Ed eats
Amici Miei
104, Triq Żonqor,
Marsascala
Tel: 2189 4433
Food: 6/10
Service: 7/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 9/10
Overall: 7.5/10
The best laid plans are those made for us by circumstance. Sure, circumstance can throw any amount of horrors our way, but in balance we still come out on top. Plans tend to start with what we know, so how can we discover new restaurants by drawing exclusively on our experiences?
Last week I had quite definite plans for how I’d spend the holiday. Then they went awry, partly because of factors beyond my control and partly thanks to a raging hangover from the night before. That’s the hallmark of a great wedding, so congratulations are due once again to the lovely couple. You know who you are.
I wasn’t too fussed. It would mean I’d have lunch somewhere unexpected and I wound up driving into Marsascala with the mental faculties and the appetite of a wild hog. I headed out towards Żonqor Point and the restaurants there had decided to take the day off, as is right and fitting. So I wound slowly back towards the square, deciding I’d eat at the first place that looked like it would put a dish on a table.
As I formulated this plan and expressed it to the better half, a restaurant called Amici Miei appeared on my right. I was about to drive past, then I read a little phrase they’d tagged on to the name of the restaurant. Come tutto ebbe inizio, it said. The enigmatic reference to an obscure Italian movie piqued my curiosity. So I swung round, parked a few metres away and headed in.
The restaurant is quite small but we’d spied a terrace on the first floor and it looked like it would command quite a view. We were led to a table right on the front, with a view of the whole bay and open sea. It seemed like we were about to make excellent use of the perfect weather.
At first, there was a moment of confusion as we tried to figure out in what language to speak to our waiter. I presumed he was Italian, like the men who’d greeted us downstairs. He presumed we were foreign. So he and I both started out in that diluted sort of English that one reserves for non-native speakers. He turned out to be Maltese and communication jolted into gear when we all figured this out and had a laugh about it.
He was helpful and immensely eager to treat us to a pleasant afternoon. He helped with our orders and answered our questions about food, even suggesting that we don’t over-order. We’d apparently picked two starters that could easily be shared and he pointed this out to us. Appreciating his sincerity, I scaled down to one Tris di pesce for antipasto and wanted to follow up with something fishy and comforting. He suggested the fritto misto and it sounded like just what I needed.
Across the table, life wasn’t so simple. The menus are extensive and include pasta dishes, fish and meat main courses straight out of an Italian cookbook, and an impressive selection of pizza. I wished I had been in mood for pizza because it all sounded lovely but I’d decided I needed fried food. The better half seemed to want the entire menu and finally settled for the grilled squid.
Our man brought water and a glass of Prosecco that I thought would help me feel a little better. About 10 minutes later, he returned with a basket of fresh focaccia. Every time he turned up he asked how we were doing and was intuitive with our need for drinks refills. He really did contribute greatly to our afternoon. I knocked the service score down a few notches because of the pace with which the food was served and this is hardly his area of responsibility.
Simplicity and manners are all it takes to make people happy most of the time
Looking out towards the open sea, I could have been seated inside a summer postcard from the 1980s. The tranquillity of the area around us actually slowed down our conversation and, while it took almost 40 minutes for our starters to arrive, they were surprised to find us in holiday mood when they did.
During the wait we saw food head to other tables. A kilo of Tuscan fiorentina and a huge pizza looked really lovely. I didn’t regret my choice but I decided I’d return for them if our food turned out even half decent.
I’d eaten half the focaccia by the time our fish arrived and our man simply took what was left away and replaced it with a basket of freshly baked focaccia that was somehow even better than before.
The trilogy of fish turned out to be in four parts – we had swordfish and tuna carpaccio and a bowl of mussels and clams. The mussels were a tad overcooked but the clams were simply excellent. The carpaccio could probably have tasted better the day before and was served with rucola, cherry tomatoes, lemon and blood orange, the latter two adding an acidic and aromatic layer to the raw fish. And that focaccia, that I was now cursing, just made everything a little better.
We’d given ourselves ample time for lunch and were now half filled with food, so didn’t mind waiting for our main course at all. If only I were in a state to enjoy a glass of wine.
The grilled squid was really fresh, generous in portion, and very pleasantly seasoned. Mine turned out to be a mountain of deep-fried calamari rings with three giant prawns on top. The prawns were a little overcooked, so a little uninspiring.
The squid, on the other hand, was fresh, pretty decently fried and, as I moved one of the prawns aside, noticed that the portion was larger than I’d manage. We’d even added a bowl of chips that I was on the verge of regretting. I tasted them and they weren’t half as good as the focaccia had been. Speaking of which, we had our third fresh bowl served with our main course.
I sat back, realising that my efforts to finish off all the food at table would be in vain. Our man made sure all was fine and cleared up what little we’d left.
Another man turned up this time, delivering a flute of lovely lemon sorbet each. We appreciated the gesture and the sorbet itself which really helps the palate after one’s been stuffing it with fried fish.
I didn’t have any room for dessert but was really quite torn when I saw that they served the cooked vanilla cream as a brûlée, burned at table. I simply did not have room for it. So I settled for a lovely espresso and asked for the bill. Somehow, we hadn’t managed to spend €20 each.
The food might not have been the star of the show, and I strongly suspect that the pizza is the real showpiece here, yet it had done the trick. I fully intend to return to what is essentially a reminder that simplicity and manners are all it takes to make people happy most of the time.
I was filled with that feeling one gets when walking out of a restaurant anywhere in Europe that’s not in the city centre – that feeling that it is entirely possible to have a complete meal, real service, real cloth napkins and a priceless view without having to be overcharged for it. And that always ends with the question about why it’s impossible to have all this back home.
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