Ed eats

Trattoria Vetri
Sa Maison,
Pietà
Tel: 2122 6662

Food: 6/10
Service: 7/10
Ambience: 7/10
Value: 9/10
Overall: 7/10

The view from every table of the newly reopened Sa Maison boathouse is that of twinkling lights that reflect off a squid-ink sea, fishing boats that rock and roll in the gentle swell, and of late evening Msida traffic.

They seem to have managed a balance of simple Mediterranean cooking with great value for money in a location that is as unlikely as it is picturesque

If it were not for the traffic, I thought, we could easily be in a little fishing village. From inside here it is hard to see the majestic bastions that rise from the sea in a towering echo of those who, a few centuries ago, could build functional beauty without the shackles of planning permits or workers’ unions.

Here, a great man would say, I will build a city of beauty and might, of spreadsheet regularity and memorability of skyline.

And then he could retreat to the crackling fireplace and oiled concubines that awaited him in his hall, knowing he’d see the work start by the time the sun rose again.

He also knew he’d be stabbed before it was completed but that gave him the certainty that they’d name some monument or other after him, so a stony eternal life was assured.

Much more humble is the little boathouse that snuck unnoticed outside the city’s walls and enjoyed a closer view of the sea. Stories about the place have called it a customs house, but I find its location quite unsuited to that, so I’ll stick with the boathouse story.

When I first heard it was being converted into a restaurant I was delighted. I’d be happy if most places are turned into a place where I can satisfy my desire for good food.

I am the one sitting next to you on the plane who routinely refuses the in-flight meal with an insulted expression on his face.

I am the one who is likely to take his own terrine if the flight is long enough, with slices of smoked duck breast and a few caramelised figs to stave those pre-landing hunger pangs. Would I not be overjoyed at the thought of a lovely building serving food?

And so La Vecchia Dogana opened its doors to the public amid a buzz of happy first-diners. When I visited I was not sure what the fuss was about.

The man in a large, gold Merc and a necklace to match was being fawned over by the serving staff while I was ignored, paying for my reluctance to dress ostentatiously and act like a number of tower cranes have my surname emblazoned on them.

I returned once, invited to lunch this time, and was not surprised that ours was the only occupied table.

Just when I thought I’d heard the end of the place, conversations were atwitter with the mention of the place being taken over. What would I do with the place, I wondered?

Fine dining I thought, with fewer tables and more space between them. A great chef, creative and innovative, treating the gastronomically demanding to twists and turns that not even their reading of Heston’s latest forays into mermaid caviar and Anthrax could prepare them for.

A wine list so extensive it would be delivered on an iPad (there is a thought – I wonder what restaurant will jump to this) to make it light enough for the elegant serving staff to carry without a trolley.

Naturally, the price would match this offering but the people dining there would be prepared to give up little luxuries for a real dining experience once in a while.

As I parked outside, I put my reverie to bed and approached the place with an open mind. Nothing much has changed.

My powers of observation are of average keenness, mitigated by my relatively short memory, and if anything has changed since La Vecchia Dogana times, it has thwarted both faculties.

We were met at the door by a beaming man who seemed genuinely pleased to see us and showed us to a table in the centre of the dining area. Apart from another couple of tables that seated two or four people, the place has already managed to attract large groups of diners. The place was busy for a mid-week dinner service and this is encouraging. Both for me as a diner and for whoever is running the place.

A quick look at the menu explained the popularity. Every effort has been made to scream ‘Italian food!’ and, while not particularly inspired, has a reasonable spread of dishes that fit the trattoria bill. So much for fine dining, I thought, and adjusted my expectations accordingly. Helping me to adjust expectations was the price tag that every item bore. My wallet smiled smugly in my pocket, knowing it would not be up to much this evening.

The lady who was taking care of most of that evening’s service took our orders, her act rather more perfunctory than the man who had greeted us initially.

His approach is somehow evidence of training followed by years of honing the skill. If this is not the case, the art of service must come naturally to him.

My order included a very inexpensive Donnafugata and he came over to swap the wine glasses for a couple that would be more suited for a cheerful, white wine.

For starters I picked the pepata di cozze. It was one of two starters that stood out. The other one was the quail with grapes and nuts, ordered, quite bizarrely, by a better half who insists she does not like quail.

I have never tried to understand what kind of thought process could possibly lead to this. It will go down with the rest of the unfathomable actions that she and her ilk choose to baffle me with.

For main course she picked the grilled squid, far more rational when one considers that she actually loves grilled squid. I satisfied my desire for pasta and seafood by picking the ravioli con astice – ravioli filled with lobster – as a main course.

The waiting time was probably a little longer than I’d have expected of the food we ordered but perfectly acceptable for a restaurant that has only just opened its doors to the public. It takes a while for the kitchen and the front of house to gel properly and I make allowances for delays until the service comes together properly. And they’re very nearly there. My pepata was quite tasty, far more than I expected of a sub-€10 dish. The portion is quite generous and the pepata is thick, intense and helped along the way with a touch of chilli pepper.

I was not surprised that the quail was being systematically devoured across the table. The honey and nuts must have really quelled the intolerance to the little fowl.

The ravioli main course is a portion of six as it should be. We tend to expect larger portions, and this is why we, as a nation, hog the European fat podium. Six were just enough, with a reasonably good filling of lobster and a rather weak sauce that, while not unpleasant, did not contribute much to the dish.

The grilled squid was a bit of a mixed bag. The portion was generous, the grilling time perfect, but the result quite tasteless. All it took was some salt and olive oil to make up for this and yield a simple and delightful dish.

I was not going to order dessert. I’d eaten enough and was also wary of the time it could take to arrive. I was also itching to take a little walk around the bay to try and take a picture of the place. I paid €50 for the lot, a very reasonable price I thought.

This was probably why the place was busier than, I suspect, the people running the place predicted. They seem to have managed a balance of simple Mediterranean cooking with great value for money in a location that is as unlikely as it is picturesque.

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