Picagna
1, Triq Is-Santwarju
Birkirkara
Tel: 2144 7063

Food: 7/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 6/10
Value: 6/10
Overall: 7/10

No 43
43, Merchants Street,
Valletta
Tel: 2703 2294

Food: 8/10
Service: 7/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 8/10
Overall: 8/10

As you can tell, this one’s a tale of two eateries. There’s nothing to connect them other than my having had lunch at both on a number of occasions. I’ve put them together today because they are, in fact, quite the opposite of one another. This is where I think the story lies.

Douglas Adams, one of my all-time heroes, wrote: “Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.” I’m taking this out of the context he wrote it in but that’s fine, he won’t object. I agree with this because I eat whenever I’m hungry and I consider strict mealtimes to be yet another constraint to our spontaneity.

I forfeit most of my life to make a living within the confines of an office, so I plan any excursion, and make up some entirely unnecessary outings, to coincide with the timings that my stomach dictates. This means I get to sample food I wouldn’t normally come across. And these excursions have led me to unlikely places that, once in a while, make it to these pages.

For instance, I’d never have expected a Brazilian chef and his lovely wife to set up shop right outside the church of St Helen in Birkirkara. Imagine my surprise on my first visit when, while waiting for a burger, the chef presented me with a small ball of what looked like slightly under-baked dough. I have to admit that my knowledge of Brazilian food is pretty poor so I had no idea that this little gem, called pão de queijo, existed. With a delightfully crisp exterior and a soft and chewy core, it is cheese bread in the literal sense. A starchy batter and cheese make up the little baked balls. To my delight, I discovered that they sell these frozen so you can enjoy them as a midnight snack.

Then the burger turned up, and it is pretty much what you’d expect of a burger with cheese and bacon. There’s nothing particularly special about the make­up of the burger other than an excellent patty. Pure ground meat in a blend that cleverly combines lean meat for texture and fattier meat for flavour makes for the kind of patty you’d make at home. At €15 it is priced quite steeply, perhaps aiming higher than the quality of burger you’re eating. It’s good and I’ve returned for it, but they’re not the only ones making a fantastic burger on the island.

Strangely, the steak is more attractively priced. At €12 for a 250g steak it is the perfect size for lunch. You can pay twice that for a 500g edition but I don’t think I’d do anything productive after that.

It is a slow-cooked steak that’s grilled for the finish before it is served, so it is quick to make it to your table. Served with a salad that’s generously dressed in a slightly sweet vinaigrette and crisp, crunchy fries, it’s quite the deal. The cut from the rump isn’t the most fully flavoured of meats, and Picagna serve it practically unseasoned so the naked version isn’t going to draw a standing ovation. What turns it into a little marvel is the very lively chimi­churri they serve if you ask for it. If I were the chef, I’d just serve it as standard and warn that it’s a little spicy.

We have no more excuses to stick to what we’re used to out of lack of alternative

If you visit, do try out the beigigno when you’re done. Literally translated, this tiny dessert is named after a ‘little kiss’ and is a simple, if sinful, concoction of condensed milk, white chocolate and coconut.

The couple are as friendly and eager as it gets and they have this quiet charm about them that turns a meal on a plastic chair on a pavement into an unusually homely experience. The location isn’t great, I have to admit that, but your hosts make up for this in spades.

Now let’s change location and go to a significantly more obvious one – Merchants Street in Valletta. It’s hard to get more central than a paved, pedestrian road in what I very subjectively think is one of the most beautiful cities in the known universe. Once again, Douglas Adams isn’t around to contradict me and he knew a thing or two about our galaxy and beyond.

No 43

At number 43, there’s a tiny place that’s surprisingly called No. 43. Squeezed into what could have been the gap between two properly sized buildings is a buzzing and heaving salad bar that’s run by a team of formidable, young people. The throughput on the couple of times I’ve visited was a force to be reckoned with.

Placing an order at the bar is like being on a conveyor, with a line of hungry people ordering their mix of salads and, mostly, taking it with them to wherever it is they came from. If you’re lucky to get a table in the middle of the street, then they’ll serve your food at table but you still order at the bar.

This makes sense. I don’t think a menu could do justice to the two dozen varieties of salad available.

There are salads based on cold pasta, rice, noodles, grilled veg, quinoa, and lentils. Then there are the veg-only ones. The first one I pointed at was rice with pesto and mint. It sounded interesting but I kept asking what things were until I decided on the four that would make up my meal. I also ordered a chicken wrap and headed out of the rather chaotic interior.

It still is a beautiful time of year to sit outside and have lunch, and Merchants Street is a particularly enjoyable place to do so. Within minutes, we had a basket of fresh, Maltese bread and little square pots with pepper, salt and olive oil in front of us. There’s something a little disconcerting about pinching your condiments out of an open container. I’m not fussed about this sort of thing but I do think this is the least hygienic way of doing things.

There was talk of EU legislation that would force all condiments to be presented at table in single-serve, sealed portions. As these regulations often are, this is both draconian and unrealistic in my view but there’s the pleasant middle-ground of salt and pepper mills or cellars and oil in bottles. But that’s enough of me moaning about laws and politics and other subjects I know absolutely nothing about.

Let’s turn to my salad, an infinitely more exciting subject. I should say salads – the plural is operative here. My rather large plate was packed with enough salad for me to feel virtuous for four days in a row. There was a crunchy mix of fennel, apple, ricotta, mint, dried apricots in one of the quadrants. The other hosted a lentil tabbouleh with plenty of parsley, a hint of lemon zest, diced cucumber and tomato. More cucumber featured alongside tomatoes, olives, and dried herbs de Provence. The last quarter was a lentil salad with hard-boiled egg. This one featured little surprises like mango and poppy seed to keep things interesting.

I’d picked all these practically at random because I was a little intimidated by the choice, and every one turned out to be a clever combination of fresh ingredients, full of complementary flavours and well-thought-out textures. For a fiver, it’s hard to think of a better way to eat a wholesome and delicious meal. It’s no wonder the place is so popular with those who work in the city.

The wrap, with chicken, quinoa, tomatoes and ricotta, is also inspired and packed with fresh flavours. It’s priced equally sensibly and is perhaps a more manageable portion size.

Just a decade ago, around the time I started these ramblings, this contrast wasn’t remotely available. We had little by way of international cuisine bar the usual Italian and Chinese, and had precious few options for healthy, affordable food. Yet here we are, with a tale of two meals that could very well have been part of the same dish and yet are separated by kilometres of Malta and a few thousand in provenance. We have no more excuses to stick to what we’re used to out of lack of alternative. So go forth with an open mind and an empty stomach at any time of day that tickles your fancy and be prepared to dismantle some notions, lunchtime being one of them.