Ed eats

Carmen’s
Għar Lapsi Slipway
Għar Lapsi
Tel 2146 7305

Food: 6/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 9/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 7.5/10

Soon, summer will be a distant memory that we’ll look back at with fondness over the steam that rises from a mug of hot chocolate. The level of fondness depends on how much you’re enjoying the inferno that’s just outside the air-conditioned comfort of wherever you’re sitting.

Those who defended this confounded season a couple of months ago are slowly capitulating. One by one, the green bottles filled with bubbling enthusiasm for summer are accidentally falling off the wall of childhood memories. As the heat persists, the more rational of us realise that we’re simply working in a hotter environment.

When I voice this sort of opinion I’m called a wet blanket and a cynic. So in the spirit of conformity and generally being more agreeable than my nature allows me to be, I’m trying out some typical summer moves before the season breathes its last. Like going close to the sea if there’s food in the vicinity and taking a towel with me to pretend I’ll be taking a dip.

Food does play a big part in my forays. If I’m going to have other people’s sweat and ice cream drip on me, then there’s got to be a culinary reward. A couple of friends mentioned they’d eaten a pretty decent meal in Għar Lapsi and this sounded like the perfect premise for one of my fake happy days at the beach.

To begin with, there’s no actual beach. This limits the number of punters. Then there’s the drive, one that is arduous and that most cars, including mine, hate because of the state of the roads that lead to this little gash in the rocks. Yet once you get there, the views are pretty and there are a couple of interesting eating options. The one I’d been discussing with fellow gourmands was a little place called Carmen’s. It’s dug into the cliff face that runs along the steep slipway down to the sea.

I’d heard a mixed bag of opinions so I figured I do what I always do and approach with an open mind and an empty stomach. We were there a little before the afternoon clock had struck one so there were a couple of empty tables outside. Ten minutes later there wasn’t an empty seat available.

With the little fishing boats a couple of metres away from us, a tiny bay with happy swimmers just down the ramp, and this dish packed with savoury goodness, I felt a little like I was a tourist in my own country

The man who greeted us was jovial and pleasant and was evidently running the show. He knew the food they were serving and he listened to what we felt like before helping us concoct the meal we were after. I felt like fish and he mentioned ċippullazz, paġell and swordfish. The better half pounced on the pretty, pink fish. I don’t think highly of swordfish and wasn’t sure about the paġell and my hesitation prompted the man to mention they also had lipp and merluzz. I wondered for a moment why he’d left these out during the first round but went ahead and ordered the cod.

I felt like something to start with and had been debating the fried squid. Our man stepped in and suggested a bowl of mussels. That sounded just as tempting so I said we’d have both. He then stepped up the game by suggesting we have a selection of fried seafood that would include squid as well as a bowl of mussels. The deal was sealed.

So far the day had been going quite normally so I decided I’d start a liquid revolution and ordered a beer to go with my fish. And I don’t refer to a fancy artisanal bottle of unfiltered elixir that is delightful with raw shellfish. I ordered a commercial lager with a Mexican accent. If one rebels, then one does so properly.

By the time I’d snuck off to take a photo of the place and returned, there was a dish of antipasto at table to keep us going until the starters were served. Broad beans, olives, bigilla, galletti, and ġbejna were arranged neatly around a plate and we dug in, slowing down only when I realised I had two courses left ahead of me. I was suddenly glad I’d ordered beer.

With the little fishing boats a couple of metres away from us, a tiny bay with happy swimmers just down the ramp, and this dish packed with savoury goodness, I felt a little like I was a tourist in my own country. In a good way. I spend my life lamenting the state of this darned island and once in a while it springs situations upon me that lull me into thinking all is fine with the world.

Right on cue, our starters were served in a bamboo bowl of battered, fried, aquatic fauna. There were shrimps and squid and cuttlefish and a few little whitebait thrown in there. A second later there was a second bowl, this time filled with mussels in a broth. The fried fish was just what we needed.

The thin, crisp batter had steamed the fresh fish on the inside so it remained moist and retained all its flavour. The mussels were fresh and cooked in a lovely broth. A couple of them were off and that was a little disappointing because the rest of our starters had been quite the treat.

Next up was the fish. The man who’d taken care of us so far offered to fillet our fish for us. I declined, mainly because cod is so easy to fillet. The red scorpionfish would be left to his able hands and he did a great job of it, separating the cheeks first because they cool quickly and taste better warm. The flesh looked perfect as it came away from the bone and I took a bite as soon as he was done.

Etiquette demands that I start with my food first and politely ask for a bite if I just have to taste someone else’s food. My palate asks that I go in order of increasing complexity. My palate had an easy battle.

The fish was hard to fault and cooked so that the flesh fell from the bone and retained all its moisture. I then turned to mine and the way it protested when my cutlery approached it was worrying.

The cod was small so my portion consisted of two of the small fish and they’d spent too much time in the oven so the flesh was almost tough. It was also very salty. Something must have gone wrong in the kitchen because the way the ċipullazza was cooked showed they really know what they’re doing.

This did not go unnoticed. Our man was surprised at my having left more than half of my fish and asked what went wrong. He seemed genuinely surprised when I said there was something wrong with my dish and offered to bring something else. The way he handled it more than made up for the slip in the kitchen.

As we waited for the bill, I looked around to have a look at what other patrons were eating. A couple of tables were digging into ftira and other little snacks and looked quite happy with what they were eating. Another table was systematically hacking away at a giant seafood platter. The spread of food that this little dugout is capable of cheerfully churning out is broad, diverse and very democratic.

It turned out to be decently priced, too. We paid just under €60 for two fish courses each and enough beer to make up the price of a bottle of wine. The service was charming and genuinely caring, the food had more hits than misses, and the location makes for the perfect lunch getaway.

If you’d like to make the best of what’s left of summer, prepare for a bumpy ride, book a table and get into your best tourist outfit. Leave the rest to Carmen’s crew.

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