Ed Eats

Bahia
75, Triq Prezjosi,
Lija
Tel: 9999 1270

Food: 7/10  
Location: 9/10
Service: 9/10
Value: 8/10
Overall: 8/10

I belong to a privileged generation. I’m in that awkward neither-here-nor-there that’s trapped between the sensible baby boomers and the equally sensible 90s kids. So, I was spared the annoying ordeal of being brought up in post-war damage and having to contend with being a colony. I always knew where my next meal was coming from, and I could do without the awfully responsible outlook that my parents’ generation had.

We lived through the 1980s that, let’s face it, were quite bonkers. Fashion was ugly, fiction was optimistic, and cars were largely designed with a ruler. Let’s not even go anywhere near the eye-poke that music videos were. Then came the 90s and baseball caps and Friends on TV and the revival of canvas sneakers. The Cold War was a distant memory and the US presidency was so laid back it could afford to waste time on a sex scandal.

There was, however, a generally optimistic mood. At the end of every year, we wound up looking back at fun times and looking forward to even better ones. We swore we’d cut back on bad habits, mainly to make way for new ones. We reflected on what we’d have liked to improve upon and, with varying degrees of success, set about doing so.

What I can’t recall is a year that ended on the same note as 2016. There seemed to be a universal sigh of relief when it ended, a collective sentiment that it was, at least on a global scale, a pile of horse manure.

But that’s not why you’re reading this column. Happily ensconced within the pages of a pretty pull-out called Escape, that’s what you’re after. So I started the year with a meal at a restaurant that I’d heard many good things about.

I first noticed the place while having a drink or seven at Grasshopper bar, ably and cheerfully run by the legendary Sunny and his lovely wife. Works were under way on what was a charming townhouse in a pretty street in Lija and I watched in wonder at the detail that was going into the works. When Bahia opened its doors I waited a while. I like giving the kitchen and service some time to find their feet. And while I waited, reports of memorable meals slowly trickled in.

Finally, I scored a table. The better half called to place a reservation and she was favourably impressed with the phone manners of the man who’d taken the call. They could just about squeeze us in thanks to a cancellation, and asked if we could be there at 9pm to serve us better.

The restaurant is split into three rather compact dining areas that have been ever so tastefully done up, retaining as many of the original features of the house, adding discreet lighting and clever acoustic treatment. The result is a very pretty and welcoming space in the brasserie tradition.

Detail all the way to the end

The attention to detail spills over to asymmetrical cutlery and starched, white napkins and goes all the way to the uniforms of the team that mans the front of house. According to the better half, the team has also been selected for their dashing good looks and I ought to take her word for it.

From my perspective, they’ve been selected for their ability to understand what the Bahia experience is all about and their will to deliver this experience consistently and effortlessly. The ability of the team belies the fact that they’ve been open for a couple of months, giving the impression that they’ve had years to work on their choreography.

We were greeted by a smart, young man who helped us settle in comfortably and who made sure we’d found the menus. These are a simple two-page affair that are rolled up and tidied away inside a little branded box. There’s a page of starters and, on the reverse, another page of main courses.

The focus is on a handful of dishes that, once again in brasserie style, take a traditional dish and gently riff on it in accordance with the chef’s whims. The first item on the menu was pan seared scallops with peas and guanciale. This chef knows his way to my heart but doesn’t stop there. There’s slow cooked beef and burrata salad and ricotta gnocchi with Maltese sausage.

The main courses are a little less whimsical. There’s ribeye served with truffled leeks, duck breast with orange and beetroot, sea bass with cucumber and fennel, and even a Moroccan spiced quinoa for those who’d rather leave animals out of their meals.

When I thought I’d figured out my meal, another member of the team described the day’s specialities and these included two pasta dishes, one with cuttlefish ink and the other with prawn, as well as the availability of truffles. You get to choose your own and then have it grated on the dish of your choice.

By now my enthusiasm had soared and I had to somehow contain myself. Dead set on the scallops, I wasn’t a candidate for truffles and this helped my seal my choice.

But with a restaurant packed to capacity, it was hardly surprising that they’d run out of the scallops so I swapped my starter to the cuttlefish spaghetti and sat back to sip the bottle of French Chardonnay while the kitchen worked its magic. The wine list is not particularly extensive or imaginative, although it does improve in the selection of reds.

The restaurant was quite evidently stretched to its limit. The service team helped the kitchen by delivering items to our table in neatly staggered intervals. First was a basket with a selection of bread rolls to choose from. Then came a lovely olive oil to dip this in. With another gap in time came a bowl of lovely Kalamata olives with rosemary, garlic, and chilli.

Three quarters of an hour passed before our main course was served but this was not an issue. We weren’t rushing anywhere after dinner and the atmosphere is so pleasant that we were happy to chat, sip our wine, and dip into the olives.

The better half had ordered a sweetcorn soup. The poached egg and truffled crostini and served in the bowl and soup poured at table, as it should be. It is slightly sweet, largely thanks to the blended sweetcorn, and the egg yolk adds a lovely creamy flavour to it. It’s a simple and heart-warming dish that’s perfect for a windy, winter evening.

My pasta was a little underwhelming. The cuttlefish ink is, admittedly, a very delicate flavour. If not for the occasional sprig of thyme, however, there was nothing to lift the dish from what is a rather one-dimensional area of our palate.

For main course I’d picked the duo of pork. Beautifully presented, this is an oven-finished cut of pork belly over a thin bed of slow-cooked pork cheek, served with carrots and apples and a pork jus. The belly had spent a little too much time in the oven and lost its unctuous juiciness. This was more than made up for with the divine crackling on top and the incredibly tender sliver of cheek. Sadly, the baked potatoes served alongside the pork were just decent but pretty unremarkable.

The better half had followed her starter with another starter, the spaghetti with prawns. This was, just like her starter had been, a pretty accomplished dish with a viscous sauce clinging onto the spaghetti and carrying tender and delicate prawn flesh with it. Lightly seasoned and perhaps too lightly salted, the dish allowed the prawns to shine, just as they should do.

I took a peek at the dessert menu and, tempting as it was, decided to put an end to the meal. Interestingly, the dessert menu includes some lovely dessert wines and even four different coffee bean blends for your espresso. There’s detail all the way to the end.

We paid a reasonable €90 for the meal that we thought perfectly reasonable for the service and the setting. Somehow, I felt that the wrapper was as important as the gift so if I were to be picky I’d wish the kitchen could slightly up its game to match the impeccable experience.

Having said that, I am itching to return in the company of those I know would appreciate the Bahia experience. Because, tiring as the year was, we didn’t think about any of it all evening. And that’s the hallmark of a capable restaurateur.