All excited and groomed up to the nines, I walk into Mezzanin wine bar in Attard just off Melita café, and quickly scan my surroundings. In a few minutes I will be meeting Malta’s First Lady, so I want to make sure the setting is perfect.
Mezzanin turns out to be very spacious with an enormous outdoor area crowned by a marquee were one can laze through the apocalyptic summer months and enjoy some highly quaffable summer sparkler. There are several couches and armchairs in different colours that seem to have been put together after visiting a Christmas bazaar – but somehow work well. Inside, the feel is cosier, and Mrs Abela’s PA (Darling Darleen) has chosen one of the more private rooms for our meeting. The rooms lead to each other and look like they have found a new spirit of freedom and colour. The mismatched sofas persist, and the walls are surrounded by splashy paintings. One wall is peeling off, and desperately needs to be taken care of… but other than that I’m happy with the mood.
Just one problem! There is a large TFT screen and Alanis Morissette is screeching out some bitch lyrics. I ask the lanky waiter to kindly lower the volume. He does. Not enough for me, sorry – so he patiently lowers the volume further. Perfect!
As if on cue, Malta’s First Lady walks in clad in a seriously elegant grey suit, and wearing half a smile… something between humility and graciousness. My first impression is that she is a very shy person, and once I start chatting to her I realise that she has not removed herself from the values of simplicity. One thing that strikes me in particular is how serene she looks, and the feeling is highly infectious. It’s been only 10 minutes since we first meet, and already I feel very comfortable in her presence and indeed… very serene!
At Mezzanin they serve pizza and a selection of five platters to go with the wine which ranges from the Orient to the Mediterranean. In fact, we play safe, and stay local – and boring as it may seem – we settle for a Maltese platter priced at €8.50. Mrs Abela is not too hungry. Otherwise I would have suggested the Oriental (which I am secretly dying to try out) as an additional dish.
I know that Mrs Abela nurses a lovely three-legged cat, and now that she has taken up residence in San Anton, her kind spirit will surely lead to extend her cat family. So I ask her my Cat Nuggets question. “Imagine you are on a state visit in China and they serve you Cat Nuggets for breakfast. What do you do?”
She cocks her head to one side, and smiles shyly. Her porcelain complexion is now illuminated by one of the many spotlights in the ceiling, and her face radiates an angelic quality I have not seen in a long time. “I would probably do my best to be polite and respect their culture, and try it out,” she responds softly.
The lanky waiter is back like another episode of Days of Our Lives, checking out if we are ready to order. He waits a while as we flip through the wine menu. There are around 113 wines to choose from and the selection is a good one. There is a bold variety of local wines and an international mix of foreign wines all the way from Uruguay to France. I notice they are decently priced, and had it not been for the blobs of wax residue on some of the menu pages… It would have made a perfect wine list. Pity, small details paint the big picture.
Mrs Abela insists that I choose the wine, so I accept the responsibility without much ado and decide for an Australian Shiraz Madfish. I get the feeling that I will have to down most of it anyway, as the First Lady does not look like she could be a big drinker. Nevertheless, she admits to me that she is an avid reader of Private Eye… and of course I get a little kick out of that.
She also shares with me a funny episode that occurred on her wedding day. Back then – still unaware one day she would be the fodder of society pages and magazines – she was a nervous bride looking forward to her special moment like any young girl would. After the wedding ceremony, when she gets back home and removes her wedding dress, she realizes that she has forgotten to remove the red skirt she had on whilst getting ready. Well, that was a little bit more than a garter for Mrs Abela then!
By the way she speaks of her husband I realise that not only is she very fond of him, but her love-affair with the President of Malta is sparkling more than ever.
“Describe your husband with one adjective…” I tell her, as I watch a wannabe actor walk in with a young lady who gives me the impression she is Lady Boss. In fact, she grunts her disapproval and they walk out again.
“Kind-hearted, I would say,” Mrs Abela replies.
Knowing the President from his days as a lawyer – in the not so distant past – I would also add – humble.
Our waiter is back with the platter and the wine after what we think is a slightly-too-long wait. He politely apologises for the delay, and presents us with a tasty Maltese platter that appeals to the lukewarm European taste buds, and pours the Shiraz in our glasses. He looks and acts like one of those professional butlers you see in movies, and I really do not mind the “Hii”-word in most of his sentences.
The wine has a sweet and fruity middle palate that usually makes good, cool climate Australian Shiraz attractive, and hits the perfect note with the abundant platter of Mediterranean food. I propose a toast for the next prosperous five years.
Next question for Mrs Abela: Pamela Anderson is visiting the island and has a meeting with the President. “What do you tell him before he goes to that meeting?”
She sweeps her sleek Vidal Sassoon style hair backwards and smiles. “I’ll tell him to make the most out of it,” she replies.
I’m taken aback. But she means it in the most innocent way of course. This lady is so docile that I resist a curbing feeling to hug her.
“And who wins the Winning Smile Contest – George Abela or John F. Kennedy?”
There is a hint of a blush spreading through the porcelain features. Her eyes tell me – My Husband – but she is too humble to put it in words. I do it for her, because it is the truth after all. The man has a smile and a handshake to be remembered.
I excuse myself to check out the toilets. On my way I pass Lady Boss who stares at me with hyperthyroid eyes bulging menacingly from a small pinched face. Her hubby sits ungracefully next to her, his beady eyes spelling boredom and frustration.
The toilets at Mezzanin look like they have been subsidised by the government. They have the same green colour associated with any government building or public benches, and they are as exciting as the Taj Mahal is for an Indian. I dislike urinals, so I wait for the small green toilet cubical to clear up and step in.
Mrs Abela is sipping on the Shiraz when I get back. Talk shifts to family life and she tells me all about her two children – Robert, who is now a very, very busy lawyer, and her daughter Maria who lives in Milan and is a Soprano. In fact, when I ask her which was the most beautiful moment of her life she tells me it was the birth of her children. Despite now being the First Lady she is not one who has ever had any public ambitions at the expense of her home or her family life.
Of course, life for Mrs Abela has changed with the snap of a finger. Now, her life revolves around juggling interviews, networking with the cream of society, and getting accustomed to the majestic corridors of the palace she lives in.
Unfortunately, the clock is ticking. We pay the bill (€28.30) and leave. I am in my car and realise I have not taken a photo of my guest. I run to the palace… the security guard alerts Mrs Abela… I am allowed inside, race up the stairs and the First Lady kindly spends more time with me for a mini photo shoot. Et voila! The result of my work! Phew!
RATING: 1 - 7
Wine - *****
Ambience ****
Food - ****
Service ****