Ed eats
Spinola Terrace
102, Spinola Road
St Julian’s
Tel: 2138 4939
Food: 6/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 9/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 7.5/10
There’s one aspect of the dining experience that’s out of the control of a restaurant. That’s the state one’s diners are in. The rest of the event, from the time patrons walk through the doors until the time they leave, is mostly in the control of the kitchen and the front of house.
Even if I’m at the most consistently outstanding of restaurants, if I’m there with someone and need to deliver unpleasant news, for instance, our food could be perfect but our mood will still turn this into poison as we chew. This places more of a responsibility on the restaurateur to perform as close to exceptionally as possible. It will make an awkward moment a little less awful and turn a happy moment into a celebration. Effort always pays off in spades.
Last week’s experience was one where I didn’t walk into the restaurant in the best of states and I knew this, so I attempted to adjust my expectations accordingly. Having slept for three hours in the past 48 and working most of those waking hours, I was tired and in medical need of a satisfying meal.
I felt I owed it to whatever restaurant I wound up at to wear a shirt that had a large cautionary sign printed on it, similar to those that suggest one shouldn’t trespass for fear of a rattled pooch. Feed that canine unit and see how tides will turn in your favour.
I wasn’t really thinking about where I felt like eating so I placed the responsibility of selection of venue squarely on to the better half. Foolishly, she agreed. She suggested we try “that restaurant that replaced Terrazza in St Julian’s”. Splendid. I’d been meaning to visit.
It is one of those restaurants that I know about because I’ve seen it but haven’t heard a word about it. I seem to run around social circles that have varying levels of interest in food that span the gamut from passionate to obsessed, so I usually get to hear about the better places because someone’s bound to have tried it out. And when a restaurant has been open for more than a year, the silence becomes significant.
I figured I’d give the place a whirl rather than trying to think of an alternative so we wound around in loops trying to park a car in an area that has more cars per square mile than a multi-storey car park. This worked wonders on my mood.
We then walked around the quiet bay to get to the entrance of the restaurant, and the sight of the little boats delicately placed on the black mirror that is Spinola Bay on a still evening helped calm things down a little.
It was still but quite cold so I wasn’t really up to a spot on the terrace, even if this more picturesque spot is quite the attraction here. We told this to the young lady who greeted us and she quickly whisked us to the upstairs dining room.
The place has been completely redone and plenty of effort has gone into it. There’s a very tranquil grey colour scheme going on, with smart wooden furniture and perfectly laid tables. Everything is really, obsessively neat. I might not agree with every one of their styling cues but this is entirely subjective. What matters is that the result works just perfectly. It sets the mood for a lovely night out, with perfect light levels and lounge music playing through a very discreet sound system going the extra mile.
The girl who’d met us first had returned with menus and she made sure we were comfortable, bothering to ask about the temperature in the room and whether we’d like to turn the heating up a little.
She followed this by pouring some lovely olive oil into little, square receptacles and, a while later, returned with fresh bread. She gave us a choice between Maltese bread, multigrain and ciabatta, explaining that the delay would be worth our while because the bread had been freshly baked.
We’d landed at the perfect spot. I was pleased as kitten with butter on its paws and would have purred if I could.
The service, the dining area and all the little pieces that come together around the food create an excellent setting
Her colleague, a young man with an efficient and polite manner, brought an amuse-bouche. He wasn’t there to chat – he was smart and explained what he’d delivered with pride, then took off, leaving us to take it all in. The little battered ball in front of us was one of fresh goat cheese and quinoa. It was lying on a plate decorated with a red wine jus. The presentation was très neat and the flavour subtle, with no burst of flavour and somewhat less savoury than I’d expected. It treated our eyes and eased our palate into action.
There was another wait before our starters arrived. There had been a note about waiting times in the menu, stating that freshly prepared food takes its time. I’d been forewarned and this goes a long way towards minimising any impatience.
Our starters were just as attractively presented. I’d ordered an octopus carpaccio and it was a neat arrangement of tiny, circular slices, with pickled apples and pears aligned along the centre of the dish.
The Parmesan and black truffle jelly promised by the menu weren’t quite evident. The real issue, however, is that I like carpaccio served as carpaccio. If the octopus is done, whether by heat or marinade, I might as well have it cooked in any other way.
I worked my way through half of it but there is no way I could enjoy any more. We’d even ordered one of the more affordable Rieslings by Schlumberger and had had high hopes for the way this dish would turn out with the wine. I had to start looking across the table and begging for scraps.
Luckily, the beef carpaccio was actually raw. Served with a towering salad of rocket and Parmesan, round slices of beef were laid radially around the plate and dotted with floured, deep-fried, capers. The beef wasn’t a spectacular cut but the whole thing came together neatly and, as is often the case, I was struck by a pang of starter envy.
For main course I’d decided to skirt all that was on the menu and go with a spaghetti ai ricci, that was one of the daily specialities. It happens to be a favourite of mine and I was in the mood for pasta so had been quite pleased to hear it mentioned earlier on.
The pasta itself was excellent and cooked perfectly al dente. The sauce was very simple, as any ai ricci should be, so it tasted of sea urchin, with a very subtle liquid base making sure it adhered to the pasta. Happily, this is a dish that wins on restraint and simplicity.
I couldn’t say the same thing about the pork belly. There was a lot going on there, and once again, a lot of attention had been paid to the presentation. The pork belly, with a slightly sweet and mildly spicy sauce, was pretty good and served on top of a bed of quinoa. The prawns, standing in for the mussels that are usually served, didn’t really contribute to the dish but they did no harm either. The veg and potatoes, on the other hand, were just perfect.
By now I was ready to head home and, tempting as the desserts sounded (pistachio and olive oil cake, for instance), I just had to ask for the bill. We were offered liqueurs and again asked whether we’d enjoyed our meal. We’d surely enjoyed our evening. The service, the dining area and all the little bits and pieces that come together around the food do so in a way that creates an excellent setting for the events that unfold during the evening.
The food somehow felt like it was a tiny notch beneath the setting but this won’t stop me from returning. I’ll go for simplicity when ordering food and will return when I next need to unwind.
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