Ed eats

Al Molo
Level -5,
Portomaso Marina,
St Julian’s
Tel: 2138 4300

Food: 9/10
Service: 9/10
Ambience: 9/10
Value: 7/10
Overall: 8.5/10

A feast has been celebrated around this day long probably for as long as Homo Sapiens has been Homo Sapiens. After a long, hard winter, humanity thanked nature for all the welcome signs of spring.

I have paid that much for Michelin stars but we do tend to pay more for good food and good service in Malta

The cycle had started again. Animals gave birth, plants awoke from their slumber as the soil thawed out, and the possibility of freezing or starving to death was staved for another year.

And because food always featured in the history of human celebration, it was a time to celebrate with gifts of eggs and bunnies and lambs, all heralding the new season. We have retained most of these, only we tend to make them out of chocolate or marzipan or other sweet treats.

Somehow, with spring we seem to get more than a hint of summer here. The gorgeous days have started and the temperature is giving us a taste of what is in store.

Before it becomes too hot to do anything useful, I take my annual week-long venture out of my cave and brave the great outdoors. As you read this, the likelihood is that I’ve gone back to cave-dwelling.

One of my mini-walks took me to the Portomaso Marina and I spotted a lovely restaurant that I’d been to a long time ago.

Al Molo, aptly named, is situated on the lowest level of Portomaso and is separated from the boats berthed in the Marina by about five metres.

The menu outside sounded lovely, the location just as lovely, and I knew parking would not be an issue. Dinner was sorted.

Later on that evening I drove into the car park and followed the signs down to the lowest level of the car park, finding an empty spot just adjacent to the back entrance of the restaurant. I had 10 paces to go before I was greeted by the smiling restaurant staff. Perfect for some-one with my aversion to physical exertion.

We were asked whether we preferred a table inside or outside. I popped out and tested the temperature. I thought it was fine but then I wasn’t alone and was treated to a worried frown and a concerned look skywards, like the heavens were threatening a hurricane within minutes. I said inside would be perfect and we were led to our table.

The service so far was supremely polite, a smile away from formal. Everything about the way we were treated so far felt trained, deliberate and uniform. We are relatively unaccustomed to this level of service and I sat back, knowing that whatever the food would be like, we’d be treated exceptionally well all evening.

I skipped the aperitif and asked for water, having a whole hour of walking during the day to make up for. I take a little break in the hall when walking from my bedroom to my kitchen so an hour is a big deal for me.

One of the members of Al Molo’s team, the one who seems to be running the front of house, came over with menus and let us know that they had fresh Rosefish and John Dory available.

John Dory is one of the rock stars of the seabed, looking awful and swimming poorly, but when it comes to doing what it does best, it really shines. Only this rock star is meant to liven up my plate rather than my headphones. And you must respect a fish that has insisted on being called by its name and surname for so long. To start off, we chose starters from the sea. I picked the octopus carpaccio, served with an apple and radish salad and an intriguing Parmesan jelly. A kitchen getting all technical on us soundedpromising to me.

The weather-girl ordered a calamari and whitebait fritter (polpetti is translated to a rather less appealing ‘burger’ on the menu), served on a parsley purée with a shellfish dressing. Seeing that we’d be lapping up littoral lovelies before John Dory’s gig, white wine was definitely on the cards.

The excellent serving staff had slipped a bit here and forgotten to supply wine menus so I asked for some. Twice. I wouldn’t normally be bothered by this but at this level I wouldn’t expect this sort of slip. I wound up ordering a Fiano di Avellino for its relatively full body, hoping it would be gentle to Mr John Dory.

An amuse bouche made its way to our table, a carrot and asparagus soup with black truffle olive oil served out of elegant glassware and poured into funky, little espresso cups. It tasted as elegant as it looked, with the truffle adding a heady note to the relative sweetness of the carrot.

Also elegant is the interior of the restaurant, understated and neatly laid out with just the right amount of light and Michael Bublé crooning in the background.

The well-dressed waitresses, walking smartly and payingattention to the level of wine and water in our glasses, manage to remain as understated as the décor so we never feltlike anything was imposed upon us.

Along with the amuse bouche, bread and butter was delivered and announced. Four types of white and brown bread, we were told, were accompanied by salted and unsalted butter. This was served in little oblongs on a neat slab of slate.

It was a pity that three of the four varieties of bread had been reheated so that after about two minutes they solidified into pebbles. We’d be eating seafood but not the seashore itself so I restricted my intake to the only edible variety.

Starters headed our way quite quickly and the presentation was quite lovely. The octopus carpaccio was laid out on a square dish with surgical precision, with the shredded salad served in a neat line and dots of jelly scattered here and there. The octopus had been cooked and was all but tasteless but the Parmesan jelly was interesting and very well executed.

Much happier and looking smug as she does when her choice is better, the human met-office was thoroughly enjoying the calamari and whitebait fritter. I tried a bite and then another one just in case and could easily have finished it off had its rightful owner not been wielding a knife.

The delicate flavours that are so easy to ruin by cooking had been retained and floated atop the astringency of the parsley purée.

Next up was Mr John Dory. He was wheeled onto stage on a trolley, looking as ugly as only a John Dory can manage. Knowing what treasures lie within its pale skin I waited for the lady who was doing the wheeling to start doing the peeling.

She did so with a deft precision, skilfully working fork and spoon and taking care to preserve the hidden treasures within Mr Dory’s jowls.

She added an excellent olive oil at the end, served the fish, and vanished. I waited a couple of seconds to see whether anything else was served with it and then jumped straight in, not wanting the temperature of my dish to drop.

This turned out to be the right move because divine potatoes and very fresh vegetable were served when I was almost done. This didn’t bother me because I tend to eat most of the fish before devoting my attention to anything else but it was another slip in this perfect service. For dessert we had a caramelised pineapple, served with a shot of Malibu and passion fruit sorbet and a sautée of strawberries served with aged balsamic vinegar and orange sorbet. Both desserts were thoroughly enjoyable and served looking the part.

I did not expect to be let off lightly when paying the bill and it tipped the scales at the €140 mark. I have paid that much for Michelin stars but we do tend to pay more for good food and good service in Malta than pretty much anywhere else I have been to.

We’d enjoyed the gig, the star had shone, the band had strutted their stuff, and we’d paid the price for all of that plus location.

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