It is seldom that hotel guests come up really really close with breakfast ‘chefs’, the guy or gal who stands ready to cook eggs or pancakes to order but may, after the breakfast slot is finished, do no more cooking for the rest of the shift. At Four Seasons Casablanca the breakfast chef, above, stands in the middle of an architectural sculpture that diners, sorry, breakfasters, can walk right round. (The egg dishes he produces, by the way, are tasty and perfectly seasoned.)
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. That’s all very well but this is Morocco. Cassablanca may be a casserole of its history, with ingredients of France, Portugal and Spain, but as you arrive at the main, and very impressive, main rail station the first outlet you see is a McDonald’s. There must be more big yellow Ms around the city than numbers of traffic lights.
That having been said, Girlahead ate splendidly during her entire stay. In the Four Seasons’ Bleu one night she dined off a vegetable salad followed by a black risotto topped by four juicy scallops. Another night she dined in her room. Having had a rich and calorie-full beef tanjine with apricots for lunch, dinner was somewhat simplified. A tasting of Moroccan salads – typically mashed but not as far-mashed as, say, levantine barbaghannouj or hummus – was followed by design your own pasta, in this case an enormous bowl of penne with a modicum of pesto.
In all honesty, however, it was the hotel’s breakfasts that stood out. An early morning room service delivery, prior to the next train ride, arrived on an immaculately-clad table. The server said, in a typical Moroccan manner, if there is anything else I can do for you, I am here for you. Girlahead smiled yet again, as she was to do half an hour later when pasing the big yellow M at Casablanca station prior to boarding the train to Marrakech….