Ed eats

717 Bar and Grill
Ġorġ Borg Olivier Street
Mellieħa
Tel: 2157 2048

Food: 8/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 6/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 7.5/10

If you’re reading this column, chances are that food matters to you. You’re not one of those to whom food is merely the mechanical process by which you fuel your day. Within my circles, I can point out and identify the few people to whom food doesn’t matter.

They’re really patient people, particularly when I’m around. Last week, a friend of mine was kind enough to point out his total disinterest in food. I’d obviously been on a soliloquy that needed to be brought to an end.

He went on to tell me he often wishes he didn’t need to stop what he was doing to eat, regarding food as an annoying interruption rather than pleasure.

I did my best to empathise for a while, even saying that it’s fine not to like food − he probably liked something else.

Then I realised I was using that annoyingly patronising tone that football lovers use with me.

Succour came in the way of a text from another friend of mine. He is on the other end of the spectrum. He describes steak the way an oenologist speaks about wine and has eaten his way across countries in search of gastronomic indulgence.

He speaks about his cellar like one would describe a stable of expensive racehorses. And a text from him suggesting a steak was all I needed.

He said there was this bar and grill in Mellieħa that served a steak he approved of and didn’t really go into more detail. I just asked when we were meeting and turned up five minutes ahead of time.

He was right about the bar and grill bit − the place looks quite informal.

The man who met us was evidently running the front of house and he was polite and helpful. He guided us to a table, took orders for drinks, and returned with menus. Just as I started to look through them, my guide for the night told me he was going to ask the chef to prepare whatever he had in mind.

I’m referring to my friend as a guide because I’d followed him here in blind faith and had planned to be steered through the evening, never taking a single decision.

I still snuck a look through the menu. It started off quite simply and became quite predictable as I looked through. But there were a couple of hints in there that indicate that all is not quite so unimaginative in the kitchen. ‘Josper baked mozzarella.’

The chef had bothered mentioning the Josper grill − think huge charcoal barbecue on steroids − and this is an expensive piece of kit to have in your kitchen if it isn’t going to be applied to steak at some point in the evening.

Nestling among the main courses was an item you’d be hard pressed to see on a menu this far from the US − corned beef cheeks. Think not of the stuff in cans when you read that − this is the real deal. My hopes started to rise and I was suddenly curious to find out what the chef would pick from the menu.

Our man turned up with an amuse bouche. This was a pancetta popper, little balls of pancetta and cheese on a little salad. I was sceptical at first, but they tasted surprisingly good, so much that I almost felt guilty enjoying something that had been called a popper so much. Can’t judge a dish by its name.

Within minutes our plates were cleared and there were signs of food about to start in earnest. We had two more people at table, deftly making room at our table for more substantial plates.

If your night is anyting like mine was, you’ll taste the passion with which the chef approaches every surprise he has in store

These turned up quite quickly, with a large slab of terrine on each of them. It turned out to be a brawn − a terrine that’s essentially shredded and jellied pig’s head. If it sounds that awful it has to taste outstanding, and it did, served slightly warm and with pickled vegetables to add a crunchy, acidic surprise to the otherwise unctuous terrine.

I have to say I was quite thrown. The restaurant is humble, almost to a fault, so this delightful take on a very rustic classic suddenly made it quite clear that whoever had written that menu had even more surprises up his starched, white sleeve.

Next up was another surprise in the form of a pastrami fritter. Inside was pulled pastrami, the lovely cured beef you’re likely to find at a deli across the US.

I hardly ever come across it and, when I do, it lands between hunks of bread with plenty of mustard and an unhealthy amount of pickles. And here lay this wonderful and elusive ingredient, pulled as you’d pull a pork shoulder and turned into a ball inside a delicately seasoned crust.

It had been served with broad beans, a lovely seasonal touch that was an unlikely, if excellent companion to the salty beef. It was like the chef was in my head, rooting around for stuff I like but don’t quite get my hands on often enough. He’d then put these on the menu and, better still, on my table.

Following this up with a beef Wellington was quite the confirmation that the chef is a master spy, with an army of secret agents listening to the sporadic and half-tipsy food rants that my life seems peppered with.

I moan about not getting my hands on beef Wellington as often as I would like to. The response to my moan inevitably leads to someone pointing out that I should cook it myself. I’m not that patient a cook and I don’t trust myself enough either.

This was a single portion Wellington, not that large, loaf-shape that’s carved into portion-sized slices. This was just as well. We’d all but eaten our fill and the Wellington had a massive rib steak right next to it.

One of the young ladies on the team carved both quite expertly at table and helped serve us, making sure she distributed the lovely little end bits before she left.

The Wellington had a lovely light, buttery crust as a case and concentric layers of pancetta, mushrooms and a touch of foie gras were wrapped around the fillet in the centre. The fillet had been done almost through but this did nothing to spoil it since it retained surprising texture. I thought it could have done with something less involving than pancetta to separate the liquids in the mushroom pate from the crust but I really can’t fault the dish.

When we’d eaten every last pastry flake, four very happy faces turned to the rib steak.

The steak had been charcoal grilled in the Josper so it was thoroughly seared on outside and had a beautiful profile, with the searing giving way to slightly done and then quite gradually to rare at the centre. Simply seasoned and well salted, the steak had done justice to a wonderful cut of meat.

It had a firm texture and plenty of character, as a dry-aged steak should. On the side we had roast potatoes, hand-cut chips, and roast veg, with the chips taking the popularity lead quite early in the polls.

We paid just over €50 each, and this included two bottles of a lovely Lebanese wine. I was somewhat surprised at the bill, expecting to pay a little more, and commented about this with the man who’d so kindly recommended that we visit, asking whether he’d had this sort of treatment every time.

It turns out that he’d ordered from the menu before discovering that the chef was itching to go beyond its constraints whenever a diner is up for an adventure.

So if you book a table and aren’t a fussy eater, do yourselves a favour and steer clear of the menu, even if some of the items it contains might be calling your name.

If your night is anything like mine was, you’ll taste the passion with which the chef approaches every surprise he has in store.

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