Ed eats
Tarragon
72, Church Street,
St Paul’s Bay
Tel: 2157 3759
Food: 7/10
Service: 7/10
Ambience: 7/10
Value: 6/10
Overall: 7/10
It is unfortunate that anyone blessed with acute powers of observation that are combined with experience is labelled a cynic. Anyone who plainly states things as they are is simply being honest. A true cynic will walk out of the house, smell flowers, and look fora funeral.
Dining out is quite subjective and I’m not sure I’d be prepared to put up with the experience for the sake of a good fish
I suppose it boils down to keeping certain observations to yourself. If, for instance, I’ve observed an action and point out an unpleasant but inevitable consequence, I will be considered a wet blanket.
If, on the other hand, I let the sequence unfold without saying anything, I will remain happily unconnected with the entire tragedy. So both the honest and the cynic are better off keeping their mouths firmly shut.
Knowing when to keep quiet is, unfortunately, not a trait that we Maltese are particularly well known for. I love the ara tweġġa! that onlookers exclaim after someone has tripped up and hurt. If my knees feel like they’ve been dragged across hot coals, warning me not to hurt myself isn’t quite what I’d like to hear.
Some people take this gratuitous dispensing of information to a championship level and earn a reputation for it. Remember Karmenu at Grabiel? He knew absolutely everyone who entered the restaurant and, within a single service, evenly distributed all their secrets around the room.
Some people went there for this very reason. Others avoided the place for the exact same reason. To me this means it worked out perfectly for everyone.
I visited with a couple of close friends of mine a while ago and, had I not been thoroughly resolute, I’d have eaten a fish that I caught with my bare hands off the coast road.
The drive from the St Andrew’s side of the Coast Road to St Paul’s Bay took just over 50 minutes and there was not a single car crash.
It was just the collective stupidity of drivers that caused this interminable trip and I caught myself pondering the benefits of mass chemical castration. If one is not capable of steering a ton and a half of metal in the right direction and at an adequate velocity, how can that person be allowed the right to reproduce? Hunger and traffic bring out the worst in me.
When I finally made it to Tarragon, we were seated at a table on the lower floor and there was not a single other vacant table. The place is popular and has half a dozen awards on the wall to prove it.
We had a look at the menu but Marvin was back within minutes and this time he made up for his earlier transgression. He went through all the fish he had available, and listed the items that we could possibly share as starters.
He gave us lovely descriptions of absolutely everything and suggested a mix of seafood for starters, taking away the burden of choice and making us all feel like we were in for a treat.
We all agreed to his recommendation and decided we’d have fish for main course. Three of us would share a ċippullazza, or rosefish, and one would have a spigola al sale. Lovely Eyes said she’d be fine with the starters so we’d need four main courses for five of us.
We also ordered a Greco di Tufo and settled in to one of those bizarre conversations that only a fivesome can produce.
Our starters were delivered as they were prepared rather than all together, meaning we always had enough room at table and that each one was served fresh and at the right temperature.
Scallops, simply baked, were a touch overdone but enjoyable nonetheless. A reconstructed olive, possibly a nod to Ferran Adrià was an interesting bubble of flavour and tiger prawns had been battered until just about recognisable.
Local razor clams were simply sautéed and excellent. Tortellaci neri filled with barracuda, salmon and ricotta were huge but the odd choice of smoked salmon meant that the smoky flavour took over, leaving the barracuda and ricotta to struggle in the background.
A rich, cream-based sauce didn’t quite help the cause of the meeker ingredients. The last starter was a dish of deep fried calamari rings. Very fresh squid had been used and the batter was fried to a dry crisp, making the dish a guilty delight.
It was time for another bottle of Greco di Tufo and another round of conversation that spanned football, boat trip plans, our next meal, and a brief interruption.
We were eventually saved from more detail by a trolley that bore our ċippullazza. This was filleted and served close enough for me to make sure that the tasty cheek flesh and other hidden treats made their way to our plates.
Excellent baked potato and steamed veg were served in generous quantities. The fish was firm and lightly seasoned. It might not be the best ċippulazza I’ve tasted but the fish was fresh and luckily free from unnecessary flavour or meddling.
Our intentions to head out after dinner helped us resist the temptation of dessert so we asked for the bill. This took a while so Marvin joined us at table, this time for a pleasant chit-chat.
The bill for €250 meant that we’d paid €50 each for a starter and almost a main course all round. For all the promises that Tarragon is, and I quote, “not just another restaurant”, I would have appreciated an amuse bouche, cloth napkins and other niceties.
There is little doubt that the kitchen is highly proficient at serving fish but a choice should be made. If the price dips, then the unorthodox service and the lack of trappings will suddenly make a whole lot of sense. If the price remains as it is, then I’d like to be treated to match.
Ultimately, what matters is whether I’d be hugely keen on returning. Tarragon is very popular, no doubt thanks to its accomplished kitchen, and I can see why Marvin has built a legion of loyal followers.
Dining out is, however, quite subjective and I’m not sure I’d be prepared to put up with the experience for the sake of a good fish.
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