Cibus (May 2018)

ISSUE â„–

MAY 2018

editorial The month of May brings with it a few editorial choices. Edible flowers for Spring?

Ground breaking. Maybe something for Mother’s Day lunches? Thrilling.

The launch of Childish Gambino’s This is America sparked controversy and debate throughout the Internet. Beyond the more surface level discussions on the ‘trap rap’ style used, or the simpler, refrain-heavy lyrical structure, were heated discussions on race, and racial politics. In the American context in particular, roots in culture and history seem to be both fixed and mobile.

What is ‘American’? Is it everything before ships landed ashore? Everything after? Is it the cultural melting pot? Is it its rebellion against King George? Is it the wild west? Is it slaving? Is it the emancipation?

On May 6th, 1621, the Mayflower arrived at British ports after a voyage to the New World, America. Decimated by disease and harsh New England winters, the remaining crew made its way back from a venture to take wild lands and the chaos within them and give them an order. The Mayflower has become a bit of a historical icon in American culture, both for its virtues of pioneering as well as its sins of colonisation.

Every Spring, chaos resumes all around us.

The heat ramps up, pollen is spiking antihistamine purchases at every pharmacy on the island, flowers bloom and the insect world comes alive with ants, slugs, and eventually cockroaches leaving their crevices underground to come search for food after our (short) winters.

Executive editor Jamie Iain Genovese (cibus@timesofmalta.com) Publisher Allied Newspapers Ltd. Printing Progress Press Co. Ltd. Production Allied Newspapers Ltd. Design Krista Bugeja Advertising Sales Marisa Schembri (tel: 2276 4337; marisa.schembri@timesofmalta.com)

THIS PUBLICATION IS BEING DISTRIBUTED AS PART OF: All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole, or in part, is strictly prohibited without written permission. Opinions expressed in Cibus are not necessarily those of the editor-in-chief or publisher. All reasonable care is taken to ensure truth and accuracy, but the editor-in-chief and publisher cannot be held responsible for errors or omissions in articles, advertising, photographs or illustrations. The editor-in-chief is not responsible for material submitted for consideration.

Every Spring, it seems, the spirit of going out to find new pastures is within every being in nature. That chaos, be it man setting sail to new lands or a colony of ants feasting on leftover figolli in the kitchen, is part of the natural order.

The desire to take the chaos of possibility and turn it into an order, in the kitchen or out, is part of our nature. We see not only a random assortment of flower, vegetable, grain, or meat, but also the ingredients for food.

The accompanying image for this editorial letter in the May issue of Cibus is made in that spirit. A bunch of ingredients in disarray, and yet in that chaos we can infer meaning, a recipe: the hotdog. Of course, you should never be served a hotdog in this way, no matter how fashionable it has become to be served ‘deconstructed food’, on, if you’re lucky, a plate, and we at Cibus would never suggest otherwise. But we can suggest venturing to new lands, revisiting the Maltese foodscape, or doing so through our pages.

That is, after all, what Spring is all about.

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Starting from the Big Blank Page Danny Coleiro once again takes us on a journey to a recipe, doing so while exhibiting a writer’s struggle with the blank page, word counts, and getting a bit meta about the way we find ingredients as well as how we find stories. This month’s recipe from Danny is about, well, let’s not spoil the surprise.

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The de Mondion and the Hundred Foot Journey The de Mondion has been working on a new recipe that boasts local gastronomy. At a wine-paired dinner we got to take a look at what’s on offer at this fine-dining icon.

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The D-I-Why of a DIY Garden Bailey Lalonde espouses the virtues of having your own little green patch to work on, and with some instructions on how to do it. The great outdoors in a few square feet.

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What Did the Greek gods Eat? Victor Calleja saunters down from the Pirin Mountains (or, well, from Bansko) to bring us tales of good food and wine from a consortium of chefs at the 6th Premier Gastronomy Festival.

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Southern Comfort Food Bailey returns to her maternal roots in and around Memphis, where her grandparents forged their name into the wildly popular, and historical, barbecue scene.

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A bite of the City James has toured with the Offbeat Malta Food Trails in Valletta, a tour which shows you some of the hotspots of local cuisine in Malta. A perfect choice for a Spring outing.

Win yourself 2 entrance tikcets at the Mediterraneo Marine Park Malta with Sammontana!

To win this prize of one free adult ticket and one free child ticket, open entrance at the Mediterraneo Marine Park Malta that is it is valid for any day in 2018, simply tell us

What is the name of the dairy free ice cream brought by Sammontana Malta!

The Sammontana Almond-based ice cream continues to conquer all and everything! The dairy free ice cream has been elected ‘Product of the year 2018’ for ice cream and frozen wellness.You can find the answer on Gelati all' Italiana by Sammontana Facebook page to get more chances to win!

For more information about the Sammontana brand, visit www.sammontana.it and www.facebook.com/SammontanaMalta/.

Send your answer together with your name, address and mobile number to marisa.schembri@timesofmalta.com by not later than June 2, 2018 The winner of the Sammontana’s April competition was Rachel D'Amato of Żurrieq with the correct answer being, Barattolino.

