Ed eats

Lapsi View
Imniegel Street
Għar Lapsi (l/o Siġġiewi)
Tel: 2164 0608

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

At the risk of angering creationists, I admit I’m little more than a storytelling monkey. Self-awareness isn’t a particularly good idea as a survival trait but at least it gives us the ability to communicate with one another in the form of stories.

As we evolved into this ape that babbled incessantly, we realised that this gave us the ability to allow knowledge to be passed on from one generation to the next. And before you knew it, we had gossip columns and obituaries to keep us all up to date. Stories are powerful motivators as well, especially when they expose the collective gullibility that the human species seems too happy to hang onto.

Consider our obsession with making it to the moon a few decades ago. Nations spent gazillions proving they could make it all the way, simply because we’ve been sitting around at night and wondering whether the moon was made of cheese since man the hunter. Then we finally got there and realised the stark truth. There’s nothing there. We haven’t bothered going back to the moon much since then, realising the futility of the endeavour, but we were all happy that the story had been fulfilled.

We have our own mini version of the moon in the form of a pint-sized rock we call Filfla. There’s even some law or another preventing us from stepping foot on it.

Yet we can’t resist staring at it and wondering what it would be like to actually be there. And prohibiting this act is even more of a powerful motivation.

I had some time to ponder all this, having lunch at what most people call ‘Rita ta’ Għar Lapsi’, a restaurant that’s actually called a much-less evocative Lapsi View Restaurant. Sitting out on the terrace, one has full view of the open seas and Filfla sitting right there, basking smugly in the knowledge of its untouchable status. I pondered taking a boat out in the dead of night to see what it would be like to break the law. Then I remembered the futility of moon landings and realised that my undertaking would be vastly more pointless. I won’t risk eating prison food for practically no gain.

It was a sweltering Sunday afternoon and the restaurant was packed solid. Luckily, one of us had had the foresight of calling in advance and booking a table. If not, we’d have had to wait for a while for the possibility of a table inside the restaurant and the din in there is practically unbearable.

I’d been a few times before and it was always a weekday. During the week the patrons tend to be fewer in number and much, much quieter. I’m happy to put up with the slight whiff of sunblock on a weekday than the Sunday racket. During the week, you can take the time to look around the place, at a restaurant that has been caught somewhere in time with metal and formica furniture, multicoloured blinds, and traditional tiling.

The rest of the faces at table were quietly ecstatic

The symmetrical and severe exterior is our own version of modernist architecture, with exquisite concrete trimmings and painted a pleasant, sky blue. There’s no missing this building. Yet, even if it stands out quite starkly against the garigue and terraced fields, it is a sight worth driving for.

Service is charmingly frustrating. We battled to attract the attention of the staff throughout the afternoon. When we managed to, we were treated to friendly and informal service that was brutally honest and occasionally forgetful. In every case though, despite the evident rush, everyone who served us was patient and gave us all the time we needed. The menus list what one would expect, with salads and grills and Maltese dishes, pizzas that are only available in the evenings, and a separate printed sheet inside a plastic folder that displayed the pasta dishes.

The restaurant was evidently at its limits so we decided to stick to one dish and keep waiting times to a reasonable level. The young man taking our order confirmed our suspicions and actually told us that there was mayhem in the kitchen because they were terribly busy. Half of us ordered the fried rabbit, a dish that came with a reputation. The other half of us ordered pasta with the exception of one order for spare ribs.

We then settled in for what we knew would be a relatively long wait. The terrace is so pleasant, the weather was kind, and we had no particular rush to go anywhere so we just sat there and chatted. I only wished the lot of us weren’t in the throes of a hangover or we’d be sipping cold wine while we waited. The only beer we ordered didn’t even turn up and it could be a good thing.

At one point we debated pointing out to the driver of a huge luxury car that he’d parked in the slot reserved for those with a disability. The sheer size of him and that of his entourage discouraged this. They simply walked into the restaurant and raised the volume of the fray by a fair notch while we sat outside and uselessly tutted.

Eventually, our food turned up and all was forgotten. To the credit of this very busy restaurant, our food was served within a reasonable half hour of our order and was all served at once. The pasta dishes, ordered as a main course, were really generous and served in plates that could easily have contained a salad for the entire table.

Mine, a dish of tagliatelle with clams and mussels, was underwhelming. The sauce was a generic fish stock that actually lacked flavour and the mussels and clams had been a little overdone. It wasn’t terrible though and I ate most of it, mainly because I was hungry. The same was being said about the other fish-based pasta dishes around me, so it seemed like the generosity of the portion is the main thing going for the pasta.

Just as generous was the portion of spare ribs. They, too, were overcooked and smothered in a barbecue sauce so remained mostly uneaten.

The rest of the faces at table were quietly ecstatic though. These were the ones eating the fried rabbit so I quickly nicked a bit and realised what the silence was all about. The rabbit was really good, moist inside and seared on the outside, full of texture and traditionally seasoned. The chips on the side were just as terrific so there was no way I’d be hearing a sound from the rabbit eaters. The rest of us noticed we’d made a mistake and I voiced this loudly.

When we were all done we bravely ordered coffees and ice creams, happy to sit there for a while longer and take in the view, and now that the crowd had started to thin these arrived really quickly. We also asked for the bill and wound up paying €16 each.

It is the kind of place that is almost more about the story than the food. Getting there is practically out of everyone’s way and you bounce around the streets that take you to the remote little bay because there’s plenty that’s worth your while when you get there.

You get to see our own little bit of inaccessible rock, soak up the tranquillity that place enjoys and eat some fine rabbit at the end of the journey. I’d pick a weekday if I were you. And write the rest of the afternoon off because you’ll want a bottle of wine on that terrace.

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