Ed eats

Extra Time
Main Street,
Mosta
Tel: 2141 2167

Food: 6/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 6/10
Value: 6/10
Overall: 6.5/10

I’ve never been keen on sport. When children my age were playing football in the streets, I was busy blowing things up. There’s always the dangerously curious pyromaniac, the one who will press the red button because it says ‘Do not press this’, the one who is never asked to be on a football team. The only consolation when I was asked to play football was that the team that was lumped with me started with an automatic goal in favour to make up for my spectacular inability to track a moving ball, let alone kick it in any direction that is useful.

So devoid of any aspiration of ever being a famous sportsman, I didn’t quite see the point of watching it on TV. While my peers decided what team to declare their lifelong support to, I just did other things. I don’t dislike sport – that is far too active a standpoint for me to hold – I simply do not consider it to be a part of my life. I’ll join the guys when they’re off to the bar to watch a match and I’m the one sitting with his back to the TV because I would never hog a seat that offers a view of the action on TV.

Part of my avoidance of sport is also thanks to growing up with a family of rabid football supporters. When two particular teams were set to meet on the pitch, there was a very strange form of warfare that brewed at home. It ramped up gradually, starting a few days before ‘the’ match and reaching a very silent and civilised fever pitch on the day.

Comments that sound innocent enough but designed to strike deep at the heart of the opposing team’s ability to win would start to drop here and there. Vast swathes of silence in response sounded like the muted countdown of a doomsday machine. Sometimes I wished they’d just punch each other, because civilised warfare is dreadfully boring to the disinterested spectator.

Then the game started, turning perfectly ordinary gentlemen into a mob of feral hyenas who would scream for no apparent reason. Unlike parents who claim they can tell the cry of a hungry baby from that of a sleepy one, there was nothing to distinguish anguish from joy or celebration from infuriation. Luckily, it was at an early age that I decided that I wouldn’t turn feral, and here I am today, as clueless about football as ever.

One thing I don’t like to miss out on, however, is using football as an excuse to eat and drink and make merry. It could be that were it not for football, I’d never have discovered delights as precious as the burger at Ryan’s, for instance. So when reports of delightful spare ribs at a sports bar called Extra Time reached my ears, I quickly sought an excuse to go and give these a shot.

The bar isn’t quite located to cater for passing trade. It is hidden away on the road that leads away from Mosta towards Mġarr, in the middle of what looks like an otherwise residential area. It has been there for a while and is very popular when a match is on, so they must have something working for them.

Cunningly, I checked out the football league fixtures first, and suggested a visit when there seemed to be nothing of interest on TV. So quick were my victims to agree to the date that I thought I’d missed out on something important.

Extra effort has been made at Extra Time to deliver efficiency

I’ve driven past when there’s a match going on and the line of cars outside stretch so far that you’d be forgiven for thinking the bar actually contains a full-sized stadium. This time parking was very easy so I felt I’d managed to get the day right.

The dining area is actually bigger than one would imagine when driving past. The bar is quite long and has a huge screen at one end, as well as a bunch of TVs scattered around the place so that one can watch the match from practically every seat in the house.

One of the guys I was with pointed this out and also informed me that the importance of all these TVs is for the times when multiple matches are being played simultaneously. This way, patrons can watch more than one match at once from the comfort of their seats. Isn’t that awesome?

We were greeted by a young lady who led us to a table that could accommodate the lot of us and brought menus, taking our orders for drinks as she did so. She was very efficient, polite to all of us, and took our rowdy indecision in her stride. She’s evidently equipped herself with the patience it takes to handle a full house, and just one table of us on a quiet evening was well within her comfort zone.

The eyes of my companions were focused on me and they were slightly concerned. One of them spoke for the table and asked if I was fine with being seated at a sports bar. I pointed out that the TV had been tuned to a music video channel and that Kylie Minogue was doing what she does best, dressed in tiny shorts as she did so.

Given a choice between this and 22 young men in shorts on a field, I felt my team had won already and I pledged my lifelong support to team Kylie and her short shorts. Thus silenced, we looked through the menus and ordered across the sections so that ribs, pizza, burgers and even a beef Stroganoff were on the cards. We added a very reasonably priced bottle of wine and settled into an animated discussion.

The wine was served by the young lady who had been taking very good care of us and she took care to serve it as though we’d been seated at a place that was vastly more posh. Our food didn’t take too long either and was served all at once. Extra effort has been made at Extra Time to deliver efficiency and this is perceptible.

The food was pretty decent. I naturally sampled a little bit of everything, starting with the ribs that had drawn us to the restaurant in the first place. They had been slow cooked, and this is reflected in a juicy tenderness throughout. The sauce they are served with looks suspiciously brown and homogenous but it did the trick and made for a guiltily enjoyable dish.

The pizza was also better than I’d expected it to be, with a thin and crisp base and generously topped with everything that was spicy so that the Diavola lives up to its name. The burger won’t win awards, nor will it climb to my list of top spots, but is probably what I’d choose next time I visit. It was served with some lovely caramelised onions and the hand-formed patty is just on the right side of lean, so it retains enough moisture without being overly fatty.

In a very short time the plates had been cleaned, even without football on the telly to distract us, and this is what I suppose really speaks for the place.

There are no pretences here. Extra Time is living up to its name as a sports bar and is serving reasonably good grub to go with the theme – proper pub food served efficiently.

We paid just over €17 each for the food though, which isn’t exactly budget food considering the single bottle of wine we’d shared.

So while I wouldn’t voluntarily pick this place to take Kylie out on a date, I’d probably be happy to join the guys when they’re up for watching a match, especially since I know the ribs will keep me quite satisfied for a while.

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