Ed eats

The Joint
135, Spinola Road
St Julian’s

Food: 4/10
Service: 6/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 4/10
Overall: 5.5/10

Every day, words are added to our languages as our burgeoning vocabulary expands to accommodate the pace at which society and technology develop. Words are also added to our vernacular, as journalists pick words from arcane corners of the dictionary and pop them onto the front pages of newspapers.

I chewed through what could possibly have been frozen and then defrosted meat. I couldn’t hide my disappointment

Meanwhile, words we have been using for ages take on new meanings as a new application for them develops.

The verb ‘to tweet’ had for a long time been restricted to the Looney Tunes and Merrie Melody series of animated merriment. Ever since Twitter turned up, it has turned into the action by which one communicates with a potentially huge audience (depending on how popular or notorious you are), restricted only by a 140-character word limit.

The verb ‘to retweet’ is completely novel (unless referring to stereotypically French military tactics in a comically French accent).

Similarly, we tend to ‘lose’ the original meaning of words as they take on a whole new dimension, pushing the way they were initially used to the bat-ridden caves of distant memory.

Can you think of the word ‘web’ without thinking of the internet first and the spider’s gossamer grocery store second? We could easily refer to spiders as web designers but that would jar with today’s meaning of the term, even if spiders wove webs back when dinosaurs roamed the planet.

And how about the homographs like ‘gay’ and ‘queer’ that have all but lost their original meaning?

When I first passed by the restaurant called The Joint, I hoped it was a steak house. Unless they’d circumvented the law and gone for the full Jamaican experience, I couldn’t imagine it being anything else. A quick peek at the menu outside revealed that it was, in fact, a steak house with a rather daring name.

Talk of homographs that have taken on a rather singular meaning.

The menu promised beef from around the world, and every cut had its ageing time and the cow’s feeding habits specified.

For instance, cows from Scotland had been grass fed and the steak had been aged for 22 days, so the Aberdeen Angus steak is listed as such. Wagyu Kobe has been corn fed and the steak aged for 32 days.

This menu sounded like serious business.

All I needed at this point was a steak-lover to join me as I discovered the wonders that The Joint promised. A couple of weeks passed and The Joint had slipped my memory.

Then an unexpected text message landed. It was from an old friend with whom I have, over the course of our friendship, shared at least an entire cow. His text was something along the lines of, “We need to catch up over a steak. Mention the date.” So I picked a weeknight and suggested we meet at The Joint.

I will leave his reply to your imagination.

On the night in question I swung by his mansion to call for him and he popped into the car, skipping any greeting and launching straight into his “I’m starving” speech. And having a way with words, he entertained me no end.

I steered my trusty chariot towards Spinola and toured the place looking for a parking spot. I was lucky that night and managed to park within five minutes of the bay.

We walked down the ramp to the bay, past the fishing boats that lie upturned like stoned turtles, and into The Joint via the entrance that is just a couple of metres from the tranquil bay.

There was no one on this floor so we decided to take the stairs to the upper level, where we were met by uniformed staff. I wondered why they’d have the equivalent of quite a large and well-positioned restaurant downstairs but not a single person manning it.

We picked a table as close to the façade as possible and were given food and wine menus by a rather severe man.

Eventually, a young woman turned up to take our drinks orders, smelling intensely of perfume by the time she was two tables away from us. I hoped she wouldn’t come anywhere near us when we had food or wine on the table.

We picked a Chateau Tartugiere and settled down to pore over the food menu.

The menus are appropriately limited, with emphasis on the steak as every proper steak house menu should be. A reasonable spread of quite enticing starters is followed by a small selection of fish and non-steak dishes and the last page is dedicated entirely to steak.

They offer a number of cuts, including fillet, ribeye and T-bone from Scotland, the US, France, Argentina, Italy and Japan.

My friend and I discussed the Wagyu Kobe, but at €60 per steak we decided we’d better be absolutely certain that the kitchen was unimpeachable before taking the plunge.

Also steep is the Chianina from Piemonte, a cow that is rare even in its native region, and so appropriately priced at €45.

We settled for two different steaks and agreed we’d try each other’s to make sure we’ve sampled two continents each. I picked the corn-fed, 21-day aged, USDA ribeye while he opted for the grass-fed, 22-day aged, Aberdeen Angus ribeye.

Having settled that, we turned the page back to the starters and agreed that we’d pick two and share them. We’re both slaves to our olfactory.

We went for the trio of homemade sausages and a salad of deep-fried local goat’s cheese.

Ordering was tricky business, with the man who took our orders seeming unfamiliar with the process, but we got there eventually. He insisted on correcting our pronunciation of ‘potatoes’ to ‘pah-tatoes’ but then the jacket potato we ordered turned up on the bill spelled ‘Patato’ so perhaps it is company policy.

He did serve our wine quite well though, so it could be that he’s new to the place but not the art of service.

Perfume delivered our starters and we waited for the scent to subside before going anywhere near them. The trio of sausages turned out to be a very enjoyable approach to bangers and mash.

Three sausages, one each made of lamb, beef and pork, had been served atop mashed potato and surrounded by a rather intense gravy. All of this was enjoyable in a steak-house sort of way and I split the dish into two with surgical precision, not quite willing to share more than I ought to.

Eventually, it was my turn to sample the goat’s cheese salad. The cheese had been breaded and deep fried. I was entitled to one- and-a-half of these, the cheese having been divided with as much precision as I had employed.

I ate the half but left the whole, feeling more inspired by the salad that had been treated to a truffle dressing than to the rubbery cheese. I decided I’d pick the sausages again if I returned, and would be sharing them with no one.

Next up was our steak. These took quite a while and when they did turn up were quite well presented, with neat grill-lines and a jacket potato served with melting garlic butter and looking quite inviting.

My first cause for concern was the rasping of my knife as it cut through the beef. My next concern was with the texture of the meat, as I chewed through what could possibly have been frozen and then defrosted meat.

I couldn’t hide my disappointment and looked up to a facial expression that must have mirrored mine. I tasted the Angus ribeye and, possibly because it had been ordered medium-rare unlike my rare, it had fared worse.

I ate through the more fatty bone-side part of mine and left the rest. To my amazement, my friend hacked through his and ate it. The jacket ‘patato’ saved the day, proving to be good enough to pass for the main course itself.

We assumed joint responsibility for the disappointment. While I had suggested the place, he had eaten the entire steak, making him a full accomplice. We paid €100 for the meal, a small fortune to pay for good starters in a lovely setting.

If I visit this joint again, I’m taking my own steak with me.

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