Masgouf

Savor Authentic Iraqi Cuisine Bliss

When craving a slice of Iraq in London, Masgouf lures discerning diners with its intriguing allure; imagine stepping into a world where tender lamb shoulders meet soft tabs of naan, waiting to soak up fragrant spices and deceptively simple sauces. My recent visit had me ensconced in the kind of culinary embrace Baghdad might offer its beloved long-lost child if they teleport between tables of grinning groups sharing plated poems of heritage, stories told through hummus and Arayes, lavishly lavished on the soul—or so one hopes. Neither grandeur nor intimacy escape your gaze, nestled in the cacophonous echoes of Harrods-et-al, painted golden by promises of oriental fervor.

However, life isn’t all buttered with baklava's richness. While my fork dithered between triumph and tragedy—like a character from some Dickensian opus—it's difficult not to notice that the service seems to march to an erratic, often tardy beat. When coaxing pomegranate sauce for the fattoush resulted in a chase reminiscent of a ludicrous Speedy Gonzales cartoon, I couldn’t help but paint it as a lovable farce rather than gastronomic fodder. As for atmosphere? Well, think arabesque with a dash of mess, decor that's beginning to sag slightly beyond romantic decay. But in those bustling confines, when sinfully sumptuous masgouf fish sets sail on your palate, such qualms ebbed as ephemeral as a molasses-slow Thames tide. Is it perfect? Hardly, yet it's akin to falling for a charming rogue—basic faiblesses and all are simply part of the thrill. — Milo Tastemaker