So where were you when President Kennedy was assassinated? Given today's Irish demographics the answer is probably 'Not born yet,' but for a whole generation it was an iconic question. Certainly it had more of an impact than asking 'Where were you when President Reagan was shot?' or 'Where were you when Princess Margaret died?' Defining moments in history come and go; the fall of the Berlin Wall, John Lennon's assassination, or the allunation. I can remember exactly where I was when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin first left footprints in the lunar dust - in a small cafe in Place Mahommed V, just outside Casablanca's Medina, watching it on a black and white TV. I was on the classic hippie trail, a five-month meander to Marrakech and beyond, sustained by bread, olives, the omni-present pea soup and as much kif as I could barter for.

Sitting on a wooden veranda at the edge of the market square in Marrakech I watched trick-cyclists, snake-oil salesmen, con-men, fresh-faced tourists, beggars, guys selling contraband cigarettes, stall-holders and cooks. You found a stall, checked out the food, sat down on a make-shift bench and had a steaming bowl of hot lamb tagine for a few dirhams. After a few months of this, bread and olives and tagines lost a lot of their attraction. But it all came flooding back, the impressions and the wilder experiences, this week in a Moroccan restaurant at the corner of Clarendon Street and Wicklow Street. My guest was Catherine Punch, who co-ordinates the Screen Directors Guild of Ireland, and on a damp and rainy night with puddles snagging fashionable shoes, we confronted the wet pavements - about as far removed from Sahelian nights as you could imagine.

The restaurant is on the tenth floor. No, I exaggerate, it just feels like it. You go up and up and up, the sound of Moroccan music emanating from the gods acting like Sirens, calling you ever upwards until you get there. You arrive in a simply furnished room, plain wooden tables and wooden floor, with some geometric designs on the ceilings and walls. A nice touch, before you give your order the waiter arrives with a silver ewer and pitcher and you get to ceremonially wash your hands. So while Catherine started with the menu, I was delighted to find a two page list of wines, of which one page was entirely Moroccan. I know somewhat less than little about Moroccan wines, so I enlisted the help of the waiter. He pointed to the three most expensive reds - all less than €25 - and said 'I'd love to give you one of these, but they're all gone. Try the Gueranne Cabernet-Shiraz blend,' so I did. A decent wine it was too, fruity and easy to drink, lisyed at €19.70.

The menu is surprisingly long, running to three-and-a-half pages. All but one of the starters, the sardines, are priced at under €5, and all can be had as a main course for a bit less than double the starter price. Aubergines, lentils, peppers and tomatoes come in a variety of combinations with evocative names like Falfla, Maticha, Zaaluk and Laadas. Tagines - the name of the dish as well as the earthenware pot in which it's cooked - figure largely on the main courses. Four chicken tagines, four lamb tagines and three cous cous dishes make up the bulk of them with fish and vegetarian dishes making up the rest. Sirloin steak and rib steak are also listed, presumably for anyone whose courage fails when confronted with dishes that have unfamiliar names. Nearly all the main courses are listed at under €15, a couple going marginally over. It took us a while to order, since we had a lot of film gossip to catch up on, but eventually Catherine chose the sardines to start and then the imperially named Cous Cous Royale, while I chose the Falfla, which were grilled peppers, and then the Elham Barcoq, a lamb tagine.

The starters were very good. I'm a sucker for simple foods that are well-prepared and flavoured. Catherine's sardines were a perfect example: done on a griddle, simply served and seasoned with skill, they were a delight. My roasted peppers, similar to way they're prepared in Italy, were equally good. It's a natural reaction - when you get a good starter you instantly relax, confident that you're in the hands of a competent kitchen. Actually, from where we were sitting, the doings in the kitchen were an open book, since we were sat right next to the service hatch.

The main courses were just as tasty. Since childhood I've always been a fan of joined-up meat - economical casseroles and stews taking second place in my value system to a lump of fillet steak - but both Catherine's regal cous cous and my tagine were plentiful and flavoursome. I liked this food; good, honest genuine cooking. I have to say too, that there's an element in El Bahia of enthusiastic amateurism. It's many good things, like friendly and comfortable, but slick it's not. No bad thing, as far as I'm concerned. I'd prefer this blend of enthusiasm and good food to the often encountered alternative of slick and shiny everything coupled with indifferent food.

Still chatting, we adjourned to the smoking section for my benefit where we had the honeyed pastries as a dessert between us. We accompanied this with two cups of delicious mint tea, but sadly we couldn't have a second cup. 'Kitchen's closed,' explained the waiter. 'At half-past eleven there's no hot water?' I asked incredulously. But that's how it was. No more tea. They don't encourage you to linger here, so after another sip of wine it was time to go. A very modest bill of €68.90 completed the evening.