I can still smell the arid, frenzied marketplace of Marrakech and the dusty, medieval souk lined with sculpted cones of colorful olives and musky spices. Their pungent fragrance layered the air, along with the smells of tanning leather and of fresh mint tea billowing from the door of every rug merchant.

In the city's great plaza, Djema el-Fna, I ate spicy chick-pea soup and skewers of charcoal-grilled lamb at an open-air stand while a snake charmer nearby made his cobra dance. The experience transfixed me, too, for a lifetime.

Of course, Philadelphia has a few Moroccan-themed restaurants that are fun for some belly-dance shtick. But their largely rote banquet menus don't do justice to the depth and possibilities of Moroccan cooking.

So I was thrilled when North African ideas — from the intricate spicings to the tagines and couscous — began gaining momentum on some mainstream menus here in recent years. The best example has been Tangerine, where chef Chris Painter achieves a perfect balance, borrowing from traditional dishes that inspire his more contemporary Western creations.

I've always wondered what the food would be like if the situation was reversed, if a talented Moroccan-born cook was making the translation for Philadelphia palates. But early glimpses provided by Figs, Mustapha Rouissiya's new BYOB near the Art Museum, have been disappointing.

Rouissiya certainly has a promising pedigree. The Casablanca native, who worked in France before coming to the University of Pennsylvania to study law, was one of the sous-chefs who helped launch Striped Bass before moving on to Rococo in Old City. His most recent stint at Twenty Manning was impressive, saving Audrey Taichman's restaurant from a shaky launch.

With the chance to finally be his own boss at Figs, a warm little pumpkin-colored space previously occupied by Cafe Flower Shop, Rouissiya would have only 40 seats and the luxury, he told me over the phone, "to concentrate on the food."

So why wasn't Rouissiya cooking every time I came to Figs? One busy night, he was playing waiter and schmoozing with a stylish clientele straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. On a quieter evening, we arrived at 8, just in time to see him drive off in a BMW.

I've got no problem with a chef delegating the pots and pans. But I wouldn't want to be the chef taking credit for the sloppy meals we ate at Figs.

The fish dishes were particularly off. My sea bass, a bizarre boot-shaped slice of fish, was overseasoned and seared to fibrous mush, then set atop a pool of white bean stew filled with shoddily cut vegetables and tasting of canned tomatoes. Red snapper fillets stacked over mashed potatoes had the odor and texture of fishy cardboard. Oversalted tuna steak came with lobster ravioli with edges still crunchy from undercooking — though less crunchy than the Lebanese rice pudding, which was barely half done.

Figs' menu has a definite North African accent, especially the appetizer kabobs, but they, too, were inconsistent. The best was the kefta — a long patty of oniony ground beef scented with cinnamon, coriander and cumin — followed by a lamb kabob marinated in Rouissiya's own "ras el hanout," a complex spice blend that includes clove and three kinds of ginger. The beef kabob was unpleasantly chewy, and the vegetarian skewer looked as if it had merely been flashed over the heat.

A trio of North African dips — olive puree, salt cod mousse, and roasted garlic-almond mash — might have worked had they been eaten together, creating a harmony of salty, fishy and nutty-sweet notes. But no one told us (actually, our waitress talked so softly that it's possible we didn't hear her), and the elements, eaten separately, were out of balance.

Some dishes arrived relatively unscathed. A roasted beet salad was delicious, tossed in classic vinaigrette over slender green beans. Tender duck breast came with a tasty saute of figs, mashed sweet potatoes, and gravy sweetened with honey and cinnamon.

A salmon fillet over cranberry-studded couscous was perhaps the best Moroccan-inspired entree, smeared with "chermoula," an aromatic paste of cilantro and lemon juice. And for dessert, the fig ice cream was filled with satisfying chunks of fruit.

The rest of our meals needed help.

The green and white tortellini was a weighty lump of dumplings welded together by globs of Gorgonzola cheese. The "Tunisian" angel-hair pasta was more of a bland ode to Greek salad with its garnish of feta, tomatoes and olives.

Then again, that wasn't the only time Rouissiya skipped out on traditional North African preparations that would have been better than his own ideas. Case in point: the tagines — typically, hearty stews swirling with slow-cooked spice — that ended up as little more than grilled meats with sauce.

It's one thing to replace a humble home dish with a fine cut of meat and clever garnish, but our rack of lamb was so ordinary that I was more excited by the prunes on the side. At least they had been stewed. Likewise, a filet mignon with artichokes and potatoes had a curried broth as flavorful as yellow water.

Most of these problems could be solved if Rouissiya kept a closer eye on the kitchen. Then again, the flaw may lie with his interpretation of Moroccan flavors for American diners. He says he deconstructed the tagines because he didn't want to serve his guests "overcooked meat."

That misses the very appeal of the carefully steeped stews, which, properly done, can transform chunks of "overcooked" meat into morsels of profound flavor. There are no shortcuts to a good tagine, in much the same way a good restaurant — even a cozy 40-seater — can't succeed without the basic attention it deserves.

Craig LaBan's e-mail address is claban@phillynews.com.