Ed eats
The Fork and Cork
21, Saqqajja Hill
Rabat
Tel: 2145 4432
Food: 8/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 8/10
Overall: 8/10
We have a whole lot of words at our disposal to describe our level of satisfaction. I could be merely satisfied or I could be happy, delighted, thrilled, or even ecstatic. Every word is, often subtly, distinguished from the rest by degree of satisfaction, the specific type of happiness we’re experiencing and a host of other nefariously intertwined factors. The result is an overlap that is open to interpretation between those considered close to each other.
To be enchanted and to be captivated, for instance, enjoy a healthy degree of overlap. To be satisfied and to be delighted, however, don’t. I’m delighted if my expectations have been exceeded while I’m satisfied if all went as planned – nothing more and nothing less. So I’ll be using these as extremes for the purposes of today’s rant.
Every time I hear about or discover a restaurant, I form an opinion based on the circumstances in which I’ve learned about it. If, for instance, someone recommends a place and I trust that person’s judgement, my expectations are, within reason, higher than if I’d seen a flyer in the mail that offers two for one on pizza from a takeaway that’s on the other side of the island.
The menu is a simple affair, with a handful of starters, four main courses, and another handful of desserts
There’s more. Some of my friends describe their experience in the form of a captivating epic, a blow-by-blow account that goes into great detail. This creates a much more complete picture of what I’m about to expect and, while happy to dislodge anyone’s opinion in favour of my own, I walk into the restaurant in question with a much more defined set of expectations. Every time things go as planned, I’m satisfied. Occasionally, however, things go much better than expected and this is when I’m delighted.
When I first discovered that Fork and Cork existed, for instance, it was not a moment that filled me with high expectations. I drove by and noticed that one of those little places at the top of Saqqajja Hill had changed name. This happens relatively often, and the name made me think: “Oh no, another wine bar.”
Then I was chatting with a very patient friend of mine and he mentioned Fork and Cork. He is one of the more resolute victims of my endless food conversations and it is because he loves food with an intensity I very rarely experience. He travels for food, is incredibly adept in the kitchen, and is an unwaveringly good yardstick where restaurants are concerned.
Could be we’re both consistently wrong, but I’ve never disagreed with his take on things.
This time he decided to torture me. He mentioned the place, I asked what he thought about it, and he gave me his best Mona Lisa smile. He said I should just go there and try it out, and on that enigmatic note, changed subject. To another restaurant.
So on a dark and stormy night I ventured forth to Fork and Cork to try and crack the enigma I was presented with. Parking is wonderfully easy midweek so we had little of the weather to brave. The restaurant is quite small and this made it just as cosy as we’d liked it to be. I’d guess there are fewer than 10 tables inside and reckon they make use of the lovely terrace in summer. The decor is quite charming, with a shiny copper bar on one side of the restaurant, simply-laid tables, and several nods towards the name of the restaurant. There’s a huge chandelier on the fork theme, a wall clock that has both forks and corks, and menus wrapped in cork board. Lest we forget.
The result is pleasant and we sat at one of the tables inside an even cosier nook in one of the walls. The chef patron was running the front of house and he greeted us like we’d just stepped into his living room. Looking genuinely delighted to have us, he gave us a quick description of his approach to the menus, mentioned the specialities of the day, and headed off to another table.
So this is not a wine bar. That was one worry out of the window. The menu is a simple affair, with a handful of starters, four main courses, and another handful of desserts. Descriptions are reduced to bare minimum. The paucity of expression is actually quite a loud statement of humility and practicality. The chef concentrates on a few core dishes, then changes them every couple of months so there’s always love, imagination and simplicity going on.
I ordered the porcini risotto to start with and rib-eye with celeriac purée. The better half picked a salmon tartare to start with and followed this with a pork dish that included the cheek, the fillet and a sausage. A bottle of Barbera D’Alba would keep all the food company.
While we waited, the chef brought fresh bread, olive oil, a shallot vinegar and salted butter. He’s put attention into what goes overlooked all too often, so the oil was lovely and the vinegar mild, sweet and tangy. That’s one way of getting our palates all primed.
The starters took a while, just as I’d hoped they would. I’m terrified of a risotto that turns up within five minutes. I like the rice to retain texture and I understand that this isn’t to everyone’s liking. This was done just past the texture I’d pick but it was fine and the flavour was full and savoury, with the combined pungency of the Parmesan and the porcini turning out an intensely enjoyable dish.
Luckily I’d tried the salmon before this. The presentation was tasteful, with the salmon in a little tower emerging from a deep red tomato gastrique and topped with mustard lettuce and pickled carrots and cauliflower. The salmon had cured a little too much but the dish worked well when it all came together, with the sting from the pickles and the sweetness of the gastrique.
Our main courses were served within a similarly appropriate time and were quite simply presented. My steak had a little hat of rucola that I quickly shoved aside to display the goods. I wasn’t prepared for the quality of this steak. It had been cooked rare as I’d ordered it and had a lovely charred flavour on the outside. Barely seasoned, the steak was allowed to display the quality of the aged beef it came from. I’ve often paid twice as much for half the quality.
There was similar glee over at the pork side of the table. The pork fillet was tender and slightly pink at the very centre, cooked to the perfect temperature and lovely with the apple purée. Just as accomplished was the pork cheek. Much to her reluctance, the better half admitted that they were better than the ones she cooks. That’s a first. The sausage was filled with lean meat and beautifully seasoned, with just enough fennel shining through.
The dessert list sounded very tempting but I’d really eaten past my limit. We asked for the bill and had a little chat with the chef. Turns out he loves classic cars so I guess he’ll be happy with a straight eight rating.
I was tempted to mention what I considered the Achilles heel but the average customer doesn’t criticise the chef after such a display so I bit my tongue.
With the word ‘cork’ in the name of the place I had expected a more extensive wine list and one that expresses more of the chef’s personality. This is possibly an oversight because the man has it in him and this won’t keep me from returning. After all, we’d paid just shy of €45 each, perfectly reasonable for what turned out to be an unexpectedly enjoyable evening.
And there’s a Turkish delight panna cotta with my name on it, so I’d better return quite soon.
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