This wonderful conglomeration of Eastern and Western (Farouk becomes the wonderfully familiar and commonplace "Freddy," and the last name, "Mercury," invokes the Roman god responsible for leading the souls of the dead to the underworld) sums up much of what is richest about Zanzibar: as Freddy Mercury knew, Zanzibari culture is built out of crossing borders.

...but you want to know about the restaurant. Mercury's has no affiliation with its namesake, but like him, it has a way of crossing borders. Take the building itself. Seen from the street, Mercury's looks like one of the more expensive Westernized restaurants - a dark wooden front with serious windows in it, through which you can peer in at red-and-white checked tablecloths. But once through the door, the building turns out to be only half finished: there is no rear wall, but, instead, a deck built over the beach and partially shaded by the thatched roof.

Then there's the drinks menu, which makes a valiant attempt at internationalism. The margaritas may not be duplicates of the margaritas you had in Cancún, but really, the fact that you can get a margarita on Zanzibar at all is pretty remarkable. You're better off with one of the drinks made out of local fruit juices, though--although some of the stranger local liquors might be best for novelty value.

The food is less adventurous, but that's in part because the language of seafood is international. Every carnivore in our party ordered something different. No one was distressed by what they got, but no one was particularly excited, either; the attraction of Mercury's is more in the name and the setting, rather than the actual food.

And the setting is lovely. There was a bonfire on the beach the night we were there, and beyond the fire, the boats bobbed on the harbor underneath the stars. We admired the view for hours -- in part because the service was almost supernaturally slow, but also because the stars on a clear night are spectacular.