Ed eats

Vino Veritas
59, Dingli Street
Sliema
Tel: 2132 4273

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

If you’ve read this column before, you’ll have noticed that I’m not here to pass value judgement about anything, least of all drinking alcohol. There is the rest of this newspaper and the readers’ comments on its website for that. No one has ever turned their gaze towards me for a good example, so I can get away with talking about alcohol with a slightly lower level of responsibility than most.

Seeing the world through a pair of glasses that have been tinted with the alcohol-containing drink of your choice has its occasional benefits. Introverts like myself are let loose on society and say all they’ve been meaning to say for a week within a couple of minutes.

So it is unsurprising that we have expressions about this in every language.

From the Latin in vino veritas to the more lad-appropriate expression ‘beer goggles’ and all the way to ‘rosé-tinted spectacles’ for the more respectable stratum of imbibers, we’ve accepted the use of alcohol as a social lubricant for millennia.

This expression must have been the original premise for naming Vino Veritas in Sliema when it existed under its original guise many, many moons ago.

I have vague recollections of boozy nights there back when I had the alcohol tolerance of an oak cask.

Time passed and I discovered the evils of over-indulgence, turning me into the unashamed lightweight I am today. Also transformed is the place itself.

Retaining the name and little else, Vino Veritas is now a restaurant that, by the looks of it, has aspirations of fine dining.

I happened to be parked just outside the restaurant one evening at roughly the right time for dinner. I was hopping into the car to head home and cook something when I figured I could pop into the restaurant in front of me, even if I’d heard nothing at all about it.

That was what was troubling me. No one I know has formed an opinion about it and this threatens to yield a restaurant that is stuck in that awkward middle ground of anonymity.

There was only one occupied table that night and the couple had all the signs of being on holiday. They didn’t speak Maltese and had a tranquil glow about them that meant they hadn’t spent their days at work.

I felt like a very bad Sherlock Holmes making this observation, evidently coloured by the last 10 hours of my day and based on no evidence whatsoever. There was no one there to contradict me though, so I presumed myself to be the only local who had actually chosen this place for dinner.

We were greeted by the man who was running the floor single-handedly that night – a man in a smart uniform and who took great pride in what he was up to. He practically gave us a tour of the place to make sure we chose a table we were happy with.

The restaurant is long and narrow, so picking a table as close to the exterior as possible seemed like a logical choice. Out here we would enjoy a sea view, whereas buried in the innards of the restaurant we might as well be underground.

We sat on chairs that are a little too high for us, so I felt a little like a hobbit with my feet swinging just out of reach of the floor, but this turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Maybe it’s because part of me never gave up on trying to be eight years old until I die.

Our host was back with menus and made it amply clear that he would have loved to help us with them should we need his intervention at any point. We did what we always do. We read through the menus, discussed them, laboured over what wine choice would work for both of us, changed our minds, influenced each other’s choices, and I spent about five minutes with the menus in our hands.

Our host was hopping with anticipation by now. He was just dying to help out. I asked to have a look at the fresh fish, mainly to involve him.

I followed him towards the back of the restaurant and obviously caught the chef unawares because he rooted around a chiller until he retrieved a box of fish that had been ‘well chilled’ according to him and ‘all but frozen solid’ by my standards. That made my choice easier. I was picking meat.

Back at table, I found that the better half had made her choice. The duck breast with pears and caramelised onion had caught her eyes, leaving me to play safe and pick the French rack. Somehow I’d lowered my expectations when I saw the fish and decided to go with the dish that’s hardest to spoil unless overcooked.

Then there was the whole starter debacle. I had spotted foie gras and there was little that could happen that would keep my paws away from it. The patient one had decided she would only have one course.

Now etiquette would have me say that I didn’t feel like a starter anyway and that I wouldn’t eat mine in solitude while she watched and waited. But I’m not one to let manners come between me and a good meal, so I said that I was in a generous enough mood to order a wonderful starter so she’d have the opportunity to taste it. For evil deeds done gallantly earn respect.

Our host picked up on this in an instant and was happy to offer to bring a plate each for us to share the starter. He took our orders carefully and asked about cooking temperatures, even discussing them with us as we ordered.

He knows the menu and loves food and these traits are expressed as a joyous pride in everything he did. At some points in the evening he was a little too present, perhaps out of boredom on a quiet night, but other than that I have to commend his service. He even poured our bottle of inexpensive Cote du Rhône like it had been a Bordeaux lying in their cellars for decades.

We waited for a short while for our starter, enough to enjoy fresh bread and butter and to put up with music playing in the background of this brightly lit restaurant – both factors trying to turn the atmosphere into an 1980s softcore pastiche. Tables are well laid and benefit from starched linen, meticulous arrangement and real napkins.

A little more attention to the finer points are needed to lift the restaurant out of what is a slightly awkward middle ground

The presentation of our dish was just lovely, with the two halves of the poached pear arranged into a high-rise and the cylinder of foie gras topped with a dollop of crème fraiche and forest fruit. The foie gras was still slightly iced at the centre but it did the trick and we made short work of the dish. It is by no stretch of the imagination a dish worth returning for but we appreciated the effort that went into constructing it.

My main course was just as thoughtfully assembled and looked picture perfect. The lamb had been expertly butchered and prepared into a French rack, served rare as I’d requested it. Two aubergine involtini acted as bookends, keeping the rack proudly standing upright in the centre of the plate. They looked better than they tasted, while the lamb was great and the mint yoghurt that was served with it made for a fun approach to two familiar flavours. With a little more attention to the aubergine, this has the makings of a dish that matches the service and price point.

All was not well across the table. The duck had been cooked all the way to medium. I tasted a bite of it and would have sent the dish back but the better half seems to be less particular about meat that tastes like the smell it makes when it’s been frozen for too long. The sides to share were lovely and I was tempted to ask for a box filled with the baked potatoes we were leaving behind because they really stole the show.

We decided to skip dessert and were offered a liqueur with such sincerity and insistence that we felt rude refusing it. We sipped our bitters while I sorted out the bill for €90 and headed out, leaving the place as quiet as it had been when we arrived.

Looking at the place through my freshly acquired pair of wine glasses helps with being quite honest about our evening. We had experienced all the efforts that went into creating a fine dining experience. Yet a little more attention to the finer points are needed to lift the restaurant out of what is a slightly awkward middle ground.

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