Ed eats

Barracuda
194, Main Street
St Julian’s
Tel: 2133 1817

Food: 9/10
Service: 7/10
Ambience: 9/10
Value: 8/10
Overall: 8.5/10

Barracuda has a unique location and quaint, old-world decor.

Today’s review has been a while in the making. Barracuda has been on my radar, quite predictably, for a very long time. In fact, it’s been within my sights long before this column was a twinkle in the editor’s eye. If there ever was a restaurant I’d write about, it would be Barracuda.

I’ve visited a couple of times over the years. It is hard not to fall in love with the location. It perches above the sea, clinging on to an outcrop of sea-battered rock like a mountaineer taking a break on a precipice before attempting the summit.

Despite all odds, the restaurant hangs there, looking splendid as one of the few beautiful buildings in the area that has possibly been too dangerous to turn into an apartment block.

The interior is also quite splendid in a quaint, old-world way. It is the kind of decor that would be perfectly at ease within any of the more classical European cities, with warm grey walls and plenty of timber, from the beams holding the ceiling in place to proper wooden floors.

You could shoot a movie scene in there, with little to tell it was shot in Malta. The walls are covered in evidence of this, too, with photos of eminent celebrities, footballers and British director Guy Ritchie in little frames to remind us that this has been the pick of the crop for the A-list. And for footballers.

In a way it is a reminder that people like myself, humble members of the Great Unwashed, ought to tread carefully. It has been historically priced to match this position as well, and this is wise. Restaurants that try to be everything to everyone wind up being democratic, forgettable and unremarkable.

On the other hand, if you decide to target the A-list, one way of doing so is by minimising the frequency with which someone like me would turn up. Why would Ritchie want to see my ugly mug when he’s having dinner there? Especially since someone like me would walk up to him and say I’m his biggest fan and ask for a photo and an autograph. Keeping me out is a good thing.

I mentioned having visited a couple of times. To be quite honest, I was slightly underwhelmed when I did. The food took ages, it was pretty decent and I paid more for it than I thought I should. So while the legend that is Barracuda was very intriguing, I could not reconcile the experience with the story. And so I forgot about the restaurant for a good, long while.

Then the rumour mill started buzzing. The chef who had worked his magic at Salvino’s in Valletta had now moved to Barracuda. He’d spent a stint at Al Molo before it changed hands and I’d had a couple of splendid meals there as well. Now that he’d moved to Barracuda, I realised that this had got to be my window of opportunity.

Our palates were tested with the pasta course. Fresh paccheri with mussel meat, Roquefort and Iranian saffron is an unlikely dish and yet, it pushed us just beyond our comfort zone

So I did as I normally do and I turned up unannounced on a Friday night. I was politely turned down and, as I walked out, was certain that the people in there were shaking their heads, thinking that only the village idiot wouldn’t know that a reservation was in order. They were right.

I don’t learn though. I’m too old for that. I just turned up unannounced again, this time on a Monday night, hoping that I’d be a little luckier this time. I was. We were led to a table with a view of the bay by the man who had greeted us at the door and he was back a minute later with menus.

The service is a little odd. Men in suits walk smartly around the place, for the most part looking rather stern. The quest for formality reduces the possibility of a personal or friendly approach and the feeling is of a rather hurried and very precise front of house.

There were slips during the evening. One of the men decided to sort through a drawer full of cutlery at the station that was about two metres away from our table, the din making conversation impossible. When he was done, he turned to the wine glasses. I’d expect this at a family restaurant, where the merry chatter drowns out the sounds of service, but this isn’t the case in a restaurant where people talk in hushed tones.

We looked through the menus and there have been some changes here. There are sections devoted to carpaccio and tartare, followed by starters and fish and meat mains. Most of the dishes are interesting takes on the classics, with a couple of gems in there that show creativity in the kitchen just dying to come out and play.

I’ve tried chef Andrew’s kitchen before and have to admit I’m a fan. I’m human after all and develop a natural bias in favour of those who have consistently delighted and surprised me. This menu was lightly peppered with dishes that have his mark all over them.

I worried about my choice for a while and finally decided when one of the more stern members of the service staff turned up to take our orders. I said I’d like to leave it to the chef, hoping this wouldn’t upset the system. It didn’t. He acted like this was something they’re happy to do and vanished into the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, the chef was at our table, beaming proudly and happy to discuss our meal.

He asked whether there was anything we didn’t like or were allergic to. Not at our table. We eat omnivores for breakfast. I also asked if he could take care of the wine, too, since we had no idea what he was cooking and didn’t want to know beforehand. This made him just as happy as our faith in his kitchen had and he took off to get his hands dirty.

I’m not quite sure what to write about the food because describing it all in detail would be unfair on it. Every course was a delight that had been simply and cleverly executed. This isn’t technical cuisine. Even if presented beautifully, every dish is made with distilled intuition and a real love for combinations that either complement each other beautifully or offer a wild challenge.

We started with oyster tempura, octopus tempura and a little timbale of avocado tartare, sheep ricotta and red prawn tartare (with just enough fresh dill). I’d never had oyster tempura before and might never have ordered it but the result is pure genius.

I’d been bullied into eating oysters with bread and butter once by the formidable Richard Corrigan. It was an enlightenment. And so was this battered marvel.

This course was particularly special with the Vallado Douro, a Portuguese white that I could have sworn was a Sauvignon from the nose. There was no Sauvignon in there at all. It turned out to be one of the wines that will make it to the new menu and formed part of our education that evening.

Our palates were tested with the pasta course. Fresh paccheri with mussel meat, Roquefort and Iranian saffron is an unlikely dish and yet, it pushed us just beyond our comfort zone. While we were there, we allowed the smokey notes of grilled leek garnish to dance around the occasional twist of orange zest.

We finished with a grilled fillet, wrapped in guanciale with a mustard and thyme sauce and a little potato and broccoli gratin on the side. This was possibly the more straightforward dish that night, a sign that there is no problem in the kitchen with the more classical offerings.

At this point I expected a whopper of a bill. I’d left the choice to the chef, wine and all, at a restaurant I knew to be pricey. I was stunned to pay just over €50 each. The setting is terribly hard to beat and there is magic going on in the kitchen. My issues with service were largely due to my expectations because, let’s face it, the next star headed to this restaurant should be one from a book with a very fat cartoon on the cover.

Perhaps the human stars that Barracuda so justifiably attracts will one day attract the attention of those associated with fine gastronomy worldwide.

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