A meal at La Kasbah in Reston is frequently a feast of riches. Photograph by Scott Suchman.

La Kasbah might not be what leaps to mind when you think of waterfront dining—Reston’s Lake Anne is man-made, and the scene along its aging banks at night could hardly be characterized as transporting.

But the cooking at this Moroccan cafe demands more of your attention than the forgettable fare that passes for dinner in many idyllic settings. On a temperate night, sitting on the porch overlooking the lake and watching couples stroll by, you might find yourself distracted by the exuberantly spiced Moroccan stews that trail a fragrant steam as they exit the kitchen.

The owner, Ben Abdel, worked in kitchens in Paris, Italy, Morocco, and New York, but it was his experience running a market in Falls Church that gave him the confidence to launch a place of his own. More than the belly dancers who fire up the dining room at night, the sources he cultivated over the years for such essentials as herbs, spices, and oils are what give the two-year-old La Kasbah legitimacy. Abdel imports his olive oil, his dried fruits, and even his tea from Morocco, as well as a number of wines—including a spicy but supple red from the Guerrouane region that might be mistaken for a Syrah. His recipes, he says, come from the best sources possible: “from the old people, the people who know”—his mother and grandmother in Morocco.

The best way to begin is with the harira, a classic Moroccan soup that has the unfakable taste of something that’s been cooking all day, or the zaalouk, a zesty mash of roasted eggplant, tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, and olive oil that’s scooped onto wedges of warm pita.

Bistilla at many Moroccan restaurants is an entrée—at the celebrated Timgad in Paris, it’s intended for two to share. La Kasbah offers it as an appetizer, a prelude to the heartier dishes to come. A flaky disk of pastry packed with a paste of shredded chicken, almonds, and honey and dusted with cinnamon and sugar, bistilla is a confounding dish to many Westerners, who prefer their savory segregated from their sweet. The version here isn’t likely to change that fact, but it’s excellent, as good an introduction to the dish as you’re likely to find stateside.

Tagines and various preparations of couscous make up the rest of the menu. Tagine refers both to the cooking vessel of choice for many Moroccan cooks and to the aromatic flavors that this ancient pressure cooker can produce. Done right, tagine mitigates the possibility of tough, dry meats. A dish called “lamb spicy” illustrates the benefits of this time-honored low-and-slow process: a Flintstonian shank of lamb—all the meats are halal—in a big soup bowl, the meat yielding and ready for shredding into a fiery tomato-and-pepper sauce.

La Kasbah does couscous proud. Tfaya couscous has the feel of a feast offering—a grand, long-simmered affair of sticky onions and juicy raisins, the soft, fine-grained couscous keeping warm beneath the sweet and savory condiment. The aromas summon memories of a holiday table. It’s served with a choice of stewed chicken or braised lamb—the latter another large, bone-jutting shank. Size notwithstanding, the meat isn’t the focal point; the couscous is. If anything, the meat’s the condiment.

Dessert, on the heels of so much heartiness, seems an exercise in overkill. I prefer to wind down with a silver pot of Moroccan mint tea—which is included with the $49.95 dinner for two (a salad, a bistilla, two entrées, and tea). It’s a good deal, a real inducement to dine at a time when so many of us are forced to scale back. And who knows? If you’re lucky, you might find yourself with a table overlooking the water.

This review appeared in the November, 2008 issue of The Washingtonian.