Ed eats

Parapett
125, St George’s Road
St Julian’s
Tel: 2135 3394

Food: 7/10
Service: 7/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 7/10

I was talking to my mum the other day. Actually, I was listening. She does most of the talking. She told me she was waiting in some queue somewhere (I wasn’t listening all the time) and the radio was on in the background. People were calling in and asking the DJ to play songs like Oh Carol.

Our food was served quite quickly. The fillet was quite surprisingly good and served simply, bearing evidence of very keen meat-buying skills

Her take on it was interesting. She said she thought she’d never hear phone-in requests again since songs are so easily accessible on the internet and that the choice of songs itself attested to the generation of those calling in with requests.

Well, they’re probably her age, I pointed out. She agreed wholeheartedly but carefully distanced herself from the callers by reminding me that she has no problems playing the songs she wants to listen to, whenever she wants to listen to them.

To those who are connected to the great global network (GGN will never catch on as a replacement for WWW but it’s worth a try), demographics have ceased to apply. You’re either connected or you’re not. And age and geographic location count for very little.

In terms of food, this is significant because it minimises the time it takes for us to zoom into the right choice and also takes away plenty of possibly unpleasant surprises. Every time I travel, I research the food I’m about to experience before I leave the safe predictability of my cave.

I find out what specialities to look for and read all about the traps. When I land on foreign shores, I feel prepared and anxious to try out the delights I’ve read about.

This applies to those travelling to Malta. We can no longer fool around and take people for a ride. The times I’ve seen ‘goat’s cheese’ on ‘Maltese’ menus is ridiculous when ,more often than not, they serve ġbejna that has evidently originated from sheep or cow’s milk. Our visitors are savvy, so we should put an end to the travesties we’ve managed to get away with so far.

I recently dropped in on Parapett in St Julian’s. The restaurant has been there for as long as I can remember, with a stint during which it changed name to Bloomers. I have vague recollections of eating there during its time as Parapett and all I can recall is a simple and tourist-oriented meal at a reasonable price.

The place has had quite a magic wand waved over it since my visit. The interior is simple but not austere, achieving a functional elegance that makes you feel welcome. It also manages to keep expectations about the price low – a key factor when attracting walk-in trade at a high traffic location such as this one.

The lighting is just right and the music selection and volume are spot on. There is little to manage conversation noise though, and although there were only two other tables occupied, the echoing chatter was quite loud. We weren’t there for a fine-dining experience though, so we thought little of it.

What I was after was a quick and inexpensive meal that would hopefully taste decent as well. We were greeted by a cheerful young man who let us know that we could pick a table from all those available, which we did.

He revisited with menus and retreated. The menus are not particularly innovative and contain most of the familiar dishes, with a Maltese flag next to some of them.

The flag is meant to indicate that the item constitutes traditional Maltese food. The application of this flag is quite liberal, with spaghetti rizzi included as one dubious claim.

Few tourists will doubt the selection though, so I suppose if the dish tastes right, then we’re allowed some artistic licence.

Another young man took our order, just as helpful as the first and keen to answer any questions we had about the menu. If these two people are facing our international guests, we’re being well represented.

Wanting a quick meal, we decided we’d stick to a main course each. My carnivorous guest quickly narrowed the selection to one of the steaks – leaving the decision to the mood she’d be in when our orders were taken. The only Russian roulette she’d play is between ribeye and fillet. Not quite unbearable suspense.

I was eyeing the page about burgers. All of the menu has been assembled with care and attention, but the burgers seem to be the pride and joy of the chef. The bun is baked, claims the menu, while the patty is being grilled. That is some burger love right there.

I then felt my responsibility towards my country and this column kick in and decided I’d pick an item with a Maltese flag next to it.

Otherwise, I can’t possibly tell whether they’re doing gastronomic justice to our flag. The beef olives (braġjoli) would have to make up for the burger-shaped void in my stomach.

At the crucial moment, the vote swung in favour of the fillet and the usual “are you sure you want it served blue” question ensued. Rather raw than rare, came the reply. Our host seemed pleased.

Then he asked whether we would like to order sides. I said I was fine with anything, but we had to place an order. Keeping the prices on the menus down, and therefore competitive to those who read menus from the street, means they charge separately for potatoes and other vegetables. Roast potatoes and steamed veg then.

While we waited, a basket of fresh Maltese bread and breadsticks was brought to our table along with a dip that seemed to include broad beans, butter and garlic, but I stand to be corrected because it is one of those comforting neither-here-nor-there dips that I consume without thinking.

Our food was served quite quickly. The fillet was quite surprisingly good. Priced under the €20 mark, this was served very simply and bears evidence of very keen meat-buying skills. It was thankfully cooked blue as requested, seared on the outside and just warm at its core.

We’ve come to expect inferior steaks when at more commercial places, but this was actually very enjoyable when the price and the setting are taken into consideration. I’ve paid double for worse.

My beef olives are hard for me to appraise objectively. There is the golden standard that home-cooking creates in the mind of every Maltese person. Unless a beef olive is virtually identical to the platonic likeness of the braġjoli we’re brought up with, it is going to be very hard to praise. For a start, these are almost spherical and I’m used to an elongated cylinder, tapering at each end.

The filling on Parapett’s take is very homogenous, almost like a beef sausage filling, while I’m used to seeing the bits and pieces that go into it. A slice of hard-boiled egg should peek out at me when I cut through and this wasn’t evident.

I took a tentative bite and, despite its dubious appearances, this actually tasted of the braġjoli I know and love. The sauce, that indeterminate stock that has bits of carrot and peas in it, was there as well. It was comforting. I was comforted that we’d be adequately represented when foreigners pick this flagged item on the menu, so all was fine and dandy. And just to make the baked potatoes ‘Maltese’, they had been speckled with the obligatory fennel seeds.

Adding a bottle of inexpensive Sicilian wine had pushed our bill to a total of €50. It isn’t exactly fast-food prices, and I still believe that it should be possible to eat a single course for less, especially since this is the case almost all around Europe if one knows where to look and eats ‘local’.

Still, the experience was a positive one and I’d have no doubts about returning should I be around at dinner time. Only I’ll take the flags a little lightly next time and try out the burgers.

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