Ed eats

Talbot & BonsSkyparks Business Centre - Level 1,
Malta International Airport
Tel: 2123 4834

Food: 7/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 6/10
Overall: 7/10

I’m no economist but I live within a social structure where the notion of a market exists. So I’ve understood that it is pretty useless for me to complain about the price of anything on the market.

One orders at the bar and pays for the food, taking a number to the table. Food is then delivered by staff. Eat, flirt and walk out

I can pick up a ballpoint pen for under one euro and it will function perfectly for a long while, committing my nonsense to paper until it runs out of ink. I can also spend a small fortune on a premium equivalent that places a similar ballpoint refill within a very pricy barrel. It will not correct my nonsense and will also stop writing when the ink has run out.

Ultimately, however, having made the choice to spend as much on a pen as I would spend on food in a year, I have affirmed that pen’s position on the market. The supply was there. My decision to spend money on it was the corresponding demand. And so it goes for pretty much everything else.

Counter-arguments include the extortionate registration tax we spend on vehicles. This argument postulates that market prices are inflated by an unfair external factor.

If we all stopped buying cars for a while (unrealistic, I know), the market would cease to exist at that price. Would this lead to an end to the robbery we call registration tax? There’s only one way of finding out. Until then, we are creating a market by spending money on what we know to be overpriced, so we can’t really complain.

The same goes for food. I suppose pastizzi provide some of the best calorie-per-euro ratio, with an added taste benefit. At the other end of the scale is haute cuisine, where we expect to pay hefty prices for tiny portions. Unsurprisingly, there are many more outlets that sell pastizzi than there are fine-dining establishments.

The middle section is always the more awkward one to define. And it is a dangerous zone for restaurants to inhabit. They run the risk of waddling around in a murky, grey zone of undifferentiated and indescribable goo.

It is easy for one to describe a restaurant as “cheap and cheerful” or “pricy but worth every cent”. It is much harder to recommend “average prices for average food”. Who would be excited by that?

I’ve had a few lunches at a restaurant at the airport – Skyparks to be precise – that seems to inhabit the upper end of the lunchtime snack market. The awkwardly named Talbot and Bons had popped up in conversations a few times before I decided to give it a shot.

The name sounded more like a fancy haberdashery than a restaurant to me. When I finally made it there, I found out it wasn’t, in fact, a restaurant after all.

I quickly warmed up to the idea though. Helping me do so was the very attractive internal space. For a start, I liked the notion of having to meander through shelves stacked with lovely food and wine that’s for sale.

The range is quite staggering, especially considering the relatively restricted space it occupies. From speciality pasta to a complete range of interesting teas and all the way to lovely confectionery, there is enough temptation to drive even the most recalcitrant to pick something up and take it home.

When you’re over the pleasant distraction, a glass counter displays most of the food that’s available. The range isn’t vast, although it is supplemented by a few daily specials on the board and a compact menu.

Completing the dine-in options is a salad bar that’s built into a rather pretty cart-like counter. This is just one of what seems like hundreds of little bits and bobs that add character to the place. Unlikely light fittings, including colourful, wall-mounted anglepoise lamps and even a retro-chic bicycle create a busy, almost cluttered interior that instead of being distracting gives the space a cosily lived-in ambience.

Seating on the terrace outside looks lovely but I’ve never been brave enough to face the heat when the prospect of an air-conditioned interior that I happen to like is available. The inside seating arrangement is also varied, offering small tables for two, bench-like seating and even large, communal ‘flirting’ tables that are perfect for turning a solitary lunch into something of a random social occasion.

In short, plenty of serious thought has been put into this interior, and this is more than could be said for nine out of every 10 restaurants I visit.

The experience itself has also been planned for rapid service during lunchtime and other rush hours. One orders at the bar and pays for the food, taking an order number to the table. Food is then delivered by a member of staff. Eat, flirt and walk out.

I’ve tried a few different items of food and there seems to be a reasonably consistent level of quality going on. I’ve never been blown away by the quality but neither have I had anything to complain about.

The burger, for instance, is generously proportioned and has a very homemade feeling to it. I prefer burgers when they’re made by obsessive burger chefs and find the Talbot and Bons burger to be excessively lean. They’ve decided, quite wisely, to cater for the health-conscious, and that leaves me high and dry. I’m all for burgers that play Russian roulette with one’s health, so the issue is with me and not with T and B here.

I visited last week with a couple of friends and we milled around the counter, trying to decide what would fit the bill. I was very pleasantly surprised to see what they call a frittata and looks exactly like what my grandma called froġa tat-tarja. I was delighted, but then couldn’t get myself to spend €4 on it. To me, the dish is a symbol of frugal sustenance.

Two of us decided in favour of the rather steeply priced baked pasta, weighing in at €6.95 for a portion. The more health-conscious one, sacrificing carbohydrates to keep his beach body trim, decided to give the salad bar a shot at the same price as our pasta.

The pasta is served in its own oven dish, accompanied by a little green salad – lettuce dressed simply with a tasty olive oil – and had been heated very enthusiastically. Had Prometheus attempted to steal the fire out of this dish he’d have quickly put it back and spared himself eternal torment.

The pasta had been cooked with a simple Bolognese and plenty of cheese that melted to give a pleasantly gooey texture. The chef, still caring for my health more than I ever will, had hardly salted the dish. I resisted the temptation of adding salt, treating this meal as the only healthy one I’d allow myself last week.

The salad options are interesting and include the likes of hummus and couscous and slices of bread, so that if one wants to assemble a dish that is both filling and healthy, this is entirely possible.

Placed in the context of all the food that is available in the area, T and B is a decidedly healthy and attractive option. While spending a tenner for lunch every day (adding a drink and coffee) might not be within everyone’s budget, this isn’t far off the price one would pay at the fast-food franchises that are just a stone’s throw away.

Here you’re paying for the experience as well as the food, an experience I’m glad to pay a premium for. And judging by the way the restaurant was chock-full of happy patrons, the market has spoken and has gladly agreed.

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