The winning formula

Ed eats

Chukkas
Marsa Polo Club, Marsa
Tel: 2122 8476

Food: 9/10
Service: 9/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 8/10
Overall: 8.5/10

Thirty-four years ago today, Apple introduced the Apple II, the first successfully mass-produced ‘microcomputer’, to an unsuspecting planet. I doubt either of the Steves at the helm could possibly have predicted the way this little step they took would change the way we live in such a dramatic fashion.

They updated the little machine all the way through to 1993, a product lifecycle that is as mind-bogglingly lengthy to us today as the surprise with which it was met back then. Tomorrow they unveil their fifth mobile operating system after just four years since the introduction of its first iteration.

The way technology has accelerated is truly staggering. Sometimes I wonder whether the pace at which new niceties reach us is really driven by consumer demand or whether it is the wizards who develop it that try to force us to adopt what they think is cool.

Fifteen years ago I doubt I’d have jumped for joy if anyone told me I would be reachable by phone even after I’d left the house. I might have been even more upset if I were told that any random moment could be interrupted by a text message, e-mail, tweet, or location update.

And I would have been downright livid if I had been aware that social pressures would dictate a rather rapid response to most of these interruptions.

Being a monumental geek, however, I have allowed these changes to grow on me and even find myself looking out for the latest and greatest pieces of wizardry that are forlornly crying out for an adoptive pocket. So I feed the mouths that bite me and, by doing so, thank them for it.

Last week two items competed for space across all the media that I allow to interrupt my otherwise tranquil existence. All systems beeped as two highly polarised discussions blasted my incoming stream of information, all but drowning the content I normally find interesting.

One was the divorce referendum and the other was the Champions League final. Being largely unaffected by both, I tuned out anything that referred to the fateful date and almost missed an e-mail suggesting that we meet for a steak at Chukkas in Marsa to celebrate the birthday of a close friend.

No amount of technology can beat a proper steak, grilled atop an open wood flame. And no amount of shouting at a TV as a football match unfolds can keep me from one either.

Having been to Chukkas before and having thoroughly enjoyed their fare I was going to let absolutely nothing stand between me and their obsessive approach to beef.

Chukkas is welcoming even before you step into the clubhouse of the Royal Malta Polo Club. No matter what Saturday night parking woes your friends are waxing wroth about, there is never a shortage of parking outside the Marsa Club at this time.

The next sight to warm any carnivore’s soul is that of red-hot embers beneath a cast-iron grill, visible through the kitchen window on the ground floor. The smell of chargrilled beef is powerful as you enter, filling the entirety of one’s consciousness with a primeval desire to bite into the flank of a cow.

The first floor hosts the dining area, a rather particular place that combines a love for polo and horses with a subtle Argentinean theme. The entire right wall as you walk in is made up of large glass panes that overlook the Marsa horse-racing track. By ‘overlook’ I don’t mean a casually distant view.

If you so much as drop a peppermint out of the window, a curious horse will spend the next morning with unusually fresh breath. I’ve heard that Sunday lunch can be quite a spectacle but I have yet to experience this myself.

We sat at a long table that had a TV at one end and myself at the other. It is no secret that I know as much about football as a raindrop knows about the puddle it is about to land in and have just as much say about the final outcome.

I am, therefore, fully aware that my siding with a team, or egging them on from behind a TV screen, will do nothing to help them win a game. This normally helps me avoid those uncomfortable situations where some guy asks for my opinion about a recent on-screen tumble and whether it was, indeed, a foul. I am clear and forthcoming with admitting ignorance of all things football and keep out of this.

This landed me in the other discussion at table – the one about divorce – and I couldn’t see a way out of this. I finally stated that all divorce starts with marriage, so marriage should be banned, solving the problem. This helped me out of the discussion in a flash.

Having a moment of peace, I could look around me and concentrate on the restaurant itself.

Chukkas has very little by way of menu. The restricted choice of courses is written on a blackboard above the bar. And while I go there for their chart-topping way with beef, they are quite sympathetic with those who for some reason or other decide to deny themselves the experience, serving chicken, fish and veal, among others.

Those who are quick to point out that veal is, in fact, beef, should have realised by now that a Milanese is far removed from what I came here for and has been considered separately for the purposes of this column.

Starters were the same for all and came on dishes to share. Three different kinds of pork sausage were served, along with three different kinds of mustard to enjoy them with.

Deep fried mozzarella balls and bruschetta made up the rest of the dish. The latter two were enjoyable, if unremarkable, additions to the first course but I would have been perfectly happy sticking with the excellent sausages.

The wine list at Chukkas is just as extensive as one would expect at an informal steak house. They have opted for a couple of wines per region and a reasonably good spread of origins from both hemispheres make it to their pages.

On the night I’m describing, a wine that is not on the menu was available and we enjoyed a few bottles of Marsovin’s superb Marnisi 2007. The Haut Medoc blend is one that would have fooled me into believing it a Pauillac, with herbs and dried fruit on its slightly smoky nose.

As it opened up, I could just imagine the way it would meet its match with the meat.

Beef sizzlers all round meant that a number of cast iron sizzling pans were served in the centre of the table, with different cuts of beef that had been grilled rare on the open grill downstairs.

Snatching the tenderloin and ribeye off the sizzling dish as soon as the dish hits the table will result in surprised stares from those around you. Worry not though, they will forget about your action soon enough and realise that their hesitation allows the meat to continue cooking for a while.

If you like your beef rare, then snatch away. If you prefer a medium-rare, feign proper breeding and allow the steak to cook a while longer.

The arrival of the beef brought every conversation to a shuddering halt. Such is the quality of the beef, the love with which it is prepared and the excellent cooking method that it is hard to find a better steak anywhere in Malta. I say this with the conviction that comes from confirming this with practically everyone else at table.

A feast worthy of the Valhalla set us back €35 each, and was served with a cheerful alacrity that made for a fun and informal meal. The informality of the place really kicks in after dinner, when a drink at the bar can, and should, carry your soirée gently towards the early hours of the next day.

I can think of no better approach to a fabulous steak and an enjoyable, informal night out. Stick with the formula, Chukkas. If you do nothing to upset the balance you’ve achieved, I’ll only stop ordering your steak when my teeth fall out.

And by then I hope you would have added a tartare to your blackboard.

You can send e-mails about this column to ed.eatson@gmail.com or follow @edeats on Twitter. Or both.