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RECIPE

BIG BLANK PAGE WORDS BY

Danny Coleiro

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t’s almost as if the piece writes itself, and it always comes as a pleasant surprise when i read it and find that not only does it make sense, but that it is also far better-written than anything i can actually write. and if that doesn’t make any sense, then i’m sorry to say that it’s only going to get worse. This, you see, is not one of those times…

This is one of those other times, when none of the above happens. i’m expecting things to get a bit meta and probably quite a bit paradoxical, not to mention downright ridiculous. There’s every likelihood that things will spiral… well… not necessarily out of control, but definitely out of something and possibly into something else. Because sometimes the words just don’t seem to flow… mainly because there are no words to flow. in fact, there’s nothing but a big, blank screen, a blinking cursor, and a repeatedly pressed backspace button. in short, it’s very hard to get there when you have no idea where you’re going. My mind, like the screen, is one big blank. i’m not sure why this happens, but to give you an example of what i mean, it’s taken me approximately ninety minutes just to write the two and a bit paragraphs up there, and this incomplete one that you’re reading right now. i’ve used the ‘word count’ function seven times already - we’re up to two hundred and ninety right here, in case you’re wondering - and that’s always a bad sign. and i’ve been continuously distracted by… well… by everything, really. Seriously, i’ve gone downstairs to the kitchen three times 4

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already - once to check that i have five hundred grams of flour available in the cupboard (i do), another time to see if the five hundred grams of minced beef i was sure i had in the freezer was still there (it is, and i took it out to defrost), and one last time for reasons i instantly forgot the minute i walked into the room. apparently, i just wanted to see if it was still there (it was, so i checked to see if i had any onions in the cupboard under the sink, since i was in the kitchen anyway [not only do i have onions, but i’ve also just fulfilled my lifelong ambition to use parenthesis within parenthesis, so it’s not all bad]).

Be honest. Some of you just counted the words back there, didn’t you? and if you did, you may have realised that there were actually two hundred and ninety-three, because i lied. at least you didn’t count them for nothing.

Most times, when i sit down to write, i have a recipe in mind, and the narrative somehow forms itself around that. other times, i have the story, and it’s the recipe that surreptitiously wriggles its way into the thread before i realise it’s happening. and that may be the problem i’m having here… i haven’t thought of a recipe yet, because i haven’t had much time to cook lately, which is why the mince was still in the freezer up until roughly thirtyfive minutes and exactly two hundred and nine words ago. i don’t have a narrative to build on either - it’s been a relatively boring few weeks of nothing much but correcting homework, and no good story has ever started with ‘i was correcting homework…’

RECIPE

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i was correcting homework because when i’m not busy making no sense whatsoever within the pages of this magazine, i’m a teacher. i teach english to foreign students who want to not only learn the language but also to sit for an exam that proves that they have. My students come from all around the world and all walks of life. i’ll happily admit that i love what i do, and there are many reasons for this, but i suppose that far up towards the top of the list, just between ‘i’m good at it’ and ‘my colleagues are great, especially the ones who sometimes read these articles, doubly especially if it’s this particular one’… is the fantastic fact that i learn as much from my students as they learn from me. i regale them with tales of the adventures of negative and limiting adverbials and the dangers of dangling participles, and while i do that, they share their cultures and their traditions and their lifestyles and their national pastimes and their local cuisine and… er… local cuisine… and… um…

Wait a minute.

The odds are that, in a class of twelve students from pretty much everywhere around the globe, there must surely be one of them who is at least a little bit handy in the kitchen. Someone who has all the ingredients and instructions to something mouth-watering and marvellous, traditional and tasty, simple and savoury while different and delicious… firmly fixed in their heads… … and, as it happens, one of them does. or did, rather, because all of the above happened five days ago, and now, one hundred and twenty-two hours and approximately twenty-six minutes later, i finally know where i’m going and how to get there. and it’s all thanks to the brilliant ena, exam student extraordinaire, who lives someplace somewhere but is originally from Croatia and is quite fond of a Balkan bite known as ‘burek’.

She got the recipe from her mother, who in turn got it from her mother, and so on… a closely-guarded family secret handed down across several generations… except that it wasn’t because i’m lying again and i just threw that last line in for embellishment, as writers - and english teachers - are wont to do. and that’s okay, because everybody knows that the only real truth in writing is in the interpretation of the reader. Plus, it gave me the opportunity to casually throw in the word ‘wont’ like i use it all the time.

See, i told you things were likely to spiral… not necessarily out of control but definitely out of something and into something else. and speaking of spirals, here’s how you make ‘burek’, which is a fancy meat pie with a nice little twist to it… you’ll need that five hundred grams of flour that i mentioned earlier. Sift it into a bowl and stir in a teaspoon of salt and another of olive oil, and 250ml of warm water. Mix with a wooden spoon

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until you can mix no more, and then knead it until it’s nice and smooth. Put it to one side to rest for a couple of hours while you make the filling.

Finely dice one of the onions you found in the cupboard under the sink, and fry it in a pan until almost cooked, then add the 500g of mince, which should have defrosted by now. Stir well and cook through, then add salt and pepper to taste. Some people like to add chilli flakes at this point, and some don’t… it’s your call. Herbs of your choice are also an option. either way, you now have to let the mixture cool right down.

While you wait for that to happen, cut your pastry into three equal parts and roll them out as thinly as you can, and then try to get them even thinner than that. Put a line of the meat mixture on one end of the pastry and roll it up into a long sausage shape. Do the same for the other two pieces. round about now is when you should preheat your oven to 200 degrees Celsius.

Grease a round oven dish with a bit of oil. Make a spiral out of one of the sausage shapes and place it gently in the middle of the pan. Continue the spiral with the second roll and finish off with the third. it may seem a bit fiddly but after a while it tends to flow and it’ll be done before you know it, without quite knowing how you got there. all you need to do next is toss it in the oven for thirty to forty minutes. and just like that, you’re done.

