I’ve had in this lifetime, served with confit grapefruit and coriander, which should be a culinary car crash, but isn’t. Be warned, though: the chocolate namelaka has a rich bed of diced beetroot and hot harissa lying beneath its cocoa crumble topping. Always order one pudding for the table that divides opinion, because that way there’s a strong chance you’ll get to eat double.

So I’ve decided graciously to forgive Momo. The poor things. They scared me off for 20-odd years. They won’t be as lucky again.

Momo 23-25 Heddon Street, London W1, 020-7434 4040. Open all week, noon-1am (12.30am Sun). About £45 a head, plus drinks and service.

Food 7/10
Atmosphere 9/10
Service 9/10



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