Ed eats

Las Palmas
Coast Road
Baħar iċ-Ċagħaq
Tel – 2137 7822

Food: 5/10
Service: 6/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 5/10
Overall: 6/10

A short while ago I spent a few days in Denmark under some pretext or another. To help me recover from the initial shock I suffer when faced with civilisation, I needed food. I can’t face the contrast on an empty stomach. I was served quickly, politely, and in a slightly functional way. I was spoken to in Danish first. Then, when I apologised for not speaking the language, I was spoken to in fluent English.

And this first interaction over a simple roadside snack turned out to be quite an accurate model upon which the rest of our interactions were formed. Tempted as I am to speak about the food itself, I’ll stick with the service, since it is more related to the events that are about to unfold.

Whether you happen to like this kind of service or not is a little subjective. We didn’t experience particularly personal service and, being very Mediterranean, I’m supposed to mind this. I knew what to expect, however, and was dealt with quite consistently, across four towns and a dozen restaurants.

I could be tempted to liken the service at restaurants to the Danish character, with their pursuit of purity in ascetic design and a yearning for beauty in functionality. But I know nothing about that so I’ll just say that I appreciate consistency of service.

And unfortunately, I can’t say the same about dining out in Malta. The service varies wildly, from abysmal to brilliant. I’m not referring to the wonderful variety of personality we can proudly call our own. This aspect, the way our personality leaks into our service, is an inimitable asset. I’m referring to the inconsistency across the basic standards.

This tirade wasn’t spurred by a weekend in a foreign country or by the restaurant I’m about to describe. That would be grossly overstating the importance of both events. It does, however, help to introduce this week’s experience because the service played a very central role.

First it was absent. We arrived at the ambitiously-named Las Palmas in time for the last few rays of sunset and were met at the door by a couple of jesters. I asked if we could sit outside and they offered to take a table into the sea for me. Then they said I should walk out and pick any table I liked, having a good laugh as they did so.

I did as I was told and picked a table that’s quite literally on the beach. The restaurant has an inside dining area that looks like it ought to be quite cosy in winter. Then there’s a shaded terrace that was almost all occupied on the night we visited. Finally, there’s a passage down towards the sea that is flanked by table and chairs. These stand directly on the sand so that when you sit there’s this slightly disconcerting sinking feeling. In time, it comes to a halt.

I’d need to hear plenty of good news about the kitchen before I return for dinner

For 15 minutes no one came to take our order and we sat there, quite enjoying the view and wishing for a glass of wine to go with it. Finally, a young man dashed over to take our orders. He didn’t quite know what to do and when I asked what the fresh fish of the day was, he had no idea. I suggested he ask the chef and, as he left, I realised I’d gambled another 15 minutes with little hope of fresh fish after a couple of particularly windy days.

He came back eventually and said they had salmon and swordfish. No fresh fish then. For starters we decided to share the fried calamari. I’d decided I’d follow this with the spaghetti vongole because I had set my mind on a mainly marine meal. The better half bravely ordered the fillet. We added an inexpensive bottle wine and a bottle of water to the order and hoped for the best. Explaining our orders had involved quite a lot of pointing at the menu.

Within minutes, our starter was at table. The kitchen had caught up with the front of house and overtaken it. Bizarrely, the starter portion of fried calamari is a plate divided into thirds. There’s a large portion of chips, a large salad and a small amount of very shiny, fried squid. There’s also a massive portion of tartare sauce. Loose batter clung to the poor squid that had somehow been fried into string and the sauce didn’t do anything to help. The chips were good though, very good. So, as one does, I sat on the beach eating chips for starters and drinking white wine while a cat next to my table patiently stared at me.

Once again, our main courses were served quite quickly. Our man had run up to our table a minute before, smiling, to bring additional cutlery. Every time he visited he stood and observed happily for a moment to make sure we were fine, then turned smartly and rushed off. His language skills will improve with time. His enthusiasm, however, can’t be taught. So the kitchen ought to tell him more about the food and make the best of him.

My pasta dish was quite huge. The clams were piled up on top and the sauce was an intense concoction that tasted faintly of curry. The menu had promised a much simpler approach. The pasta was overcooked as well so I couldn’t really enjoy the dish. I ate a few forkfuls to make sure I don’t go hungry and stopped to enjoy the wine and the view.

The better half wasn’t complaining about her steak but didn’t show any enthusiasm. An ‘ok’ is all I got so I tasted it. The meat was a very cheap cut but it had been skilfully grilled on the outside and left rare on the inside as requested so it turned out to be quite acceptable.

As soon as we put our forks down for the last time, the miniature version of John Cleese ran up to us, beaming broadly. He put our bottle of water and two glasses on our table and announced it by saying, “Water, right on time!” He served a glass each and actually rubbed his hands together when he was done.

I asked for the bill and, at €70, it was steep. We’d shared a starter, I had pasta for main course and we’d skipped dessert. This is mainly where the inconsistency lies. A restaurant in such a pretty location almost has an obligation to serve decent food. If not, it ought to be inexpensive.

I could imagine myself returning for a lunchtime snack and a beer to enjoy the tranquillity and actually see a bit of sea (especially since the rest of the Coast Road could now might as well be just called Road) and I would actually appreciate the keen, if slightly comical, service. But I’d need to hear plenty of good news about the kitchen before I return for dinner.

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