See? i told you. of course, once you’ve got the basics, you can go anywhere. Try brushing the pastry with a mixture of yogurt, egg, water and oil for the Turkish version before you roll it up. add garlic to the filling, or carrots, or potato… or ditch the filling completely and go for spinach, feta and ricotta for a more Greek feel to it. Pour gravy all over it if that’s your thing. Substitute with ready-made phyllo if you just can’t be bothered to make the pastry yourself… it’s versatile and delicious either way. i asked for something quick and easy, and that’s exactly what ena delivered, in return for a slice of burek when it was done, and the promise of a mention in this article, along with adjectives such as ‘brilliant’ and ‘extraordinaire’.

Which i, being a man of not just my word but also of many others, did, in five minutes short of one hundred and twenty-three hours, or one thousand, five hundred and ninety-two words, if you prefer.

Please don’t bother counting them. it’s the absolute truth… … if i’m honest.

SHOP

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LOCAL

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LOCAL

HUNDREDFOOT JOURNEY WORDS AND PHOTOS BY

jamie iain genovese

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walked towards a familiar sight, and my ultimate destination for the evening: the de Mondion. The invitation, which was sent out to various media-people that do media things, was for a wine-paired dinner, a taste of their new menu. after taking the lift to the second floor, i made my way to the scant few people that were already there. For once in my life i had, apparently, managed to arrive right on time and i was unfashionably punctual. i received a glass of prosecco and was introduced to nicky Paris and martina abela, and it wasn’t too long before people started to trickle in, and the mood began to charge. it also wasn’t long before the sun started to set over the view: looking down the longest stretch of the island and facing the south east. The view from the north-eastern walls of the city has always doubled the strength of the dizziness that the city gives me; because the sea felt so close, because everything from Rabat to st. julian’s, with the orange-and-blue tower looming over it, felt so small that you would feel like you’re on one of those cartoon islands with just enough room for a palm tree and a sad stranger.

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This view was different, it felt longer, there was actual green between you and the absolute madness of the towns beyond the green. Truly the first time I didn’t feel my chest tighten when looking out of Mdina.

Martina, with whom I was speaking as guests started to arrive, asked me if I had ever been to the de Mondion or Xara Palace before.

I lied and said that I had, but that it had been a while. I figured it would be a good way to suss out any changes or renovations that may have happened, to have them be brought up so I could jot them down in my notebook for this article – a lie to myself. Before I could get caught out in my lie, the first round of canapés arrived (salmon tartare and cured grouper), and then the second round of guests, followed once again by the second round of canapés (pressed beef terrine). Along with the second round of guests Victor Calleja, much to my surprise, arrived. Victor’s own work appears in this very issue of Cibus (What did the Greek gods Eat?) and, as it were, we were now both eating and drinking on a country’s peak.

Life is often funny that way. The attention of the crowd was wound up and directed not five feet away from me, where Justin Zammit Tabona welcomed us all, with a finger of whiskey in hand, and made the most courteous of short speeches, which is rare in most events. In it, he publicly affirmed that eating and drinking are some of the best things one may enjoy in life and shared the direction that de Mondion is taking: local gastronomy that strives for excellence and emphasises the quality of food over its quantity.

Somewhat of an uphill battle in Malta, but it is the best hill a fine dining restaurant could die, or thrive, on.

At this point, we got to meet the Group Chef de Cuisine, Kevin Bonello. He prepared us for what to expect in tonight’s dinner – chiefly, the emphasis on local produce such as Maltese pork, ricotta mixed with honey, heritage carrots, and red prawns which he believes are better than all the other red prawns one may find in the sea. Not all in one dish, of course. One thing he did emphasise was that the core focus was on good food, not gimmicks.

“We are not trying to reinvent the wheel.” Which is reassuring, as trends abroad seem to include the ever-diminishing presence of plates, as well as ‘deconstructed food’, which works better as a graphical concept on the cover of a magazine than as an actual meal.

These two men are each a wing that carries the Xara Palace name.

They shared with us, as if they were sharing an embarrassing secret, their dream: that they may one day earn the famed Michelin Star. Chef Kevin Bonello himself has long striven for this, since he was eighteen-years-old in fact.

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“It’s what drives us. Sometimes it’s hard, it’s tiring. But it’s what we want.” A cheers and tipple later, we made our way inside to be seated, and I found myself in good company. Still or sparkling?

Sparkling, always. Red or white wine? Red? Red. The wines are Marsovin wines, the white being an Antonin Blanc, and the red a Marnisi. And then a basket of bread: white, brown, a few others, and even chili and paprika. ‘Chili and paprika, please,’ I chose, ‘thank you.’

After that, we swilled wine, swapped stories, and waited for our plates. We started off with the sea: marinated red prawns, with thin slices and jellies of this and that, the prawns crowned with a perfectly measured sprinkle of quinoa. A flavourful dish, where the taste of the red pepper mixed well with the meat of the prawn, with just enough quinoa to lighten it up. The garnish of beetroot and caviar is what pushed it over the edge into wonderful, wonderful territory.

The baked ricotta and honey agnolotti were next, in a bowl that was like an upside-down clerical hat: the saturno. The agnolotti bathed conservatively alongside the broad beans in the ricottahoney tasting… nectar? The difficult thing in a dish like this would be that the flavour-carrying not-pasta parts of the dish might end up being too watery, or dry, or just too much. This was not the case, however, as the nectar (Jus? Milk? I cannot think of a better word) carried the taste of garlic, truffles, honey, and the slightly sweettart-though-faint taste of ricotta wonderfully. It was instantly raved about at my end of the table and I could honestly say that I never tasted anything quite like it.

