Nicko Varenne
Google
Moon Restaurant, Tallinn: Where the Lamb is Heavenly but Everything Else is Lunar-ly Lost
Housed in a repurposed warehouse in Tallinn’s up-and-coming Telliski i quarter, Moon presents itself as an archetype of industrial-chic dining. The atmosphere hums with a youthful, almost frenetic energy—perhaps more “busy urban canteen” than “cosseting gastronomic sanctuary.” The raw-brick, steel-beamed space has instant visual appeal, but as my evening progressed, it became clear that style here is not necessarily matched by substance.
A sense of hospitality should ideally begin the moment you sit down, but my experience got off to a rocky start. Bread—which one might expect as a courtesy in a country that prizes its dark rye—must be summoned for and, somewhat cheekily, paid for. It arrived only after a gentle reminder, a harbinger of the excruciating wait to come.
My main course made its entrance after a glacial hour and fifteen minutes. During that time, I nursed a fish cake appetizer that was less “cake” than dense, pudding-like slab—unpleasantly reminiscent of an overcooked omelette—languishing atop a pool of tartare sauce that grew increasingly tepid as it awaited rescue. To call it a disappointment would be generous.
Redemption arrived in the form of roasted lamb: a dish that, quite frankly, belongs on another restaurant’s menu. Succulent, perfectly pink, and crowned with a deeply flavoured crust, this was, without hyperbole, among the finest lamb preparations I have encountered in years. It’s a shame that its supporting cast—an anonymous scoop of tzatziki-like cream and some forlorn roasted peppers—seemed to have wandered onto the plate by accident.
Phase in the relentless noise of the space (amplified by high ceilings and hard surfaces), and what should have been a memorable culinary journey becomes an exercise in endurance. Moon has the bones of a great restaurant: an enviable location, buzzy ambiance, and, on occasion, truly inspired cookery. But as it stands, the experience too often misses the mark—one endures far too much for flashes of brilliance.
If they ever decide to serve their lamb to go, I’ll gladly join the queue. Until then, Moon remains a place of potential, not promise.