Talking about my generation

Ed eats

Cockney’s Bar and Restaurant
Marsamxett,
Valletta
Tel: 2123 6065

Food: 7/10
Service: 7/10
Ambience: 7/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 7/10

In 1972, the band called Stealers Wheel hit the charts with a song called Stuck in the middle with you. They sank back into life-before-fame almost immediately.

Decades later, Mr Tarantino rather bizarrely picked the track to add some cheer to a memorable scene in Reservoir Dogs.

I think it should be the soundtrack to the life of most people of my generation. We are stuck in an awkward middle ground, stranded between two poles and belonging to neither.

The acne-ridden platoons of the youthful jeer at the battle-weary troops in grey hair while we neither-here-nor-there just watch from a distance. We are too old for the girls and too young for the ladies. Our taxes fund an equal amount of stipends and pensions.

The 30-somethings to 40-somethings of today have been labelled the Peter Pan generation for our refusal to grow old and yet appear appallingly uncool to the young.

At some point we will decide which side to take but until then we will hang on to this conveniently ambiguous identity. And an ambiguous identity doesn’t come without its pitfalls.

This is not a column about demographics though, so there must be a food analogy lurking somewhere. I refer to those restaurants with an evident ambiguity of identity and the trouble this poses to patrons.

Let’s take a few of examples of a clear identity to start with. Paramount Kiosk in Paola and Andrew’s Bar in Birkirkara for instance. They promise a very quick fix for lunch at a price to suit everyone’s pocket and served with a minimum of fuss or pretence.

Both of these manage to deliver on their promise, providing a quick ftira bedecked with fresh ingredients in exchange for a couple of shiny coins.

At the other end of the spectrum are restaurants like Salvino’s in Valletta and Don Serafino 1953 at the Dragonara Casino that promise innovation and surprises in an elegant setting.

They both deliver twists and turns that never fail to delight, offer excellent service to match thedining experience and bill in a commensurate fashion.

And then there are occasions where I feel lost – at restaurants that seem to offer one thing and serve another.

The worst offenders in this category are those that are awfully pretentious, priced to match, and serving up a potful of boring gruel. They often lack proper service and charge the GDP of Poland for a meal for two.

Also confusing are the inconspicuous places that suddenly present a menu one would expect of a much more flamboyant restaurant. Here the surprise is a bit more pleasant but I am often left with the feeling that the experience hasn’t properly come together and this lack of cohesion dents the element of pleasant surprise.

This happened to me recently when meeting a friend for lunch. We would be discussing a project that we were both working on and I asked where he’d rather meet.

A flurry of e-mails ensued and my friend, who I’ll call Bob for brevity, picked Cockney’s in Valletta. My instant reaction was that paralysis that grips me every time I think about parking in Valletta.

Bob, ever the gentleman, offered to call for me and avert half the parking woes. His lucky constellation shone upon him that day and we parked just outside the restaurant.

Cockney’s enjoys views over Marsamxett harbour and across the water to Sliema creek and Manoel Island.

An outside terrace provides the best possible tables but an unseasonal shower, quite possibly making up for our ridiculous luck when parking, made this option unavailable. We sat, instead, at one of the tables inside the restaurant itself.

One member of staff was with us quite quickly, wiping down the vinyl tablecloth and adjusting the metal clips that keep it from sliding onto our laps.

I love the noise that this wiping makes. It reminds me of a paper-bag full of vinegar-soaked chips and a bottle of Dr Pepper that were the ultimate treat for five-year-old me back when Confucius played for Shandong Province under-14s.

Picture my surprise when the tatty menus – printed sheets shoved inside plastic folders that have seen better days – read like that of a proper fish restaurant. We didn’t have the luxury of an entire afternoon so we had to stick to a single course.

I would have loved to try the antipasto that sounded rather enticing and the young man who came to let us know the specialities of the day included a suit-wrecking spaghetti with squid-ink and a reasonable selection of fresh fish.

I was dying to try the squid-ink pasta but I have had several mishaps before, returning to the office in a state that would have me blend in with a litter ofDalmatian puppies.

Bob was having the spaghetti vongole e cozze without cozze (spaghetti vongole being absent from the menu). I felt like clams more than mussels so ordered the spaghetti cozze. Both of us felt like the additional kick of chilli peppers with our shellfish and asked the waiter to have both plates modified accordingly.

We both had a long afternoon at the office ahead so, very reluctantly, kept away from the wine list. A bottle of sparkling water was all we allowed ourselves and I felt suitably and annoyingly virtuous when placing our spirit-free drinks order.

Our conversation drifted into and out of the matter we had met to discuss.

Bob happens to have a very enthusiastically broad knowledge of dining options inSicily and his vivid and articulate descriptions of his mealsthere worked my appetite into a dizzying frenzy.

Luckily our pasta portions were generous and quite well-prepared. The mussels were more plentiful than my clams, but the ones I had had been gently treated so that they detached easily from the shell but had not been overcooked.

Spaghetti was slightly over-done for my liking but then I do like a proper al dente and Bob assured me that he loved the way they’d been cooked. Fresh chilli had been chopped into little circles and the dose was just what I had hoped for – a decent presence without overpowering the delicate flavour that the clams impart.

The portion size was just right. We weren’t left feeling the lack of a second course by the end of our meal and didn’t walk away feeling like we needed a post-prandial nap.

An espresso contributed to the spring in our step as we walked out but it wasn’t a coffee I’ll be placing in my top 100.

We paid just under €15 each – not exactly a steal considering we’d had a single plate of pasta each and no wine at a restaurant that looks more like a bar.

On the other hand, the quality of the food was more than satisfactory, the service was polite and unpretentious and the view is one that I never get tired of.

Cockney’s seems to occupy that slightly awkward middle ground. Too good to be a bar, and not quite a full-blown restaurant.

Perhaps, awkward as it is, this category-defying stunt keeps it interesting to both ends of the spectrum. And so if I reverse this analogy and apply it to my generation, there is hope for us yet.

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