This dish, after its many praises, was followed by a plate of two different Maltese pork cuts prepared in two different ways: a braised neck and crispy belly. Accompanying it were carrots, caraway (which is a kind of fennel) and cabbage, which I always welcome over the ever-popular lettuce. The cabbage was thinly sliced, almost into angel-hair, and paired wonderfully with the rest of the dish; the strength of the pork was offset by the lightness of its sides, which is crucial to a dish like this.

It must be said that while I don’t love pork, I much prefer duck or beef, I don’t mind it as far as meats go. Pork has a strong taste and not a lot of fat marbled into its meat. Generally, I tend to avoid ordering pork much like I do chicken, more often than not it’s too dry even though pork can offer just as much flavour as beef can, if prepared right. In this instance, I do believe it was prepared as well as one could hope. Then things took their logical end, and we made our way to dessert – a light mascarpone mousse bookended by thin slices of strawberry, snugly wrapped with a jelly, and accompanied by a pistachio cake and a lemon sorbet – the sorbet, of course, being a wonderful closer to the entire meal.

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A round of coffees, and I thought we were done. I opted for another espresso and was then confronted with one final choice: an array of chocolates, truffles and otherwise, to end on a sweet note. The chocolates, as it were, were made in house and seemed to have been a passion project of Mr. Zammit Tabona (to quote the man himself: “a gennata�). From coconut, to white, to dark, to gold-coloured chocolates, of different textures, mixtures, and taste, each one distinct from the other, some marked by what I can describe as the ghost of fireworks; subtle shades of blue and red that hinted at a level of attention and artistry not often seen. They were so pretty that I almost felt guilty eating them, but not guilty enough that I would shy away from a chance to try them again.

Everyone at the table eventually began to wind up their evening, with conversation ending on as high a note as the actual meal; guests making their newlyformed inside jokes, promising to follow them on this, or add them on that, before leaving to return to their homes. There clearly is a team of people aiming for the fine-dining moon. Then again, they might prefer landing a star.

FEATURE

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FEATURE

M

erging ruralism and urbanism is a growing macrotrend around the world. In recent generations, the population of the world has increasingly migrated into the cities to find work, opportunity, fame, fortune and contemporary life. This is the way it is and it will most likely continue in this direction, however in recent years, people have begun to miss the gems of rural life: to have fresh air, greenery, perhaps even a garden.

From vertical to balcony to rooftop to community gardens, green is making its way into cities. With the prices for store-bought food of any nutritional value skyrocketing, people are moving back to the concept of growing our own food. Many of the major urban centres of the world are hopping on the community garden trend, building a plot of land into many small garden plots, where residents of the surrounding area can come grow their own food in one of the little patches.

For those of us who have any yard space or land adjacent to the home, building a garden is much simpler than it seems and even more rewarding. Imagine not having to buy any more produce because it all grows in your backyard, window sill or rooftop.

Cutting the grocery bill down immensely and facilitating some much-needed earthing; connecting to the Earth’s natural energy, by walking barefoot on grass, sand, dirt or rock.

Building a garden is actually a lot more straightforward than meets the eye. When I lived in Northern California, in the Napa Valley, I was fortunate to have a good amount of land to work with for my gardening. The family estate I was living in had already planted a little orchard of fruit trees which were starting to produce. Apple, cherry, crab apple, peach, nectarine and plum trees to be exact.

They had also built a chicken coop and had some chickens living in there which produced fresh, organic, extremely local eggs daily.

They also had already built the garden beds.

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I have however built garden beds before and all you need is four long, thin planks of wood; two being the same length. Let’s say two that are ten feet in length and two that are five feet in length.

You align them in a rectangular shape, with the planks lining up evenly, then screw them together. Reinforcing the corners with a block of wood is a good idea for longevity.

Once the structure is built, fill it with soil and some natural organic fertilizer. All of these things are very easy to find at a local gardening store which most towns and cities have. Once mixing the soil and fertiliser and filling the boxes with them, it’s smart to let the soil breathe and settle into its space for a few days. At the same garden store, you can also find already budded baby plants to transfer into your garden bed. This is easier than just planting the seed alone; for my garden I planted pre-sprouted baby plants and they grew promptly. A key part of this process is researching which plants will thrive in the season you are planting in and approaching.

This information is easily found online or in a gardening almanac.

I began the garden in the Spring, so I simply googled plants that would do well in that season in the part of the world I was in, though I also asked the lady in the gardening store for her recommendations and took her advice as well.

I planted all sorts of veggies from tomatoes to peppers, hot peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, eggplants, leafy greens such as kale and herbs, and more. They all started producing within a few weeks and fortunately they gradually produced, so I didn’t need to harvest all at once. Each morning I would go browse through the garden beds and fill up my basket with the biggest veggies which looked ready to pick. I built my meals around which produce was ready that day.

We also had fresh eggs to work with and occasionally some fruit from the orchard.

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RECIPE

As each season came to an end, all the plants were finished producing vegetables and herbs. It was then time to turn the garden over to the next season. I would turn over the dirt, pull out the plants and roots, mix up the dirt and let it breathe for a few days. After adding a bit of fertiliser and letting the soil breathe and settle, came the time to plant the next seedlings for the coming season. I absolutely loved the feeling of being barefoot in the soil and having my hands in the dirt, connecting with the earth and my food. It certainly tasted a lot better than store bought produce.

Of course, different places have varied climates, which limits or guides which types of plants will grow in certain conditions; 18

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nearly every climate will grow a selection of produce. It just takes a little bit of research and action. Now, with vertical, rooftop and community gardens, the luxury of self-made gardens is more accessible than ever before. Thanks to the same advancements, nearly regardless of where you live, you can begin to reap the benefits of growing your own food by making your DIY garden dream a reality. Even with a small vertical garden with limited space, it’s possible to have a wide variety of fresh herbs and easy plants like tomatoes, peppers, etc. The benefits of connecting with the earth and our food as well as the ability to control quality and minimize grocery cost, fostering the hobby of gardening is well worth the little time required to sustain it.

