Ed eats
Pepe Nero at Jessie’s Bar
Ta’ l-Ibraġ Street
Ta’ l-Ibraġ
Tel: 2133 3330
Food: 9/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 6/10
Value: 8/10
Overall: 8/10
Some institutions are destined to be around until we finally succeed in destroying ourselves or the planet we live on. The scrambled egg, for instance.
The Michelin-star rating might one day sink into ignominy and finally cease to exist but the scrambled egg will remain. It has withstood the test of time and, when Keith Richards is the sole survivor of a nuclear war, he’ll be seasoning a scrambled egg with his favourite poison.
Some institutions, however, have their days counted. I’m pretty sure everyone knew Jessie’s Bar in Ta’ l-Ibraġ. We’d stop any time of day or night to pick up booze, snacks, a loaf of bread and even a copy of this very newspaper.
It had been there ever since I could remember and never thought I’d see it vanish. The first time I drove by and saw no signs of life I was concerned. When the doors and shutters showed no signs of opening, I realised it had finally happened – a venerable institution had vanished.
Fast forward a few months and, driving past, I saw a sign that said Pepe Nero. I was a little surprised.
The Pepe Nero formula at the Waterfront wasn’t quite what I thought would replace Jessie’s Bar. I was half pleased to see the space utilised and half sceptical about the way it would be used. And so it took me a while to actually give the place a shot.
The reason is simple. I have made the mistake of rereading Narnia books as an adult and wish I’d never done so. Sometimes a happy memory is much better than realising how miserable the past actually was.
Finally, however, I was convinced by the more reckless better half that I should pay a visit. “What’s the worst that can happen?” asks Dr Pepper. And I secretly love Dr Pepper but would never admit it. So please don’t tell.
Parking on a Sunday night was easy. The normally chaotic parking space just up the road was nice and quiet. The restaurant itself wasn’t so quiet. There was only room for two left inside.
We were greeted by a very polite man, the kind who one presumes to have formal training in addition to a charming personality. This was enough to make me optimistic.
The interior hasn’t yet been fully completed but I appreciated little touches that help the silly and nostalgic (like I was upon entering Jessie’s Bar) keep traces of familiarity.
The bar is in the right place. The tables are brand new but retained the tradition of sandwiching a marble top within a wooden frame. I could complain that the lights could have been a shade too bright or that the conversations around me were a little too loud. But the place is so clean, white and crisp that I was suddenly aware of how grimy the predecessor had grown over the years.
We were treated like we sat at a fine-dining restaurant and yet the atmosphere is almost as wonderfully informal as the erstwhile Jessie’s Bar
The kitchen is open and just as pristine as the rest of the place. Well done, I thought – the place looks better clean than grimy. My nostalgia was fading to bearable levels now, and I could look at the menu without the soft glow of my internal Instagram making a mess of it.
The menu was, basically, a replica of the pizza menu at Pepe Nero in Valletta. This is not a bad thing because their pizza is right up there, with my local top three. But I somehow hoped the place would be a little more than a pizzeria. What with that lovely kitchen and all?
Straight to the rescue dashed our host. He is Italian and has the decency to speak to us in excellent English. I’m a little tired of Italian front-of-house staff speaking Italian to everyone. Surely they can’t expect everyone to speak their language, particularly when I frequently go out to dinner with people who hail from all over Europe.
So not only was I pleased that he addressed us in English, but also to hear that the rest of the menu is on a blackboard and that it changes, depending on what is seasonal and what the chef feels like preparing. Ah, bistro!
Rising simultaneously were my optimism and my hunger. The list of food on the day’s menu ranged from two kinds of ravioli to Angus fillet, Scottish mussels and veal rib-eye, bone-in. I was definitely all for the T-bone, especially when the size of the steak was described. I was slightly surprised that the intractable carnivore across the table ordered the mussels but was very pleased I’d get to taste them as well.
Then I had a look at the wine menu. The prices are the same as they used to be when Jessie’s Bar was, well, Jesse’s Bar. That means supermarket prices for every bottle on the menu. At the recommendation of our host, I just nodded to a Valpolicella, priced at €9. This was served by another young man who was polite and attentive. An errant drop that had escaped the bottle when he was pouring had him dash across for a paper napkin and back to wipe it off.
There is a very welcome incongruity to the place. We were treated like we sat at a fine-dining restaurant and yet the atmosphere is almost as wonderfully informal as the erstwhile Jessie’s Bar.
While we waited, a freshly-baked baguette and a bowl of salted butter sealed the smile on my face. When our food hadn’t turned up after 10 minutes, our host returned to let us know we’d be served soon. I hadn’t hoped to be served so quickly and yet I appreciated the attention.
When it did turn up, it looked fabulous. My rib-eye was quite large and served on top of a lovely arrangement of pumpkin and marrows. Next to them was a simple and very well-dressed salad, a mushroom dressing and golden, double-cooked potatoes. This is beyond bistro, I thought. And as I ate, I confirmed this. The veal was a little beyond rare but remained perfectly tender and juicy throughout. Overcooking a cut from such an immature animal can spell disaster, but this was simply spot on. I systematically polished my plate and then turned to the huge bowl of mussels.
They turned out to be quite a delicious take on moules marinières, with white wine, parsley, onion, garlic, a well-salted stock and cream. The mussels were plump and steeped in the lovely liquid that hosted them. I attacked this with more of the fresh bread. By now, my ever-suffering dining companion has stopped frowning upon this behaviour. Anyone who has eaten with me knows I would never let an arbitrary faux pas get in the way of flavour I’m keen on consuming. Next time I visit, I’m having both the mussels and whatever else is on the board for main course.
Having paid very little for the wine meant that my choosing the most expensive main course on the menu had little bearing on the bill.
We paid €25 per person for food quality I would never have expected of this jovial, little place. Neither would I have expected to be treated so well when poor service seems to be the hallmark of dining out across our islands.
On my way out, I spotted a counter with cold cuts and cheeses in it. I asked what it was doing there and the chef quickly replied that they were open for breakfast and serving things like black pudding and hash browns. It looks like I’ll be back to visiting Jessie’s at all odd hours then. So I decided I won’t miss the old Jessie’s Bar.
The new iteration has maintained sufficient character. It has also added one hell of a kitchen, so book your table while you can. There are precious few of them available.
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