I would happily commit my life to and share my home with a hunk of lamb slow-cooked on the bone. A well-braised lamb shank with a good, strong sauce is one of the greatest things in the world, and a quality Moroccan restaurant usually delivers the goods. Belltown's Marrakesh Restaurant (2334 Second Ave) certainly deserves a place in the lamb-cooking hall of fame and, based on various things I'd heard, Crown Hill's Kasbah Moroccan Restaurant promised the same satisfaction.

The glory of lamb aside, Moroccan restaurants continue to confound me. I've come clean about the confusion and discomfort I experience when confronted by over-the-top opium-den décor, belly dancers, and ritual hand-washings. These earnest attempts at "tradition" just feel hollow to me. The richness of Moroccan culture, described by His Majesty the late King Hassan II as akin to a desert palm—"rooted in Africa, watered by Islam, and rustled by the winds of Europe"—should be reflected in its cuisine, not in turquoise and pink canopy ceilings.

But I do appreciate that most Moroccan restaurants offer reasonably priced set meals. Kasbah's D'Yaffa Feast ($25 per person) is a generous five-course dinner that requires you to pace yourself if you want to leave the restaurant conscious and with your pants buttoned. The feast begins with "traditional harira soup," a tangy tomato base with an "exotic blend of spices." It's lovely, filled with lentils and chickpeas, and redolent of saffron. The second course is a trio of salads—eggplant, roasted bell peppers and tomatoes, and marinated carrots—accompanied by warm, dense bread flecked with anise seeds. The presentation was delightful: a pile of deep-red eggplant encircled by the tomatoes and peppers and bordered by bright-orange carrot rounds. The salads were fine, though the eggplant was overpowered by the taste of tomato paste and the carrots were limp and lacked their most treasured characteristics of sweetness and crunch.

The third course, b'stilla, is something I find endlessly fascinating, despite my aversion to simultaneously sweet and savory dishes. B'stilla is chicken, eggs, and almonds encased in phyllo and dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon. In truth, Kasbah's b'stilla came buried in sugar and cinnamon, so my dining guest and I broke with tradition and flipped it over to bypass the overwhelming sweetness and get to the meat. I loved the combination of the well-spiced, moist chicken shreds against pillowy, silky bits of eggs, the crunch of almonds, and flaky phyllo.

My companion's chosen entrée, kefta tagine (beef meatballs in tomato sauce topped with poached eggs), was remarkably comforting. The meatballs were sautéed—still moist, but with a crispy, almost caramelized outer layer. The thick tomato sauce lacked the spice I expected, but the overall combination—especially the softness of the poached egg—was wonderful. My entrée, the highly anticipated lamb with eggplant, was an utterly gorgeous, perfectly braised lamb shank. And while I hate to quibble with such a fine dish of meat, the sauce, rich in onions and lamb juice, again lacked interesting spices. It's a small point, but the complexity of flavors that Moroccan cuisine is known for was missing. Kasbah's entrees are beautifully executed, and they hit a single flavor note with aplomb, but my tongue wanted, if you will, at least a three-note chord.

Dessert, a generically tasty and bracingly sweet chocolate mousse cake, was both a surprise and a disappointment. Its place in Kasbah's "traditional" menu was dubious; turns out it came from Food Services America. Kasbah's dessert offering changes every month, and I was sad to learn that I'd missed last month's house-made poached pears, which I have no doubt were infinitely more satisfying and "traditional."