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Rabat- Since I moved to Rabat three years ago, each time the weekend rolls around, my friends and I have debated the most eternal of questions: where do we go for drinks?
To spare you from contemplating the same mystery that has caused many a sleepless night, I’ve decided to embark on a quest that no one asked me to—reviewing every bar in Rabat.
I can think of no better choice for my inaugural review than Le Chill, the first bar that I visited in Morocco. Le Chill, located in Rabat’s upscale Agdal neighborhood, was the site of some fond memories. A date introduced me to the bar in 2019, and I returned again with a friend earlier this year.
This time, I went to Le Chill with Michael Ader, a former roommate from my days in Washington, DC, who once taught me how to cook grilled cheese. Michael was stopping by Morocco for two weeks, and I could think of nothing that would bring him more joy than being roped into my thankless bar-reviewing project.
The day was November 1. As soon as Michael and I entered Le Chill, we found that the smell of cigarette smoke filled the entirety of the bar. Of course, this shouldn’t necessarily be counted against the proprietors, as smoking is quite common in Moroccan bars.
The music, primarily pop and recent hits, was extremely loud but, to the DJ’s credit, well chosen. An energetic man who might or might not have been an employee of Le Chill used a microphone to sing along.
Since all the tables were full that evening, Michael and I sat on two barstools. The bartenders, though friendly, waited about 15 minutes before taking our orders, even as they repeatedly made uncomfortable eye contact with us in the interim. Michael and I spent this time surveying Le Chill’s clientele, which appeared to consist of young, hip couples and older, well-dressed men.
When the bartenders ultimately found their way to us, Michael ordered a mojito and a Margherita pizza, while I went for a margarita and a “Norwegian” pizza topped with smoked salmon. The white Russian that Michael wanted, while listed on the menu, was “unavailable.”
Our drinks arrived after 12 minutes. The salt for my margarita—instead of being on the rim of the glass, as expected—was unceremoniously piled in a line on the edge of the serving tray. My drink also came festooned with a bendy straw.
The margarita itself was impossibly sour, to the extent that drinking it felt like choking on a citrus fruit. Adding insult to injury, the lemon wedge attached to my margarita smacked me in the face when I tried to drink it.
Michael’s mojito tasted like a melted popsicle. It was so sweet that I’m pretty sure I had a vision of the afterlife when I tried it.
Michael and I aren’t in a position to rate Le Chill’s food, as our pizzas never arrived. No less than 53 minutes after we placed our order, a waiter assured us that our food would come out in “five minutes.” At an hour and three minutes, another waiter tried to bring me someone else’s pasta order.
Once an hour and 18 minutes had passed, Michael and I gave up, got our bill, and left. Le Chill’s wait staff looked unfazed.
I’d give Le Chill two stars out of five—2.5 stars if you only go there for beer.
Avoid the margaritas at all costs.
