Ed eats

Assaggi
Dean Hamlet
Triq il-Qaliet
St Julian’s
Tel 2133 6635

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

Our lives are shaped by stories. The internet, TV and even widespread literacy have only been around for a century, so stories must have found a way to survive the lack of communication channels.

Storytelling, in the form of theatre and music and fairy tales, kept society at least at the level of their predecessors. A couple of good thinkers here and there raised the level of the story by including niceties such as the wheel or the garrotting collar. And this story grew as a living body of knowledge that found its way around the planet.

So whether you admit it or not, your life is regularly shaped by story and theatre. The advert that convinces you to buy something has dramatised that something sufficiently for your own story to include it. If you voted during last week’s election, your choice was made by that story that struck you as most convincing.

And this, the aspect of story and theatre, is what is so routinely stripped from restaurants you and I visit. The most popular restaurants, on the other hand, are the ones that really play to their story. Popular includes fast-food burger franchises that have told their story so well and so often that we find ourselves visiting them more often than the food quality really warrants.

Good storytelling takes many shapes. Spinning pizza dough in full view of your dining area is a wonderful bit of theatre that costs nothing. And the recipient of that pizza will walk out with more than a full belly. His delight has been added to by seeing his food made with love and skill and transparency.

The waiter who offers to help with your wine match and comes close to the mark, explaining his choice briefly and sensibly, has added more than Bordeaux’s finest to my evening. Even serving Mexican food and theming the interior, cheesy as it is, is still an attempt at storytelling.

But those restaurants that occupy the muddy middle, the shapeless huddle of eateries that serve ‘Mediterranean’ food, or just leave a description out altogether, need to work harder if they want a story. They need to tell it to themselves first, believe it and then act it out relentlessly. Because without this story, they are just another nameless kitchen with chicken breast, salmon steak, and farmed sea bream on their menu.

In the mood for an experience and a good meal, I returned to Assaggi after a very long time. The last time I’d visited, I had liked the food but was a bit disappointed with service. I recall them apologising about this at the end of the meal, explaining they’d had some unexpected absences and this more than made up for the occasional slip that evening.

I was looking forward to the real deal this time. I called in advance and asked about the possibility of a parking space. They assured me this would not be a problem. They do make a limited number of parking spaces available and this is just perfect, considering the location.

So I picked a driver who would put up with me for an hour in exchange for a meal and she waited in the car while I walked in to ask where to park the car.

I was ignored for five minutes, told to wait because there might be no more space available and then waited for another five minutes until one of the members of staff ran out to help me. Luckily, we had a spot.

I walked in a little concerned about the service but was greeted this time and given a choice of three tables. Great. The kitchen isn’t too stretched. My anticipation began in earnest.

The place looks good and feels welcoming and intimate. The light is just right. Nina Simone plays in the background. The other diners seem to have escaped a rather posh TV show and they conversed quietly. Everything was just as it should be.

I spied a menu on the wall and could read most of it. The menu tells a story. It says the chef is adventurous and likes a challenging dish. He is, and I mean this in the best sense of the word, a performer. Let’s start with cauliflower and truffle soup with scallop on top, a duet of scallop and pork belly and a straight-up foie gras parfait with pork cheek.

Main courses included 21-day-aged USDA rib-eye, a bone-in half rabbit, 24-hour pork belly, and ‘fresh fish’. We eventually found out this was sea bream or gurbell (meagre). If not for the fresh fish, John Williams could score this menu.

Taking all of this in took me about 10 minutes. Then, one of the two young men running the front of house, turned up to take our order for water. A menu would be nice, I thought. Another five minutes passed and our water arrived, along with some delicious fresh bread, butter and olives. Still no menu.

By this time, I wondered whether we had stumbled upon a degustation night we weren’t aware of. Undeterred by this potential mix-up, I looked through the wine menu. It is vast and includes liquids for many palates and many pockets. I put it down. Until I know what I’m eating, I’m not choosing wine.

I tried to attract the attention of a member of staff but it was like they’d been asked by the kitchen to postpone taking orders.

Eventually, one of the young men turned up with a blackboard and took us through the menu. He was polite and very helpful. He offered to help with the wine. I had a couple in mind and, as we discussed our food orders, he suggested which he felt would be better with our choice of main course. This man knows his stuff and knows how to deal with people.

Time passed. This would happen throughout the evening, like an awful running gag.

Eventually an amuse bouche was served. This was a slice of slow-cooked pork and dipped in a lovely carrot purée that added a gentle sweetness. The pork had dried out a little, possibly on reheating.

An hour and 15 minutes after we arrived, our starters were served. The getaway driver’s scallops and pork belly looked the part. More theatre from the kitchen, this time in the form of tantalising presentation.

The pork belly was, disappointingly, the same as we’d been served for amuse bouche. Ouch. The scallop was great though, delicately cooked, so it retained all of its texture and flavour.

My parfait was served in a glass jar and accompanied by a berry compote and toasted baguette. Next to it nestled a braised pork cheek with a pea purée.

The parfait was quite excellently executed and, short of the liver entier, this is the probably the best way to consummate this unctuous sin. Also lovely was the pork cheek, cooked to the right tenderness without having it fall apart. Dipping slivers of it in pea purée was a moment of joy.

Another course, another wait. Main courses were served on very, very hot plates. The presentation wasn’t that of the starters. Somehow, by the main course, we’d run out of theatre. The vegetables were a sad affair and four pieces of roast potato looked awkward in their little dish. My rack of veal was huge and had all been treated to a pepper and star anise sauce. Luckily it didn’t get in the way and would have tasted much better had the veal not been overdone.

The duo of fillet and pork cheek didn’t look great either. The fillet was perfectly average, like the one I’d get at a nameless restaurant anywhere. Luckily, the pork cheek was as lovely as the one I’d enjoyed.

At €60 per person, this isn’t exactly nameless or theatre-less range for two courses. The creative juices in the kitchen are flowing, the desire to tell a story and tell it well comes through often. The young men on the battlefield are excellent. A push to get it all to work together could turn this into a story worth telling and retelling.

You can send e-mails about this column to ed.eatson@gmail.com or follow @edeats on Twitter.