Shakinah
5, Ġorġ Borg Olivier Street
Msida

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

The blossoming of spring brings with it many changes. Wardrobe rotations are in full swing, allergies start to flare up, bunnies make more bunnies, and a handful of crazy folk think the first few warm rays of sunlight make it perfectly reasonable to head to a bay and take a dip in the sea.

In my case, the biggest difference is that it also brings about a change in diet. To answer one of the three-minute speed-date classic questions, I would take winter over summer in a heartbeat. I like the cold. I like it as much as the heat hates me. And I have empiri­cal evidence as to why winter is by and large the superior season.

I would rather be snuggly in a onesie, blankets and a layer of household pet as opposed to splayed nakedly across my living room floor in a fashion resembling a starfish (and just as moist). Gas heaters are far chea­per to operate than air-conditioners. Football and rugby seasons cease to exist in the summer months. But most importantly, hearty stick-to-your-ribs dinners make way for lighter, cooler and more refreshing meals.

Don’t get me wrong. I fully advocate and truly love summer grubbing. I instantly think of fresh coriander in vibrant salads, rare salmon, fruit smoothies, cool cocktails, prawns and avocado or spaghetti aglio e oglio. And it definitely has its brighter moments. Very little can surpass a proper ħobż biż-żejt in the middle of the blazing afternoon or little pink sausages on a warm summer night.

But winter is for the stodgier food choices. Food for the soul more than the body. And that is totally my wheelhouse. Bowls of rich mashed potato and gravy or bubbly hot soups. Roast dinners and baked pasta dishes. Piping hot porridge breakfasts and life-affirming cups of coffee. My time was running short. I had to cram in the last few hearty meals before the weather makes it unbearable. I was now on a mission.

After much deliberation, on a particularly blustery evening, it was decided that a good curry would really hit the spot. I am a firm believer that Indian cuisine is a caring and sharing sort of affair, so I made a few calls and had gotten a crew together within the hour. We were going to brave the weather and our reward was to be an evening at Shakinah.

Braving the weather was a foolish notion. Having booked at the Msida location would have made parking a herculean task had the gods of winter dining not been on our side. Although I imagine parking would be more readily available once the iconic Busy Bee café closes its shutters for the night.

Stepping into the restaurant I was immediately blown away by the decor. I have seen very few restaurants as well put together as this one. Heck, it looked like something straight out of a ‘This is how you decorate a restaurant’ magazine. Very modern, very sleek, you can tell great attention to detail was given down to charging ports built into the sofa.

A near perfect score would have been awarded had the toilets in the bathroom not been at an odd height that made for a slightly awkward experience.

But I digress. Onto greater things. We ordered a few cocktails to get us going and delved through the extensive menu. Going against tradition, it was decided that we would order the proper amount of food as opposed to cramming in an overabundance of rich Indian fare. But I had to make an exception for the naan bread of which I made certain we had enough to form a raft to canoe back to our parked cars.

The restaurant was fairly quiet throughout the evening, with just a handful of other patrons, so service was extremely smooth. The staff were perfectly attentive and our drinks were brought out in good time, as were the starters.

Shakinah could achieve great heights and become one of the best Indian restaurants on the island bar naan

A staple of any Indian menu is the onion bhaji. And my oh my, this was good. Served somewhat unusually, I am accustomed to bhaji being presented as a fritter around the size of a table tennis ball. Shakinah chooses to serve their bhaji as more of a loose plate of slivers or chunks of onion. It made for a much more enjoyable sharing experience with us reaching over to the plate and popping little bites in at a steady pace.

I am also a sucker for pakora. The use of chickpea flour allows for a pillow-like consistency to a batter that is strangely pleasing. It worked perfectly with their chicken and potato pakora starters. Fluffy, tender, a bit of crunch; very enjoyable. The cheese corn marbles, however, I could take them or leave them to be honest. Rarely have I been in a situation where there is one bite left on a plate, and no one felt particularly compelled to take the plunge. It wasn’t bad at all. Just unremarkable.

When a waiter calmly walks over to your table and starts making space, you know you may have gone a touch overboard. It’s a dance of shame as you deftly try to avoid eye contact with the person literally hovering a foot above and ahead of you. But I am a master of my shame in that I have none; where embarrassment should be is only appetite.

A multitude of dishes were placed in front of us and we wasted no time in descending upon them like pigeons to a bread van. The fragrant jeera and pilau rice had set our salivation setting to Victoria Falls. I started with the staple go-to order for any Indian meze – the chicken korma. The curry was thick and creamy, a beautiful consistency. The flavour of cashew nut was present but not prominent, which I loved. Unfortunately, this dish lacked in every other aspect.

When I think of Indian cuisine, I think of a multitude of spices blending together to form layers of intricate flavour that can pack a punch. This korma lacked any of that. I even felt it lacked salt, the most basic of seasoning. In a nut-heavy dish, salt goes a long way, and in this case it just felt like I was eating plain cashews. The chicken was sadly also quite dry and chalky, clearly overcooked, and the whole dish felt lack-lustre.

The naan was much the same. It was beautifully prepared; piping hot with nice elasticity, it functioned perfectly as a sauce delivery system, sopping up the thick creaminess while maintaining structural integrity. But I struggled to tell the difference between the coconut naan and the plain naan.

The Madras made up for this, delivering exactly what we had hoped for. It made our tongues tingle, our noses moisten, and set our taste buds to work. It had a sharp zesty undertone that I loved, and hints of garam masala and deep eastern flavours. That being said, the award for most valuable dish of the night went to the achari kebab. This time, the chicken was cooked right. Near perfect, in fact. And the flavour it packed was phenomenal. We all left a small bite on our plate throughout the meal just to be sure we finished on that high note.

But that’s not the way any meal ends, is it? We all know we have a second stomach for dessert. We ordered a couple of slices of the ‘Passion for Mango’ cake which promised mango purée and mango mousse but delivered neither. The purée was a wafer-thin jelly layer on top of the cake that went unnoticed until examined closely, and the mousse lacked any real mango flavour. As a cake it was fine but it didn’t do what it said on the tin.

What did deliver was the lemon, lime and coconut cheesecake. The white chocolate was rich and creamy and there was an underlying hint and occasional hit of citrus zest that filled the palate. A perfect end to the meal and worth returning for.

We left the restaurant having enjoyed the meal overall, and at about €40 a head without wine it’s about what one would expect to pay for a meal of this size. If a few of the simpler details could be seen to I think Shakinah could achieve great heights and become one of the best Indian restaurants on the island bar naan.