Ed Eats

One Love
Rue D’Argens,
Msida
Tel: 7701 9406

Food: 7/10
Location: 6/10
Service: 7/10
Value: 9/10
Overall: 7/10

The subject of multiculturalism is a minefield. Express an opinion and risk being hated by some labelled by others, and misunderstood by the rest. And that’s never stopped me. What keeps me from delving too deep into the subject is that I don’t know enough to propose a well-informed and balanced opinion.

I’ll only be vocal about my opinions if a conversation is taking a racist angle. I just find racism a pointless and bigoted standpoint that is based on fear, insecurity, and fundamental ignorance. There, I’ve made some enemies. They’re added to the bottom of a very long list.

Well, here’s a much less contentious take on multiculturalism. If you decide, for whatever reason, to travel to this country and live here, then please be courteous and bring the best that your home kitchen has to offer with you. It doesn’t need to be complicated.

My first encounter with a Syrian immigrant was at Fatayer in Gżira and he shared the food he was taking home to his family with me when I turned up after his opening hours. The food was simple and excellent. Only the gesture itself was more heart warming.

Luckily, in the case of the delightful little pastries that Fatayer serves, the food resembles something we’re used to. The pastries could be likened to pies, turnovers, pizza or even pastizzi. There isn’t a huge mental leap we need to take to understand the food and give it a shot. Think back to this first time you tried a kebab. Skewered meat on a grill is close enough for comfort. Placing it within a hollowed-out piece of bread is close enough to familiarity. So we’re fine with all this.

Sushi isn’t as close to Western cooking as we’d like it to be, though, and there are still those who consider it too exotic, too far removed from what we’re used to, to give it a try. If you’re reading this you’re probably not within this cohort, but, ask around and you’ll find that there remain pockets of resistance to the Japanese way of combining rice and fish.

If you’re ready to take another leap, try Ethiopian food. It is one of the most convivial ways of eating I’ve come across. So convivial that it could get uncomfortable in the wrong company. But then why would you have a meal in the wrong company?

My first introduction to it was at One Love, an African restaurant in Msida, and I was in the company of five guys who have put up with me since I was four years old. We’ve all gone our separate ways since we donned ugly uniforms and peeked at the world through the thick metal bars that kept us from escaping our classroom. When we do meet up, food is at the centre of it all.

The first time we visited was at a time when the restaurant hadn’t officially opened to the public. After a couple of rounds of beer they had to go out and buy some more. There wasn’t a menu, either, so we just asked the girl at the bar to tell the chef that we’d eat anything, provided there was enough of it.

We just loved the conviviality of the experience, pointing at different items and suggesting them to each other

We sat back and caught up for a while, until a huge, round, metal dish was placed in front of us. The perimeter had regularly spaced mounds of spices, vegetables, and sides. The centre was largely empty save for a thin layer of a sort of spongy flatbread. We stared at the dish and at each other for a while. Then the chef came out of the kitchen with a tray full of bowls of what looked like stews and curries. Wrong continent, I know, but I’m grasping at words that will be familiar to most.

The chef then proceeded to upend these bowls onto the central plaza. We must have looked quite stunned because she smiled at us in gentle amusement and showed us how to eat. More of the bread was served in rolls that would probably unfold to the size of this newspaper sheet. She tore off a piece that’s about two square inches in area, placed it over the meat, and pinched to form a small pocket of food. Then she showed us how to do the same, only this time adding three or four ingredients.

From there, we were on our own. Within minutes we’d forgotten that we were doing anything different and just loved the conviviality of the experience, pointing at different items and suggesting them to each other. The technique becomes second nature in seconds because, after all, you’re using your fingers as the most natural way to pick up food and eat it. We’ve returned several times since then, including an annual appointment to commemorate that first time when we’d drank their stock of beer.

Recently, I felt brave enough to take the better half to One Love. She was, admittedly, a little hesitant. The prospect of eating with her hands was one she was on the fence about. But the prospect of a new kitchen was more than enough to overcome the issue.

The restaurant has taken some strides since our first visit. There are menus and the bar is well stocked. We were greeted by the barman, who came around to greet us and say we could sit anywhere we liked. Well, shouted really. The music is very loud.

I couldn’t quite figure out the menu. We’d always let the chef do her thing and, as a result, could not put a name to a dish. So I closed the menu and spoke to the barman, asking him to relay our wishes to the chef. There are meat dishes we’d tried that are served with the bone and all, not unlike Jamaican curry goat, and I tried to explain that I didn’t want any of this. He nodded, smiled and disappeared.

We waited for a while for him to take our orders for drinks but this wasn’t about to happen so I walked to the bar, where he was very happy to serve beer and South African wine.

The food takes a while, because it is almost all prepared to order. We’re also used to splitting our meals into courses so the starters help interrupt the wait for the main course. There’s none of that here. The full meal is served in one dish. When it did turn up, it was the chef who delivered it, smiling proudly and placing it in front of us with a flourish. I asked what we were about to eat and she simply said ‘chicken and meat’, pointing at the bowls in turn.

I won’t go into individual detail here. There is so much going on that no words will do it justice. The perimeter of the dish has little portions of salad, potatoes in different guises, hard boiled egg, beetroot, couscous, cottage cheese, chilli and veg that I couldn’t for the life of me identify. The chicken was served with the bone in, my message having been lost on the way to the kitchen, and I was grateful for this. Picking the meat apart from the bone means it remains tender and juicy and it was served in a delightfully spicy sauce.

The sauces tend to be quite an assault on the senses. It would be hard to identify the individual spices but there’s a harmony to them that ought not to be picked apart.

As we worked our way around the dish we encountered flavours and textures we were not prepared for. That’s what the lack of Westernisation does to a kitchen. It keeps authenticity that means we’re occasionally pushed farther than our palates are used to. It also means that we paid €25 for the entire meal, and there was much more food than we could reasonably consume.

If you’re up for a culinary adventure, go there with friends who you know have an open mind, and be prepared to shout above the music. While you’re at it, score another win for a multicultural society.