Peking is in that part of Triq it-Turisti that’s called Qawra but could be Buġibba.Peking is in that part of Triq it-Turisti that’s called Qawra but could be Buġibba.

Ed eats

Peking
Triq it-Turisti
Qawra
Tel: 2158 0696

Food: 5/10
Service: 6/10
Ambience: 6/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 6/10

We use the word ‘crave’ quite liberally. It’s bandied about as a synonym for want, need, desire and even a transient whim. I very rarely crave any particular food. Even if a specific dish, flavour, ingredient or national cuisine pops into my head when I think of food, it is rarely more than a mild desire for that food.

For instance, I’m not obsessed with chocolate or anything of the sort. There are individuals who really, deeply, positively, crave a particular taste or type of food. We’ve even thrown the word ‘chocolate’ so hard at the word ‘alcoholic’ that they fused it into ‘chocaholic’, insensitive as that may be. Those afflicted will describe their fondness for chocolate in the same way as they would talk about the inability to resist an illegal substance that’s sold by the gram.

One craving I’ve never quite understood is that for pseudo-Chinese food. I’ve heard this before and wondered whether it was a case of abuse of the word or a true physical dependency like the one I’ve often heard described for chocolate.

Without a frame of reference, I have to take one’s word for it and presume that a craving for Chinese food, or possibly for MSG, is actually a thing.

Last week I was at the office and, perhaps an hour after lunch, was hungry enough to start planning dinner. For some reason Chinese food popped into my head and I merely voiced this thought. The sentence would have gone something like, “Hmm, Chinese food”. More of an exploration of my palate’s demands than actually sharing this thought with anyone.

But I do have caring and attentive colleagues. One of them immediately suggested I try Peking in Buġibba. I’d never heard of the place and I didn’t quite like the sound of it, either. My face must have revealed all of this because he quickly followed up with the caveat that he hadn’t tried it and he’d only heard about it from friends.

I must have still looked terribly sceptical. I’ve suffered too many poor restaurants in Buġibba. This is possibly because they cater to a steady stream of tourists who are very accepting with culinary standards or because the stream is so steady that repeat business is not an issue worth upgrading one’s kitchen for. I’m generalising but this is based on my experiences in the area. I’m more often disappointed than favourably impressed.

All this was written across my face because this most helpful of men pulled the last weapon in his arsenal and levelled it at me. “It’s the highest-rated Chinese restaurant in Malta according to TripAdvisor,” he whispered, knowing full well that by now my level of scepticism had risen considerably.

To me this was all the more reason not to visit. TripAdvisor ratings in Buġibba seem to value quantity and price over flavour and love and soul and technique and service and all the other niceties one expects of a memorable meal.

If you’ve been to any of the generic Chinese restaurants that pepper our islands, you know what to expect

“Give it a shot,” he said, a mischievous look replacing the doubt. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I was sold. I couldn’t say I didn’t like something without having tasted it. One loses that right when one turns eight.

The restaurant is in that part of Triq it-Turisti that’s called Qawra but could be Buġibba and is flanked on all sides with miles and miles of Chinese restaurants, pubs, kebab places, more Chinese restaurants and yet more pubs, all with signs on the outside to show that they will show any football match that’s being played, practically anywhere around the globe.

Effort has been made to separate Peking from most other Chinese restaurants in terms of decor. While I might have not chosen the particular aesthetic, it is pretty neat, with a black and white patterned mural along one wall that serves as a neat background for high, red, dining chairs and dark tabletops. There is even a glass bridge over the troubled waters that dribble from a water feature next to the bar.

Luckily, they didn’t buy that starter set that other restaurants order to turn any space into a kitschfest so there are no lanterns or double-happiness symbols and only one dragon.

These are replaced with paintings that show off Chinese calligraphy, tasteful lighting and music by Toni Braxton and other 1990s cheese in the same vein.

The dining area is quite large and there were only three other tables occupied that night. It was pretty quiet but I dread to think of what such a large continuous space would sound like when the place is packed.

Our menus were brought by a young lady who also took our order for water and vanished. The menus are quite predictable so I won’t go into detail.

If you’ve been to any of the generic Chinese restaurants that pepper our islands, you know what to expect. And because they’re predictable, we ordered accordingly.

There is always that starter that includes the more common items and that is always far too generous. Two of those then. The better half wanted duck but couldn’t face that and a main course, so she decided she’d order just a quarter and have it with my main course. I picked the Gong Bao beef, mainly because of the two little chilli peppers that adorned that line on the menu.

At that point, one of the waitresses stood next to our table, offering us her side, and just stood there with a pen and paper in her hands. We looked at her but she wasn’t going for the old eye-contact social norm. Event-ually, I asked her what she was doing there and she explained that she was waiting for us to order. We quietly obeyed.

As we waited, we were given a large dish of slightly stale prawn crackers and two sauces – one was a sweet chilli and garlic sauce and the other a bright red sweet and sour. These were handy once the starters arrived. The large dish contained veg spring rolls, fried dumplings, a chicken skewer, a beef skewer, breaded prawn and deep-fried, battered chicken wings. There isn’t much to say about all this except that the chicken wings were great. The rest was within that mildly disappointing middle ground that one consumes to stave off hunger and because it is salty.

When we were done, a really helpful girl turned up and made quick work of clearing our table entirely. Then, another slightly miffed girl returned with another of those tea-candle heaters and fresh cutlery, rushing off to the first girl to tell her off for clearing everything when we clearly hadn’t finished our meal. This kind of slip is fine with four occupied tables, yet I wondered what the front of house is like when the restaurant’s packed.

Our main course was served after a short wait, during which we sipped at our bottle of inexpensive Shiraz. The prices on the wine menu are very reasonable so one can splash out on their more pricey liquids and have ample change from €20.

I’d ordered the curry rice from the list of rice and noodle side dishes and this is of the bright yellow variety, strewn with peas and diced carrots, but very little flavour of its own. The beef was in a decent sauce that had that pleasantly earthy spice of white pepper but very little heat to it. The meat itself was an appallingly poor cut. I ate about a third of the dish before my sense of self-preservation trumped my need for sustenance.

The duck was quite decent and served with pancakes, cucumber, raw onion and a sweet and salty sauce that’s not unlike Hoi Sin. It was a pretty decent concoction and I wished I’d picked the same as the wiser one of us that evening.

Faced with the choice between chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice cream, we decided to settle for a pot of green tea and the bill. At €30 per person, I suppose the pricing is fair, and it is possible to spend much less if one picks set menu and goes even cheaper on the wine so, in true Chinese restaurant fashion, it is possible to consume enough calories and salt for an entire day without breaking the bank.

I walked out with one question burning inside me even brighter than it did on my way in. How can one possibly crave this?

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

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