By Paul Reidinger

IF YOU BELIEVE , like Jerry Seinfeld, that cinnamon is a spice of the first rank, a worthy match for chocolate in the world of sweets – I refer here to the fabulous "babke" episode, with a cameo by the Saddam Hussein clone – as well as a player of consequence among the savories, then you will like Maroc. The place, opened recently by Gina Milano and Christine Deeb (the pair who transformed Backflip, once Miss Pearl's Jam House, into Bambuddha Lounge) in an old Sweet Heat space near the western end of Haight Street, exhales its bewitching cinnamon breath practically right out the front door – where it must contend with a Dickensian bank of weed fog. The Haight is still the Haight after all, and constancy is a comfort in times of trouble. But by its cinnamon scent shall ye find Maroc.

Maroc is the French word for Morocco, whose place as the north African nation nearest to Europe gives its food a distinct polycultural affinity. Moroccan cuisine (whose pillars include, besides cinnamon, couscous, preserved lemons, and olives) has been increasingly well represented here in recent years, nowhere more so than at the magnificent Baraka. But part of Baraka's strength is its use of Spanish and French touches in addition to the Moroccan – a west-Med fusion, or colonial, cooking of sorts. Maroc's kitchen eschews this method in favor of a more straightforward rendering of Moroccan cuisine, and while one does sense the limitations, all is forgiven under the perfumed enchantment of cinnamon.

Our featured spice turns up in some expected places – sprinkled, say, (along with powdered sugar) atop briouats ($5), phyllo triangles the size of tortilla chips, stuffed with chicken and almonds. It is also blended – with mint, saffron, chili, and clove – into a ruddy sauce for lamb meatballs ($16), served on saffron rice whose slight undersalting matches that of the meat. (All the dishes, incidentally, are available as small and large plates.)

But cinnamon also haunts the grilled flat bread ($3), pita-like triangles that are smoky-crisp on the outside and tender within. They are nice to nibble on, perhaps with some warm house-marinated olives ($3), but are also useful to have on hand for mopping up the leftovers from the other dishes, which, given the friendly pricing scheme, have a way of proliferating, especially among the share-minded.

Some of these other dishes, it must be said, are not rescued even by cinnamon. Beets ($4), for example, are braised in a cabernet-cinnamon reduction but still reach the table as a set of cold ruby lumps, pretty to look at but perilously close to lifelessness when eaten.

A judicious sprinkling of salt, on the other hand, did rescue several dishes that seemed anemic, among them tiger prawns ($6.50) in a marinade of chili, garlic, cilantro, lemon, and cumin – how could that not be spectacular? – over saffron rice, chermoula-marinated fish skewers ($5) – ditto – and a porridge of coarsely pureed cannellini beans ($4) simmered with saffron, butter, onion, and cilantro.

But just when one is growing a little frustrated with dishes that sound as if they will be sensationally spicy but end up underperforming, along come the Moroccan seafood cigars ($16) – phyllo tubes stuffed with shrimp, scallops, and whitefish, like slender seafood flautas. They are simple and irresistible, and although they are not spicy, they don't need to be, offering instead the rich sweetness of crustaceans and the nice muffled crunch of the phyllo.

A little heavier, but just as tasty, is a lamb tagine ($16), basically a stew dotted with green peas and flavored with olives and preserved lemon. For those of us who find ourselves drifting gently toward vegetarianism, meat can be stunningly rich, and lamb is one of the richer meats. Such dishes as taktouka ($4), a ratatouille-ish dish of peppers and tomatoes cooked in olive oil, with garlic, cumin, and paprika, and roasted eggplant "caviar" ($4), also strongly scented with cumin, help lighten the load.

Given the owners' previous adventures in loungedom, it is not surprising that Maroc has a loungey feel that goes beyond offering a menu available in small plates from beginning to end. There is a long bar people actually seem to sit at while drinking, the dining room is edged with benches that are a little too austere to qualify as banquettes, and the walls are hung with flaglike lengths of fabric in various colors (red, cream, green) that flutter when someone passes. And when there are a lot of someones nearby, perhaps noisily gathered at a table in celebration of a birthday, you might well feel that you are in a big party tent somewhere, with caterers bringing a constant supply of nibblables and carting away dishes emptied of same by the celebrants, some of whom, doubtless, have stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, or some kind of air. Maroc. 1725 Haight (at Shrader), S.F. (415) 387-8845. Tues.-Thurs., 4 p.m.-midnight; Fri., 4 p.m.-2 a.m.; Sat., noon-2 a.m.; Sun., noon-8 p.m. Full bar. American Express, Diners Club, Discover, MasterCard, Visa. Noisy. Wheelchair accessible.