Down the Rabbit-Hole: My Adventures into the underbelly of NYC

I’ve decided to go out of chronological order with the retelling of my NYC adventures, so bear with me.  I’ll start with our dinner, which I had been dreading for 3 weeks.  (For more on this see: I’m a Freakatarian.) I have a strong aversion flavors and spices other than ketchup and salt, so the mere thought of ‘North African’ (read: Moroccan) cuisine sent me into a total tailspin. 

We arrived at the restaurant blissed-out after our spa treatments, and from the outside LeSouk looked little more than a hole in the wall.   I immediately fell to the back of our little bachelorette-party group as my expectations fell to new depths.  My spa-induced zen was rapidly fading.   C. pulled the front door open, parted a heavy velvet drape and we all stepped inside a tiny vestibule, and somehow left New York City behind. 

The velvet drape was portal to an exotic land–tantalizing smells and traditional Moroccan music assaulted our senses.  We looked around, agog.  Heavy velvet brocade hung from the walls and votive candles flickered from every surface.  Tables were low to the ground and seating was upholstered poufs or leather sofas and settees.  Scarves hung from the ceiling and lighting was dim, giving the restaurant a ‘boudior meets Moroccan bazaar’ feel.  The ambiance oozed sensuality. 

The hostess led us through a labyrinth of rooms and floors to our table.  The flickering votives were everywhere, and my pragmatic side screamed “FIRE HAZARD”, but I shushed “her” and allowed myself to be seduced by the atmosphere.

We were seated on a raised platform in a corner, with poufs, pillows, and a low leather banquette.  I awaited swarthy and handsome men in fig leaves bearing large palm fronds and bowls of grapes wanting nothing more than to fan and feed me, but it was not to be.  Instead, we settled for a pitcher of mojitos and commenced with perusing the menus.  The news for me was grim.  Aside from the fact that I couldn’t read my menu owing to the darkness, I didn’t see PLAIN CHICKEN anywhere on the menu. 

The group ordered several appetizers and then we placed our entree orders.  I kindly explained to the waitress that I was deathly allergic to all seasonings, flavors, and spices and if she could bring me piece of plain grilled chicken and steamed vegetables I would do her the favor of not expiring on the restaurant’s floor.  Thankfully, she obliged. 

And then the onslaught of food began.  I can’t really tell you what my friends ordered but I wanted to share the meals for all of you adventerous types!  I’m sure you’ll be able to pick my dinner out of the pictures. 

And so, my verdict?  LeSouk is unbelievably exotic and cavernous and my friends (and everyone else in the restaurant) seemed to love the food.  Entering LeSouk was akin to Alice tumbling down the rabbit-hole.  It really is a find!  I would highly recommend it to anyone visiting New York, if only for the experience! 

Stayed tuned for tomorrow’s installment when your hapless heroine falls victim to peer pressure and smokes some hookah and tries her hand (and stomach) at belly dancing–all in the name of BLOGGING.