FEATURE

WHAT DID THE

GREEK GODS EAT? WORDS BY

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Victor calleja

FEATURE

When gods were not just One but plenty, they romped over a mountain in Olympus where they did all sorts of things with humans and not. There they drank glorious nectars and consumed food fit only for gods.

Olympus is no more—at least officially—but a mountain in Bulgaria, for ten days a year, hosts a feast of food, drink, and conviviality that could easily be mistaken for something from the realm of gods and goddesses.

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he place is not Greece but even this could be part of the celestial tricks: the organisers are Greek as are many of the top chefs participating.

The 6th Premier Gastronomy Festival was held in Bansko at the Hotel Premier just before the snow fell and carpeted the place into a winter wonderland. But Premier Luxury Mountain Resort is beautiful even off-season.

The main aim behind the festival is for top chefs the world over to impart their knowledge to other chefs. The new world order, even in the sphere of food preparation, is all about sharing knowledge, reaching out to new experiences, paying homage to all the old ways but moving on to fresher ideas.

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At the festival, chefs from Peru, Mexico, Spain, Greece and Venezuela spoke about their experiences in all their traditional and new cuisines and shared their own deep knowledge of other countries’ gastronomy like the Japanese, Mexican, Peruvian, Greek and Brazilian one.

Food today has become one of the most interesting aspects of our life and, as the world gets smaller and more and more people of different ethnicities mix together, food which is specifically of one country can easily fuse into that of others. This is the case not only with ingredients but in cooking techniques as well.

FEATURE

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FEATURE

The world of fusion has truly taken over. As with everything which is easily available, from products to expertise, fusion has not always been treated well. Chronis Damalas, one of the top chefs in attendance, feels that sadly it is more like confusion when it comes to fusion.

I met Chronis for a chat about food in general but especially about the world at the Bansko Premier Gastronomy Festival. For confusion’s sake, his name is pronounced Hronis where the C at the front is silent but the h isn’t. He is a master chef running a restaurant just off the beach in Santorini and a Japanese restaurant in Athens. Chronis’s idea is that if one enjoys good food, life is close enough to perfect.

Therefore, when he is preparing food for anyone—be they friends, family, guests at a restaurant or even top chefs—he prepares it with the same gusto and love he always employs in his work. Whatever it is, whether a whole banquet or a sandwich, Chronis puts in all his passion.

Food without passion is not food but just sustenance and this came out vividly at the festival every time the chefs spoke and displayed their techniques.

Chronis believes food is not just passion and creativity. A successful dish needs to taste good when you are eating it and then leave a lingering, lasting taste in your mouth. It is not just an explosion of taste but a continuation, an evolvement in your mind that will make you remember the whole experience of the dish.

Food unifies us as nothing else. Today all boundaries are being broken, all rules challenged and tastes explored. In Bansko I saw all nationalities drink, dine, dance, laugh and feast together like there was no tomorrow. The food was glorious, the wine and fun unending, yet at the same time very serious and professional training for high-level professionals or those who want to join the ‘high-level’ elite was taking place.

The most important thing is that the festival shows how cultures do not clash if they hear each other out, speak and discuss. Still there were arguments—whether Crete has the best oil, whether Athens is vibrant enough, and who in South and Central America has the best culinary tradition.

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FEATURE

These clashes just added more colour to the whole experience and nobody ever lost his smile—except when the plates were finally licked clean.

The festival hosts many chefs who usually want to steal the limelight, and so the debating as to how well any dish was prepared lasted well beyond normal persons’ bedtime. Chefs are usually creatures of the night so, when several of them get together, time spent talking, discussing, and dissecting food knows no limits.

I ate food truly made for gods, washed down with wondrous wine from different regions of the world that perfectly matched the fare offered.

It was however not just about food and its preparation: all ideas of food were challenged, scrutinised and bandied about.

Besides dinners I also attended, purely to watch and admire, the seminars by chefs for chefs. Some of the chefs revealing their secrets and their ways with food came from Le Cordon Bleu of Peru and Le Cordon Bleu of Mexico.

Le Cordon Bleu is the largest network of culinary and hospitality schools in the world with more than 35 institutes in 20 countries and 20,000 students comprising 100 nationalities being trained there every year.

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Le Cordon Bleu combines innovation and creativity with tradition through its certificates, diplomas, bachelor’s and master’s degrees.

It is a significant honour for the Bansko Festival that, each year, representatives from Le Cordon Bleu share their insights and knowledge with participants.

The seminars were intense and quite an eye-opener. I was told to try crickets and ants first on their own then as part of a dish from a typical Mexican recipe. The idea was rather yuck-inducing but once I ate them I realised that their taste was more than enjoyable and, if not advised, nobody would guess they were insects.

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So many of our preconceived ideas prevent us from trying things which could be good for us. After all, insects could one day be a most important part of our diet. They are nutritious and easily available.

This challenge to our old set ways and preconceived ideas has been ongoing for a number of years in the culinary world. But it is still not enough and this food fest proved that we should carry on exploring and nurturing new attitudes and ideas about preparation and final products on our plates.

These gastronomy festivals and education training seminars are held regularly but unfortunately the participation of Maltese and 28

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Malta-based chefs is on the low side. The exchange of information would definitely assist our master chefs in moving a notch up the cuisine ladder. This could then increase our competitiveness which in turn could push our quality offering on the island that little bit higher.

