Morocco

Moroccans really know how to eat. I've barely been back a day after five spent in Marrakech and two in the coastal town of Essaouira and already I'm craving their pancakes, tagines and couscous.

We stayed in riads during our stay which had beautiful roof terraces that provided some welcome respite from the bustling souks and pushy hawkers on the streets below. On our second night we braved the Place Djemaa el Fna- which translates literally as 'Assembly of the Dead'. This vast square is full of oddballs by day- snake charmers, storytellers and juice sellers -but by night it really comes alive as an open air restaurant with lines of stalls shrieking for your business.

The guide books advise you to ask for your meal on paper rather than using the cutlery provided as it is of questionable hygiene but this is near on impossible with the couscous and different dishes on offer.

After a few laps of the stands, fed up of the touts we settled on number 75 after being persuaded by a cheeky young Moroccan guy who reeled us in with his Mockney impression of Jamie Oliver. Despite being overcharged a bit, the food was still good value at about £10 and more importantly we didn't get sick after eating like kings on brochette kebabs, Merguez sausages, deep fried aubergine, couscous and plenty of bread.

The night before, we had an altogether experience dining at a restaurant called Tajna which is just up from the Mellah (Jewish quarter) and affords a good view of the Koutubia Mosque. It wasn't cheap but it eased us nicely into the holiday with a Mechoui lamb for two which was a huge shoulder of meat roasted in a barbecue.

Our routine was generally big breakfasts and small snacks in the day- these were typically cakes/ice cream to satisfy my sweet tooth but also to capitalise on the local specialities which favoured almonds, prunes, apricots and oranges.

Our breakfast at Riad Lacroix Berbere was very memorable-partly due to the view but also because the coffee and fresh orange juice were excellent, as were the crepe-like pancakes which we wolfed down with lashings of honey and jam. We tried a variety of different pancakes over the course of the holiday- one type being a Beghrir variety which had crumpet like bubbles on the top but I found these a bit soggy and favoured those pictured below which were lighter.

We caught a glimpse of a Moroccan bakery while being led round the city by a tour guide (who we didn't ask for!)

Lots of bread was eaten..

In Essaouira we went to a restaurant called Elizir on Rue Agadir which was recommended in Time Out. It opened at 7.30pm and we had some time to kill so browsed the jewellery souks for 10 minutes and returned to a queue under the archway. It was clearly a popular haunt- not surprising, the food was delicious, Moroccan but with a twist. Fortunately the host accommodated us with a smile and after being seated we were given an amuse bouche on the house of various tapenades- the pumpkin pulp was particularly good.

I had gnocchi with almond pesto to start and organic chicken tagine with figs and Gorgonzola for main. Rob had black cuttlefish risotto which looked spectacular and sea bass for main which also looked attractive. My chicken could have had more meat on it but the seasoning was spot on and the flavours intense. The best thing of all about this place is the quirky retro memorabilia, plastic furniture and trinkets on the walls and shelves. We bagged a window seat which was great to people spot the locals against the background of Latin/Moroccan jazz. I wish this restaurant was closer to home!

On our last day in Essaouira I bought some spices from a friendly seller in the square- they are definitely more skilled than their Marrachi peers and take a more softly softly approach to a sale . I sniffed all the jars that lined his shop and settled on the pot for grilled meats as I'm likely to get a fair bit of use out of it. The smell of it evokes memories of a wonderful trip and will hopefully help me recreate some of the delicious Moroccan dishes we tried back in London.

The spice seller and Rob with his beard - he was affectionately nick-named "Ali-Baba" by the locals.

Ottolenghi, 297 Upper St, N1

I have a massive sweet-tooth and am not satisfied unless I've devoured a pudding or at the very least a few squares of chocolate at the end of a meal. Apparently my brother Matthew is exactly the same so I'm certain it's in my genetic blueprint and not down to hormones.

Every time I hit Islington I always take a stroll down Upper Street to gaze at the cakes and meringues on display at Ottolenghi- they really are the best food porn in town.

Since this restaurant-cum deli was voted 'best breakfast' by the Observer in 08, the crowds haven't left it alone at the weekends so on Thursday night Robert and I were killing time before the cinema so thought we'd try our luck for a spot of dinner. We bagged a seat relatively easily - mounting it was more of a challenge - we hauled ourselves onto some high chairs at the bar near the front and checked out the jams and spreads above our head. One of the staff brought over an assortment of breads and oil for us to snack on while we waited which was a nice touch, I thought. In fact, the curried bread was so good I'll be returning to buy a whole loaf.

I'd had a late lunch meeting and had been deprived of a dessert so eyed up my dinner at the window. It was a hard choice, there were various berry topped sponges, muffins and a tempting chocolate torte but I fancied something really sinful, so plumped for a large piece of cheesecake with butterscotch sauce and macadamia nut brittle. It was good, not the best I've had but the brittle made it and with my cravings I would have probably been happy enough with a bowl of that by itself.

As is often the case with cake-eating at supper time (I'm a bit of a veteran at this, you see), once over you're soon lusting for something savoury. Fortunately Robert was on hand so I dined in reverse and picked at his roasted pumpkin and feta salad with pine nuts and pesto and soup of buttered prawns.

Altogether with a beer and latte the meal came to a little over £30. I'd been warned it could be pricey but the ingredients were fresh and tasty, the room slick and after a week of battling the rainy streets of London I felt I deserved a sweet treat. My purse couldn't handle a weekly visit but I won't need to as when the bill came I spied a rather interesting jar of passion fruit and apricot jam which will be perfect with some natural yoghurt and a generous sprinkle of granola for my next postprandial dip!

Bermondsey Farmers' market

Just before Christmas a little farmers' market opened up at the end of Bermondsey Street near our flat. It's like having a mini-Borough market right on our doorstep..not that Borough is far away all but sometimes it takes a fair bit of energy to push your way through the crowds there.

Bermondsey's market obviously hasn't got the same amount of produce or the buzz that Borough has but it's great for a Saturday morning shop for fresh bread, local cheeses, Polish dumplings, pestos and oils, honey, meat and veg. etc

This morning I picked up some focaccia bread which was studded in rosemary and slow baked plum tomatoes and a ball of mozzarella and had it with some prosciutto which i had pilfered from the fridge before I travelled back to London. The bread was delicious, very moist with coarse sea salt creeping into every other bite.

The mozzarella was a disappointment, I had been expecting the depth of flavour of buffalo mozzarella but I suspect it was made of cow's milk as it lacked taste. It wasn't rubbery like the supermarket packs but it didn't fall away satisfyingly in your hand upon tearing like some I've tried. I asked the lady who sold me the cheese whether I could photograph her stall and she was uncomfortable about it as if I was stealing her trade secrets. You would have thought she would be keen for the publicity as the photos below show a few of the stalls - it looks pretty depleted compared to an average Saturday. I hope that this is just because the traders and public are still enjoying the New Year holiday as it would be a shame if the market failed to attract enough interest and closed.