Mosuke, the magical portion of Mory Sacko

It is permissible to disobey injunctions. At a time when the terraces are finally reaching out to us, the idea of click and collect gives chills. A sweet feeling of transgression. To complete the experience, it is essential to find the restaurant without a terrace. Mosuke, who became Mosugo during a period of confinement, is the ideal candidate.

Opened in September 2020, this restaurant won a Michelin star after only a few weeks of opening. The debate raged. But we were unable to participate because we had not had time to taste the sparkling cuisine of Mory Sacko, a former candidate for the “Top Chef” program who passed through the kitchens of Mandarin oriental by Thierry Marx.

Rumors say that, at 28, the young man, of Senegalese and Malian origin, has perfectly mixed his French, Japanese and African inspirations. It is therefore doubly excited that we go directly to the counter of this restaurant in rue Raymond-Losserand, in Paris, in the 14^e borough.

A sip of bissap

The delivery men parade at high speed in the small airlock in the entrance. The waitress seems overwhelmed, but she kindly takes the order. Four minutes later, watch in hand, the meal is boxed, stretched out at arm’s length in a “thank you, goodbye” all that is most cordial. Across the street, a small square nestles between several low-rise buildings. The sun is everywhere on the lawns, the benches are empty, a few people on their balconies are enjoying the calm. A lunch on the grass is improvised.

First, a sip of bissap. The hibiscus juice is thirst-quenching, very slightly sweet, with a hint of cinnamon reminiscent of light pepper. The taste buds are on hold. They will soon see themselves covered in very mild Cajun sauce. The chilli pepper is discreet, the paprika too, they let all the splendor of the sweet potato fries that were found immersed in the sauce unfold.

Is it the quality of the vegetable or the quality of the cooking? There has never been such a successful sweet potato fries. Crisp and light, still hot from the oil bath she has just taken, it reveals, in a second step, a firm yet tender flesh. The fingers keep plunging back into the cone of fries. They will calm down only to linger over the fried chicken burger.

Texture balances

The bun is a pretzel whose soft crumb is brushed with Cajun sauce (we never tire of it). It bodes a certain freshness of the salad leaf trapped between this languid sauce and the tingling relief of the fried breadcrumbs of the chicken. What made the nature of the sweet potato fries is valid for the burger. Textural balances are precisely respected and the desire to return is irrepressible.

A deviation by the fries calms the tempo, but the precipitation is such that some of them fall on the grass. We are no longer alone in the square. A crow appeared out of nowhere grabs the five fries, escapes into the shade, gobbles one, gathers the rest and flies away from there, the booty tight in its beak. She knows what is precious.