We have the numbers, we have the demand, we have the talent— extending our boundaries could make our dining offer an even better overall experience. Passion, knowledge, training and learning—even for the experts themselves—is what makes good food taste, and look, godly.

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FEATURE

COMFORT FOOD WORDS BY

Bailey lalonde

o

riginating from the word barbacoa, the name given to the Caribbean natives’ slow cooked meat technique by the Spanish upon their arrival. different parts of the South are famous for varied styles of barbeque. For example, Texas is known for their BBQ brisket, Memphis for their pulled pork. overall, barbeque is meat that has been slow cooked over an indirect wooden fire or more accurately, over burning coals. The meat cooks over the coals for up to eighteen hours. When finished cooking, the meat falls off the bone, basked in immense flavour and tenderness. locals from each of the BBQ capitals claim theirs is the best; popular belief among many foodies is that the Memphis Barbeque reigns king. The legendary Rendezvous on 2nd Street in downtown Memphis has been open and famous for its barbeque since 1948. Memphis-born or those who have passed through develop an immediate appreciation and even obsession for the local cuisine hotspot.

Typical sides dishes which you will find accompanying the tender pork belly is anything from corn-bread to coleslaw, turnip greens to fried green tomatoes; sometimes even fried pickles (which are a personal favourite). if you’re ever somewhere where they have a pulled pork BBQ sandwich, you must indulge at least once; better yet, pass through Memphis, the home of BBQ and rock n’ roll, for the absolute best one can find worldwide.

From 1950 - 1963, my great grandparents owned and operated the most popular restaurant on the Collierville Square, near 30

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Memphis, called the White Cafe. People drove out from Memphis daily to line up for their homestyle barbeque. My great grandmother, Ruby Harris, designed the menu and taught all of the cooks how to make her dishes. My great grandfather, Marvin Harris, ran the restaurant. These were the days of segregation, so they had a seating area in the back for the black people to eat in and the whites sat in the front — a concept that is completely foreign to most of us in the 21st century. My great aunt learned to dance by looking through a crack in the back wall into the alley on Friday and Saturday night to watch the black customers dancing. on Sunday she would invite a few of her friends into the restaurant when it was closed and teach them what she had learned. This was in the era of Blues, Soul and the beginnings of Rock-n-Roll. after selling the restaurant in 1963, they bought one down the road called Sunset and did a similar thing from 1963 - 1968. at Sunset they had their own BBQ pit behind the restaurant where they would slow cook hogs twice a week for that week’s BBQ meat. People drove from all over Tennessee to eat at Sunset. To this day, people all over town still talk about Ruby’s BBQ and homestyle Southern comfort food. lucky for me, i am in the family so i have inherited these recipes. every trip to Collierville to visit my grandparents meant they would take us to their current favourite BBQ: Captain John’s, where you can find the best pulled pork sandwich in town. Since nana grew up 7th day adventist, she doesn’t eat pork and so she goes for the brisket. i generally don’t eat much meat but when i’m visiting Collierville i live by a sort of “when in Rome” philosophy.

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Nowadays, most people refer to BBQ as anything cooked on a “bar-be-que”. As any southern locals, and history itself, will tell you, this is inaccurate. Although the concept of having a barbeque is still one of gatherings, of sharing food, and of community, staying close to its roots the cooking methods vary hugely, as do the results. Cooking a burger or steak on a modern-day grill can in no way compare to slow-cooked meat over an eighteen-hour period. In the Era of Convenience, not many people make time for an overnight slow roast.

Now for a flashback into the days of the past: when life was about God, family, food, soulful live music and hard work. My grandfather’s parents owned and ran these restaurants, grew crops on twenty acres of land, farmed by themselves, had a one-acre family garden – which they also maintained – and Marvin was the town sheriff as well as an aeronautical mechanic on the famous Memphis Bell. That meant the whole family woke up at four AM to tend to the crops, the garden, eat breakfast all together, then go to school and work all day, to return home to tend to the crops and garden more, eat dinner all together as a family, go to bed, wake up and repeat. On Sundays it was all essentially the same, minus school and “work”, plus Church.

This lifestyle most likely sounds completely foreign to most of us alive today. Our generation is all about working for ourselves,

travelling the world and creating careers based on our passions.

My grandfather still wakes up at four thirty every morning and has a very similar routine as he did as a youngun. His pattern has shifted from farming to being a famous Rodeo Clown for the past sixty years. On most weekends, he drives all over the United States, at age eighty-three, to perform in arenas for hundreds of thousands of people. During the week he hand-paints signs for a living. I must say, at his age he looks about twenty years younger than he actually is so maybe this concept of old-world work ethic actually has something to say for itself.

Having come from this Southern family, famous for our BBQ, homestyle cooking, intense work ethic and arts, the crafts have been updated throughout the generations.

While Ruby famously made the best classic Southern home cooking around, Nana adapted that a bit, learning the recipes and making them slightly more contemporary. Marvin ran a tight ship On most weekends, between the farmland, the garden and the he drives all over the restaurant, my grandfather adapted this United States, at work ethic to his artistry. In his youth he age eighty-three, was a drummer at Sun Studios with some to perform in arenas household names such as Elvis Presley and for hundreds of Jerry Lee Lewis.

Throughout his life he thousands of people. has acted in films alongside legends such as Johnny Cash. He has been running his sign company and traveling all over the country and the world performing as a professional Rodeo Hall of Fame Clown. Nana is a classically trained opera singer and history buff. Mum’s brother was a famous drummer in the eighties and nineties and she is a four-time National Champion dancer and went on to dance with the Beach Boys.

