Earlier this week we were lucky enough to be treated to dinner by our bosses, to mark the leaving of one of our colleagues. They took us to what they proudly declared to be ‘the best Spanish restaurant in London’, Moro. A tall order and a large boast. I love Spanish food, so I was intrigued to see whether it would live up to its hype.
It’s a great place with French babyfoot mixed among the tables and an international football theme, WITHOUT being boorish. How they strike the balance so perfectly, I’m not entirely sure, but it’s the best self-proclaimed sports bar I’ve been in.
Then over the road to Moro. I had artichoke and potato brik with rocket salad and harissa to start, which was delicious, like a Spanish version of an Indian samosa, and then Wood roasted guineafowl stuffed with spiced labneh with carrots and farika. The meat was succulent and the sauce was spicily aromatic without being hot. It was slippily scrummy, sliding down into my getting-fatter-by-the-second stomach all too easily.
You can get tapas too, but it seems Moro plays to a more southern Spanish food aesthetic, combining a Moroccan element with the Mediterranean style of cooking, which made it unlike anything I’ve eaten before.
It was such a treat. And even better, I wasn’t paying, which made it an even greater treat all round.