Ed eats

Jus
13, Main Street,
Attard.
+356 2142 4647

Food: 6/10
Location: 7/10
Service: 8/10
Value for money: 6/10
Overall: 6/10

If you live in and around the Three Villages of Balzan, Lija and Attard and fancy walking out to get some supper before reluctantly trudging back home again, you will find that you’re hardly spoilt for choice.

On a wet and windy night, Rob and I decided to brave the cold and (briskly) walk to Jus. This is a restaurant in the heart of Attard, tucked away in a miniscule Maltese townhouse in the old village core. I had been there some time before but had never sat down for dinner.

Previously, I had only enjoyed some wine and a delicious meat platter of enormous proportions. The dining area is extremely small whether you are seated upstairs or downstairs. However, in summer or fine weather, the proprietors extend a few tables onto a section of the pavement outside.

As you walk in, you are greeted by a cheerful, traditional Maltese interior with patterned tiles and exposed limestone walls. Pleasant instrumental music played in the background as the smiling host greeted us and showed us to our table.

A garigor (a winding staircase), which old ladies and women in high heels seemed to find trouble scaling, leads to the upstairs dining area and to the kitchen.

The place looked cosy enough to keep the goose bumps at bay. The jolly-faced chef soon came over to give a quick overview of the menu and read out a list of specials. There was a healthy variety from smoked duck carpaccio to fasolari shell fish and langoustines and I was surprised by the selection of fresh fish available – sea bass, lampuki and gurbell.

The menu itself was a good one – concise, without any frills and without the standard, quasi-expected dishes. Neither of us were in the mood for fish. Feeling the cold for the first time in months, we were both pining for some hearty food and so we selected meat-based dishes.

Jus boasts an extensive wine list with a heavy focus on Italian wines. There was a limited selection of affordable French and Italian wines. However, they do compensate with reasonably priced New World wines.

Acting on a suggestion given by the charming maitre d’, we went for a South African red which proved to be a good pairing recommendation with our meal. I appreciated the fact that he was not overbearing in any way and politely proposed wines along the price range of bottles we had been considering. He even ventured that, were we to dislike the opened bottle, it could simply be replaced with something else. That was ordering over and done with. So far, so good you may be thinking. But from the outset, long before the food had even arrived, there were a number of drawbacks that led me to thinking that this was not going to be the most pleasant of dining experiences.

To begin with, the proprietors at Jus have squeezed in too many tables downstairs. On a previous occasion, I had sat upstairs – a space no larger than the ground floor and equally as crowded. Besides feeling tightly crammed in, the actual tables are far too small and incredibly low. We had to arch our backs and slouch badly in order to read a menu and later, to eat. I am not the largest of beings but I did feel too big for the table.

I would not return for more than a bowl of pasta and a bottle of wine

Another major shortcoming – the lighting, or rather, the complete lack of. The place was so poorly lit that it went past creating an atmosphere of cosiness, past setting a romantic mood and resulted in my hardly making out who exactly was sitting across the table from me. I knew for certain that I had arrived with Rob but I could have easily been on a blind date. This was dating in the dark.

The sad little candle at our table was slowly dying, swimming in its own molten wax. I had to squint to see the menu. It was impossible to read the menu or the wine list properly unless you painstakingly held them up to the flame. Things got a bit ridiculous when some nice, hot bread was brought over alongside little bowls of condiments. I dug into the salt, mistaking it for the butter.

The starters arrived to distract us. My fresh pasta ravioli were nicely packed with lamb and slathered in a delicious curry sauce. Through the dimness I could just about make out that the dish had been nicely presented. The ravioli were tasty and moreish and made for a good, filling starter portion.

Rob was less impressed with his porcini risotto with truffle oil. It was unexceptional and lacked seasoning. I began knocking about restlessly in my chair. Discomfort had distinctly set in, but I had enjoyed my first course enough to withstand the discomfort and patiently await the next course. Or so I thought.

The restaurant does not possess a dumbwaiter and so there is constant traffic via the garigor with waiters, carting laden dishes and empty plates up and down. Rob was seated facing the stairs and, what with the faint lighting and impossible seating, I didn’t blame him for feeling frustrated.

For mains I had ordered the rack of veal. Rob had gone for the grilled beef strip loin which was tender and tasty enough but nothing remarkable. The veal that was served to me was not what it purported to be on the menu. It arrived not frenched, but entirely deboned.

Furthermore, the veal chops were supposedly meant to be encrusted in a mustard, rosemary and breadcrumb melange that was wholly non-existent. I questioned the chef and she curtly replied that this is how it’s always done. A deafening silence followed. I despise this silly, generic answer chefs so often like to give diners whenever things have evidently gone wrong. She scurried off.

Apart from questioning the presentation of the veal, both mine and Rob’s dishes had been identically plated – down to the use of the same two sauces; a mustard one and a sweet, fruity reduction. My sauces also had the added advantage of arriving almost ice-cold, while my veal had arrived lukewarm.

Needless to say, I was hardly enthusiastic about the resulting meal. The hearty second course I had hoped for, composed of such a delicate cut of meat, had been spoiled.

An assortment of grilled vegetables accompanied the meat on a slate platter, looking like one mass of black. I wasn’t sure what had been served and hardly endeavoured to find out. I had quite lost my appetite. My dish was simply not worth craning my neck and back over my almost primary school level table.

We were feeling so uncomfortable by the time a table of six wedged themselves into the table near us, that we left without dessert. A digestivo on the house was offered to us and we gladly accepted. In fact, the service is the only thing I cannot fault them on at Jus. Other than that, the steep prices, the less-than-inspiring food and the achingly awkward seating arrangements left us rather unimpressed.

I would not return for more than a bowl of pasta and a bottle of wine. Then again, if it means breaking my back, I’ll pass. It is hardly the sort of place that allows you to while away a long evening.

You can send e-mails about this column to ed.eatson@gmail.com.