Moroccan Box

There didn’t used to be too many street food vendors knocking about Soho. They do pop up in Rupert St from time to time but they’ve never been as prolific as, say, Spitalfields or the South Bank. Berwick St Market seems the obvious location for this newest trend but it’s taken them a while to catch up with the long-​lived bakery stall (best custard tarts in Soho, FYI) and what’s going on in the rest of the city.
Suddenly, there’s been an explosion. In the past few months at least five stalls have sprung up amidst the ubiquitous vegetable carts, with a remarkably international slant and very different culinary offerings. Moroccan Box is one of these; so raw, so un-​pin-​downable that they don’t even have a website. I had walked up and down Berwick St with my lunch money burning a hole in my pocket, but my mind not yet made up as to what my stomach wanted. Eventually (and honestly, I have no idea why), I plumped for Moroccan.
I wasn’t impressed at first. The portions looked a little miserly and the guy serving was far from friendly, which was disappointing; one of the key ingredients to this kind of thing is chattiness, the old market-​trader razzle dazzle. I like a street food vendor with a cheeky grin and a «go on darlin’, what a lovely smile, for you I’ll stick in an extra slice», even if it’s what they do for everybody. The fact is that once you’ve made a decision on a restaurant, you’ll stick to it; whereas with street food, you’ll probably peruse the options first and rely on the sellers to draw you in.
Luckily the food more than makes up for it. For £6.50 they line the box with a wrap and then slop all the ingredients on top; a good mix of couscous, salads, meat and (for an extra fee), babaghanoush. It was absolutely delicious and — it turned out — more than plentiful enough to keep me full for the rest of the day. As ever, my eyes were bigger than my stomach (if only that were literally true). My one other gripe would be that it slightly misses the point of «street food». You couldn’t eat it standing up; it requires a knife and fork, or a flat surface at the very least, and I challenge anyone to shovel it down without employing both hands. It’s perfect for me because I can take it back to the office but I wouldn’t recommend it to any non-​locals who are planning on chowing down on the run.
Technicalities aside, it really is a box of gorgeousness, bringing north African sunshine to a grey London. If only the vendors could get their acts together and be as bouncy and attention-​grabbing as their veggie counterparts, Berwick St market would be well on its way to marking its spot on the map, and Moroccan Box would be a jewel in the crown.