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FEATURE

Cooking has passed down through the generations, becoming more internationalised and contemporary with each generation.

We can still whip out the old school Southern soul food, while also having learned dishes and techniques from women all over the world and implementing healthy choices into our diets.

One thing to remember is that when Ruby was cooking this down home Southern food, all of her ingredients were grown in her garden; it was real food. The dairy and meat were made by and from the animals on their land and the vegetables were grown by hand. This is a concept which is nearly unheard of in today’s world.

Fortunately, we are starting to realise the value of these old ways and moving slowly back in this direction with local food and community gardens. Since so many things are pasteurised, processed and denatured, being healthy has become buying organic and eating clean, primarily plant-based diets. All things considered, back in the fifties, healthy was what was grown in your backyard.

So, while we now think of BBQ and Southern food as unhealthy options, their origins weren’t that at all. As the times change, our culinary choices adapt; moving back to local and garden-fresh ways of producing food can insure a healthier, more balanced diet, as well as reconnecting us to the earth and to what we eat, as well as to the community meaning of sharing food, and BBQ.

RECIPE

STRAWBERRY TART INGREDIENTS

PREPARATION

350g puff pastry 225g mascarpone cheese Grated rind of 1 orange 2 tbsp Cointreau 3-5 tbsp icing sugar plus extra for dusting 450g strawberries, hulled

1. Roll out the pastry on a lightly floured surface to a thickness of about 3mm and use to line a 28cm x 10cm rectangular tart tin; trim the edges of the pastry with a knife and chill for 30 minutes 2. Preheat the oven to 200C/Gas6 3. Prick the base of the pastry all over; line the pastry case with foil, fill with baking beans and bake for 15 minutes; remove the foil and beans and bake for 10 minutes more until the pastry is browned; gently press down on the pastry to deflate it, then leave to cool on a wire rack 4. Whisk the mascarpone, orange rind, Cointreau and icing sugar together; spread the cheese filling in the pastry case; halve the strawberries and arrange on top of the cheese; dust with icing sugar and serve.

Serves 6 people

RECIPE BY

Liz Said

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LOCAL

A BITE OF THE CITY WORDS BY

V

james Camilleri

alletta. an absolute gem of a city, by far one of my favourite places on earth. meticulously designed, yet from its intended regularity bursts forth a cacophony of quirks and oddities, colour and sound. Half a millennium of history seeping out of the walls that contain it in weird and wonderful ways, perfectly accentuated by a bevy of quaint shops and eateries. an absolute pleasure to behold and walk through (save, for those sweltering afternoons under the accursed august sun).

designers who crossed the globe to pay our tiny rock a visit, and a splendid gentleman all the way from New Zealand, who spent his days globe-trotting and writing about far flung corners of the world, which sounds like an absolutely perfect way to live. introductions were made, tales were told, and we set off into the morning sun.

as we strode across the square, dodging scores of sticker-trading folk by merchant’s street and a rather garish train full of pale tourists, Nick spat The sun in april is far more forgiving, and made out titbit after titbit of juicy historical a perfect companion for the walk i had planned information. Take the shallow steps all around the one saturday morning. i had the great pleasure We soon arrived at our capital, for example. Common knowledge is that of joining a new food tour of Valletta – the first stop on the tour, they’re cut so low to allow knights to lumber brainchild of lisa Grech and Denise Briffa from a little hole of a shop around the city in suits of armour, since strolling The Definitive(ly) Good Guide to Restaurants. The on the corner of while dressed as a giant tin can is somewhat pair set out to develop a new cultural and St John’s Street, uncomfortable (as one might suspect). Upon culinary experience after coming to the sad specialising in closer examination however, the idea doesn’t hold realisation that no such offering exists in our much water. “imagine being in the largest fortress lovely capital, despite the concept being herbs and spices. in the world and wearing a monster suit of immensely popular abroad. after months of armour,” Nick announced. “ludicrous.” No, the work and traipsing around the narrow streets, real reason the steps are that height is because a the tour began to take shape. The end result was couple of poor sods had to carry the Grandmaster through the a unique experience, one that not only fills attendees’ tummies streets on a pompous sedan chair, and shallower stairs would make with smattering of traditional local dishes and innovative new them fractionally less likely to break a bone whilst doing so. takes on maltese cuisine, but also fills their heads with esoteric lore of the ancient city. a treat for tourists and locals alike. The duo We soon arrived at our first stop on the tour, a little hole of a shop always wanted the tour to be about more than just the food, and on the corner of st john’s street, specialising in herbs and spices. with the help of expert hand–picked guides crafted an experience after waiting for it to be vacated by current customers, we that educates, entertains, and delights the taste buds. squashed into the store and listened to the owner explaining the myriad wonderful products lining the shelves, as well as the history Our guide, Nick, was one hell of a guy. He possessed an of his store. The establishment had been in the family since 1888, encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of Valletta, bombarding although back then it had sold pretty much anything required by us with piles of interesting facts that you’d be hard–pressed to find the surrounding inhabitants. in its later years, however, it became anywhere else. He possessed the slightly dramatic air of a born the highly specialised institution it is today. Not many of the spices entertainer – a self–proclaimed “new age” guy – and he led us sold are found growing in malta – when the arabs claimed malta from meal to meal with flair and an ever–present intensity in his in the 9th century they brought along their chief livestock, eyes. joining us for the tour were a lovely trio of american graphic 36

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goats, which quickly stripped the island of most of its local flora.

