Ed eats
Giannini
23, Windmill Street,
St Michael’s Bastions,
Valletta.
Tel: 2123 7121
Food: 8/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 10/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 8/10
It has to get worse before it gets better. That is a phrase that is meant to be reassuring. I find it quite cruel. When you’re in a bad place, the last thing you want to hear is that your immediate future is going to somehow take a turn for the worse.
The promise of getting better at some point after we take another beating is just verbal trickery, a linguistic smoke screen that vanishes as soon as the predicted blow pushes us further into our misery.
I think I’d rather hear the truth. Things are a mess right now. They will remain a mess for a while. There will be more strife.
If you’re lucky enough to survive all this, well, who knows, you might go back to where you started before the manure struck the windmill. This should be printed and passed around many of Valletta’s restaurants. At least they’ll have a clearer idea of the big picture.
I had this idea for the old market building and shared it with a couple of friends. It should, I proposed, be turned into a food court that represents the world.
The upper floor would have identically-sized, little restaurants that serve food from across the globe: Creole, Cajun and Caribbean will rub pots and pans with Mexican, Mandarin, Mongolian and Moroccan. To spice things up a little, the lower floor would sell all the ingredients needed to cook this kind of variety at home. The reaction all round was: “In Valletta? Seriously?”
I understand that the place has to get worse as the infrastructure is upgraded, but I’m pretty sure no one predicted the way many have ended up shunning our most splendid of cities because of the sheer impossibility of driving through or parking.
There’s a restaurant in Valletta I haven’t visited for what feels like a decade and could possibly be even longer. It suddenly sprang to mind one evening and I thought I’d visit early enough to catch sunset from its terrace.
I was terrified at the prospect of actually making it there but ended up very pleasantly surprised about how easy it turned out to be.
I know this column isn’t a travel column but directions to Giannini are warranted in this case. Enter Valletta from St Mark Street and, once you make it to Old Bakery Street, follow every single sign to Hastings. It will feel like you’ve driven around in circles for a while but worry not – the final turn will lead to a convenient car park. Giannini is right there.
When we arrived, a young man met us at the bar and asked if we’d like a drink at the bar or whether we’d like to go straight to dinner.
I wanted to catch sunset so we headed up to the third floor. This time a young lady met us at the lift and led us to our table that was just next to the window that forms the entire front wall of the restaurant.
The result is quite breathtaking. The view extends all the way from the open sea outside Marsamxett, all around Sliema and Manoel Island, and further over Ta’ Xbiex.
At this height and with unobstructed views, much of the north of the island is visible in the distance. I can’t think of a more splendid view, even if many of the buildings on the Sliema front look like they’ve been designed with a spreadsheet.
Unfortunately, it was very windy on the night we visited so the terrace was closed. A table on that terrace must be absolutely priceless.
It was immediately apparent that service would be a fabulous part of our experience. Half a dozen young ladies buzzed around the dining area, seeing to the needs of all patrons in an efficient and pleasant way.
One member of staff brought menus, another explained the specials and yet another brought water and served wine. This attentive yet unobtrusive service was sustained throughout the evening, even as guests filled the remaining tables.
The focus is on relatively simple dishes that have been taken from the continental cookbook, providing an enticing spread of firm favourites peppered with interesting takes on these staples
The menus are not fancy or extensive. The focus is on relatively simple dishes that have been taken from the continental cookbook, providing an enticing spread of firm favourites peppered with interesting takes on these staples.
I was sold on the idea of a monkfish carpaccio. I love the flesh this ugly duckling of our seabed yields. This evolutionary jester tried to evade capture by looking so dreadful that even the most ravenous of predators would turn its jaws away from. Yet when cooked, it tastes as lovely as lobster. I wondered how it would fare when simply sliced, dressed and served.
Enticed by the prospect of a carpaccio but sticking with the more traditional fish, my prisoner opted for the tuna and swordfish carpaccio. This way, the Chablis I’d ordered from the slim but respectable wine list would serve both of us in good stead.
Having started our meal this way, we eyed the trolley of fresh fish that was wheeled to us and were tempted by a huge rockfish.
Happily, another table was up for one half of the fish, ordering it filleted. We’d have the rest of the fish, head and all, so the precious cheeks would land on my plate.
Seconds after we’d placed our order, fresh bread, a bottle of extra virgin olive oil, a chick-pea dip and local olives were served to keep our bodies and souls glued to each other. A simple focaccia with mozzarella di bufala and tomato was added to this spread and we nibbled away, still staring at the view outside as it changed hues with the setting sun.
Our starters were served quite quickly and both were neatly presented on long, rectangular dishes. The tuna and the swordfish were excellent and very, very fresh. I wasn’t totally sold on the notion of monkfish when I realised that, this close to the spine of the fish, there are bound to be little cartilaginous bits lurking in there. The flesh of this fish is firm however, making it an excellent choice for carpaccio and I wound up eating my way through quite happily.
The main course was also served in good time and when we saw the fish being wheeled to our table for the second time that evening, it was evident that we’d ordered more than we could consume.
The rockfish was filleted and served within reach of our table so we could keep tabs on the process and observe as the lady in charge of this undertaking deftly picked out all the lovely bits of the fish and served them. Another member of staff neatened up our table and yet another served delicious roast potatoes and grilled veg.
We ate our way through the fish, firm and moist throughout and very delicately seasoned. A bowl of organic salt was at table, as was the olive oil. We were free to season the fish to our liking, an approach I wholeheartedly appreciate.
By the time we’d devoured more fish than I thought we could consume, it was evident that we would not have room for the lovely little desserts that were shown to us by one of the smiling members of staff.
She nodded knowingly when she saw the disappointed expression that only an overstuffed glutton like myself is able to produce.
We asked for the bill and paid just over €50 each. The price of fresh fish and that of Burgundy’s white wines meant that this was not a surprising amount to pay.
The constantly attentive service is also well worth paying for. And had I attempted to assign a monetary value to that sumptuous view, I’d have been happy to pay even more than we’d been charged.
Walking out to the car and having to walk no more than 10 paces was a very welcome reminder of the final benefit of this location. So dismiss any fears you have of entering the bowels of our ailing city, book yourselves a table on the terrace and follow the signs to this little gem that proves the incomparable value of location.