Ed eats
Taverna Sugu
5, Triq Papa Alessandru VII, Vittoriosa
Tel: 2788 1122
Food: 7/10
Service: 9/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 8/10
I am always torn between charm and irritation when I hear an elderly person chatter away about how much better things were back then, back when they’d take the bus to Valletta, watch a silent film, buy crisps and a beer, ride all the way back home, buy an ice-cream for good measure, and still have change from a shilling.
For one thing, they fail to take inflation into account. A shilling back then obviously bought you a whole load of things so they could, for the sake of us wistful listeners, convert the shilling into €50. Anything less and there will be no change to speak of.
They also make things sound so perfect when they obviously weren’t. I’m tempted, when in this situation, to yell back and say, “but you couldn’t buy music on iTunes”, or something of the sort.
But the problem with this situation is that the person talking hardly stops to inhale when on this tsunami of recollection, so my statement with the only real benefit of the 21st century (alongside global eradication of the cattle disease known as ‘rinderpest’) would go unheeded.
What they did have was a fantastic knowledge of food that we seem to be losing by the hour. In the absence of a codified set of hygienic principles and a well-researched body of knowledge about nutrition, the food prepared was frugal, made use of every available ingredient, and served its purpose perfectly.
What remained of an animal after the easy bits had been carved out became soups and broths and sausages, often the tastiest yields.
In the decade of the crustacean bisque (not that I have anything against it), we often forget the simple pleasure of a proper, the-way-nanna-made-it, aljotta.
Jolting our memories last week, David at Taverna Sugu in Vittoriosa came to the rescue. In what could have been a townhouse, two townhouses, one quarter of a house, or a courtyard (we tried to figure it out but too many changes happen to a house like this one over ages and generations of inheritance), David has set up a small restaurant that tries to retain the memory of traditional foods as well as revive some dishes that only exist on the yellowing pages of arcane cookery texts.
The house has been carefully restored, mainly by previous owners if I understood correctly, and has exposed most of the features of a traditional Maltese house.
This includes a twisty staircase to the first floor, one that changes direction as some previous owner had second thoughts about the purpose of one room and bent the staircase accordingly.
The first floor is the dining area, hosting all of six tables and leading up to the second floor which is where David does the cooking.
Tables and chairs are all traditional Maltese wooden ones, very much what one would expect to find in a house that hasn’t had a furniture update since the 50s – very clean, well kept, and true to the period.
The lighting is placed a tiny bit too high and is just not quite bright enough so I should have gone there with a date whose face I’m not too keen on.
A little aside is needed here. A couple of decades ago, Sundown Bar in St Julian’s had already been unfashionable for two decades.
That is when, with a small group of friends, I spent most of my evenings there, listening to an ancient jukebox that played a pleasant selection of music ranging from Procol Harum to Bob Dylan.
Eventually, we got used to the same 50 songs and only looked up in indignant surprise when a stranger picked a track that did not form part of the soundtrack to our lives at the time.
David seems to have got hold of our soundtrack and plays it back, at a very subtle volume, throughout the evening.
Menus and drinks orders are handled by a very polite young man who is out of the way in an instant, making room for the chef who beams at us genially as he explains the food menu and points out the specials on two blackboards.
True Maltese food, such as the slow-cooked stews, are more associated with winter. He has fresh fish tonight though, so we should be fine. With that he gives us some time to go through the menus.
I have a problem with this menu because I want all of the starters. Froġa tat-tarja, pulpetti, and aljotta are among the items I had to choose from.
Names are in Maltese, descriptions in English, no doubt to the glee of tourists who stop by. I finally decide on the aljotta, a gamble I thought, and a plamtu (skipjack tuna) to share as main course.
We were out with a couple of friends who were also very pleased with the choice of authentic-sounding Maltese food on the menu.
One chose the froġa tat-tarja and the other fettuccini bit-trill u l-gambli. For main course they opted for kaħli mixwi (black-tail) and borka fiz-zalza taż-żebbuġ (duck breast in a tomato and black olive sauce).
While we wait, fresh bread and olive oil in an unmarked jar are served, and I felt that some bigilla or arjoli could have gone down well. I would not mention this to David though, since the omission is without doubt deliberate and part of the Sugu ethos.
Starters are served by the impressively polite man who served drinks when we arrived.
The aljotta has me in tears. It is, down to the last grain of rice hiding at the bottom of the bowl, up to the little glistening globule of oil floating on the surface, identical to the one my grandmother made.
I tried to find a difference, perhaps more lemon, fewer pieces of fish, a different hue, but none was forthcoming. Had the bowl been attached to the entire Mediterranean sea like Thor’s drinking horn had been, we would have a noticeable tide by now.
The froġa tat-tarja was just as perfect, down to the addition of ġbejna and parsley and the fettuccini was a generous portion, packed with fish and prawns and delicately flavoured.
The fish might have been overcooked for my liking but this is not nouvelle cuisine. This is the traditional way and I doubt my granddad would have eaten fish with his pasta unless it had been properly cooked through.
My main course suffered the same fate. When I see a fish in a dish, name it, and have it cooked, I like to see the entire fish at table.
This is not the traditional way, so my plate had small bits of the fish that had been carved out and fried with salt and marjoram and other herbs. It was tender, it was moist, it was not what I’m used to.
Don’t get me wrong, I did eat it all and scoop up the accompanying grilled veg and baked potato. I will order the more traditional meals next time and order fish at a fish restaurant.
The duck, on the other hand, was excellent if unusual. David will be having none of the orange sauce that the French impose and states this quite clearly in his menu. The breast had been served medium as requested and was incredibly tender throughout.
The black-tail had also been really well prepared, baked in foil, done on the outside and very moist all through. I can only blame my choice of main course for not being as thrilled as everyone else at table.
And what better way to round off this meal than mqaret served with what Taverna Sugu refers to as ġelat tat-tiġijiet – the sticky, sweet, rich stuff made with tinned milk and doused with a dash of brandy?
At just over €30 per person, you won’t exactly get change from a shilling but you will get all that an authentic Maltese kitchen can provide with just the right dose of personality and excellent service.
I will be back for more, and this time David had better have some bigilla waiting. With chili peppers, of course.
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