And so here I am! At Etienne’s Restaurant and Wine Bar in the heart of Attard, together with Rachel Attard, who ironically hails from Attard! I take a perverse pleasure in the entire Attard combination and look forward to an evening with the Bondiplus Girl.
If I did not know who she was and what she does, I could easily mistake her for some swanky photo model on an Estee Lauder ad. She pulsates with movie star glamour, and is fortunate enough to have a face that stops traffic. Her eyes are embellished with thick black eye-liner which capture the allure of her sapphire eyes, and dictates a bold, daring intensity. The hair is sun-streaked, and overwhelmingly honeyed by some unknown hairdresser who has used the right shade of gold to give it that Scarlet Johansson appeal. She has chosen a flirtatious cloud of black for the night, but manages to revive it with Regan Red finger nails… and with legs worthy of a peep-show, I can see she already has an audience.
Etienne greets us at the door with a welcoming smile. I do not know who he is at first. He could easily be an accountant or a lawyer in his brown jacket and the watchful eyes of a bird of prey. Spinning around the room is another man, who looks like a handsome version of Kojak, and who I later find out is part of Eteinne’s waiting team.
The ambience is not what I expect. I thought it would breathe an air of clinical luxury, but I am pleasantly surprised that this 400-year-old house has kept its quaint qualities. I feel like I am cosseted inside a Faberge egg, surrounded by a truly remarkable cornucopia of objects. There are two levels at Etienne’s. The fine dining restaurant is carefully hidden away on the upper level, whereas the wine bar is at street level. There are a total of six tables carefully positioned around the room to give each patron enough privacy, and right now the handsome version of Kojak is busy lighting up the candles with a plastic lighter. He does it quickly, with the grace of a ballet dancer.
I choose a table next to a bordello red wall where four illustrations of grapes hang in neat frames.
Etienne re-appears from behind a bar loaded with wine bottles and presents us with a menu that looks like an Alexis Carrington Colby jewel box. It’s got a wooden case, and once you click it open you are truly and simply spoilt for choice. I do not have the patience to count how many wines, but Etienne tells us it is over 500 wines, and nine of them he does not have.
“You choose,” I tell Rachel, while the handsome version of Kojak comes over and tries to talk us into some pasta. They sound absolutely tasty and interesting, but both Rachel and I want to give carbs a miss so we insist on a platter. I detect a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but he obliges to our request and returns with a list of four platters.
The wine menu is massive, and Rachel chooses a Crianza 2002 priced at €17.50. She then spots a wine priced at € 245, and squeals that it is called “Bondi!”
Wow! I think to myself. Do they get Bondiplus in Tuscany? Etienne kills her enthusiasm tenderly by telling her that it is a Biondi Santi. Oooops! The power of one vowel! As a little reward we are offered two glasses of prosecco on the house.
When he is gone – and that is like 30 minutes later, as he clearly enjoys the company of his guests, and we equally enjoy his – I pay Rachel my compliments on her looks. She seems genuinely uncomfortable about the praise, so I pop my first question: “Had you been a piece of art… in whose living room would you like to hang?”
I’m almost sure she will shoot out some double barrel surname, or possibly Principe Emmanuale Filiberto di Savoia….
“Ray Calleja,” she says flatly. “I know he appreciates art.”
I decide to make her sweat a little with my next question. I want to know who her ideal neighbours would be: The Gonzis? The Muscats? or The Cassolas?
She seems completely unfazed by the question. “The Muscats. Life would be more spicy!” Her cerise lips spread into a saucy smile.
Etienne is back with the wine, and after Rachel plays along to the wine opening ceremony he asks us if we would like it decanted. We do, and after decanting it he pours it in exquisite crystal glasses. We allow it to breathe.
Platters are in vogue and every wine bar seems to boast its own special platter. L’indeciso – as named by the owner – is a selection of Italian, French, and Maltese cheeses, combined with a selection of salamis, and Parma ham served with two mouth-watering dips. We get a bonus with our platter! Etienne tells us that he will let us taste some special olive oil he has created himself. He seems as excited about it as Joan Collins would be with a new face-lift. It’s nice, but I don’t get the buzz.
The Crianza is pretty good. It’s clean, and ruby red in colour with the perfect balance of spices from the oak and plumy red berry fruit aromas. Great choice Rachel!
As we toast and nibble on the food I notice that the table adjacent to ours is now occupied with three men who somehow remind me of an older version of Take That on retirement in Malta. Directly ahead of them, a corner table is occupied by two women – probably the mother and daughter due to the striking resemblance. The daughter looks like she has just swallowed a bitter pill and will pay VAT if she manages a little smile. The mother, an elegant lady with a nose just saved from being too long, is sitting and bitching about something which I can’t really make out.
Conversation with my guest is by far more interesting. Rachel is the spirit of achievement personified. More than being occupied with having her pout plumped with cow collagen she is more concerned with her work in journalism, her TV productions, and a new course in Stone texture she is undergoing. Hands off guys! She is no longer single, but singularly sizzling! In fact, after we have a chat about a string of love-oriented topics I decide to ask her a high calorie question: “If you have an itch in your back, whose hand would you like to scratch it to comfort?”
Do I imagine, or does she blush a deep scarlet? I quickly decide to make things even more difficult and ask her to choose between Jeffery Pullicino Orlando and Kevin De Cesare. Her squinty gaze and half-smile indicate that she has an answer ready for me. I wait for it like a kid waiting for the next Harry Potter release.
“Kevin De Cesare,” she replies casually.
Toilet time again for Mr Borg. I manage to find the switch, turn on the light, and what greets me is not what I expect. I actually like it. It is big enough, the mosaic tiles are cool, and it is decorated in a very nice way to match the concept of quaint. Once out, I ask Etienne to have a quick look at the restaurant since Rachel has been telling me she once had good ravioli there. It looks cosy, and welcoming. .
We’re back downstairs and Take That and the Bitter Pill have left and Etienne is talking to us again, mixing chummily with the star – Rachel Attard. He offers us some of his “specially made” Limoncello and this time I get the buzz. Wow! This is the best Limoncello ever. Rachel agrees. We talk for at least another hour until I look at my watch and realize it is 01:30 AM. Time flies when you are enjoying yourself!
“Oh my God!” Rachel looks startled, the black eyeliner almost falling off. “I have to film at six tomorrow!” She kicks herself into a standing position like an obedient cadet.
We pay Etienne the € 32.50 Euro we owe him for the wine and food, and hurry outside faster than the speed of light.
privateye@timesofmalta.com
Wine - *******
Ambience ****
Food - *****
Service *******