Some herbs and spices survived the onslaught, and you can still find coriander, cumin, and especially fennel thriving locally. The latter, we were told, has a wonderful flavour and is also apparently good for reducing your cholesterol.

As we left the little shop, the smell of spices still lingering in our nostrils, Nick pointed out a subtle idiosyncrasy of the famous and much-beloved Maltese balconies dotted around the city. It’s incredibly easy to overlook, but impossible to miss once it’s been pointed out to you. Behind many of the magnificent wooden structures, often seen peeking over their tops, lie the remnants of the building’s original stone windows, onto which the balconies were attached. The ornate boxes were a fad, you see, and were essentially a very public method of showing off the house owner’s wealth and prestige. Many of the Knights of St John were second or third-born sons of nobles, and had within them a deep-seated need to prove themselves to their families and their peers, a desire that quickly led to excess and ostentatiousness. The original concept for the “Maltese” balcony probably developed from the Arabic “Mashrabiya” or “Muxrabija”. The Muxrabija was essentially a peep hole for Arabic women to gaze at the world whilst remaining hidden, as wives and daughters were generally kept inside in the exceedingly patriarchal Arabic society. This idea travelled to Malta through the scores of Turkish slaves that often worked as craftsmen for the Order, and before long elaborate

wooden balconies were popping up all over the city like daisies as the vain Knights and nobles tried to outdo each other.

We moved on to a little pub/cafe on St Paul’s street, opposite the eponymous church – a favourite gathering spot for many of the locals. Here we were served the first snack of the day and an absolute bedrock of Maltese culture – the humble pastizz – along with a classic glass of milky tea, or “te’ fit–tazza”. Pastizzi need no introduction I’m sure, but the origins of the traditional tea serving is a bit more intriguing. The “proper” way to have it, we were told, is with condensed milk rather than your local carton stuff.

Tea in a glass was always a workman’s drink, and part of Maltese culture for many a year, but back in the day your milk would come directly from the goats being herded through the streets.

Very organic, to be sure, but with the added side–effect of killing around a person a week with Undulant Fever (deni rqiq). The British, eager to correct this oversight, imported tinned condensed milk – something the Maltese quickly took a liking to – and the traditional morning staple was born.

Wiping pastry crumbs off our face and clothes we took off up the hill towards our next stop, a traditional baker buried deep under St Dominic Street. The manager was nowhere to be seen upon our arrival (doubtless a victim of this country’s infernal plague of traffic, poor man) so Nick launched into an impassioned soliloquy on the humble Maltese loaf, simple but oh so tasty. His description of ħobż biż–żejt – a perfect combination of field-grown local tomatoes (none of that greenhouse stuff), extra virgin olive oil and the flavour of the sea salt in the air – made my mouth water. Even now as I hammer away at my keyboard (at an ungodly hour of the night no less) I feel a sudden longing for a slice and a lazy day by the sea. Poetry comes in many forms.

We were subsequently taken into the kitchen to see the traditional wood-burning oven, and after that I was tasked with explaining the origins of the Maltese language to my foreign tour-goers. I rambled on at length about its Semitic roots and the general linguistic bastardisation that resulted in the fine specimen of a tongue we have today, at least until Nick cut me off with praise for my thoroughness and a far more succinct roundup of the general concept. Shutting up is not one of my strong suits, alas.

By now our host had reached us and we were treated to some exquisite fresh bigilla (bean dip for the few uninitiated) and tomato paste,

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followed by a gorgeous ftira-style pizza with a base of the finest Maltese bread. The ftira was topped with a variety of local produce (some vegetarian) so there was something to tickle everyone’s fancy. Talk soon turned to Maltese football due to the big (relatively speaking of course) game being played that afternoon, and naturally progressed to the intriguing aspects of feast culture. Needless to say, our foreign companions were engrossed and possibly a bit confused.

We rushed out into the street and made a beeline to our next stop, a local band club.

Time was ticking and there was lots to see and even more to eat. On the way we learned that the pitted flagstones that pave the city were initially completely smooth. This was somewhat troublesome to British soldiers, whose hobnail boots slid off them like water off a duck’s back. The stones were laboriously pitted by hand, and soldiers could stomp around the city without losing a tooth or a limb to the malevolent pavements. All’s fair in love and war I suppose.

You couldn’t have asked

enjoyed it profusely. The traditional almond biscuits served alongside the liqueurs were also delicious, and the pairing was a lovely way to end the filling meal we’d just had. Life was good.

We got to the band club, full of bustle and for a more typical Sadly, we had to say farewell to our American energy, all enveloped in a constant stream of display of local culture – companions as they shot off to make a prior football anthems blasting out of the corners culture which was appointment. The remaining members of the party of the room. You couldn’t have asked for a quickly seasoned with made our way to the final stop in our tour with more typical display of local culture – culture an impressive spread of bellies full and hearts content. We sauntered down which was quickly seasoned with an ġbejniet (goat the steps of St Ursula’s Street, coming to stop at the impressive spread of ġbejniet (goat cheeselets), cheeselets), Maltese entrance to a little hotel with a restaurant tucked Maltese sausage, bruschetta and other local sausage, bruschetta inside. We were ushered towards the back of the niceties. As we nibbled on the feast before us, and other local niceties. building and seated on a balcony overlooking the the head waiter proudly explained that they most stunning view of the Grand Harbour. Denise were the first band club in Valletta later told me that this spot was picked very (something that both major band clubs in specifically as an end to the tour, and I could see Valletta lay claim to simultaneously it seems) why. Crystal seas, grandiose buildings, gentle sunbeams caressing and that the restaurant is a family business and has been for my skin and a light breeze whispering through the narrow alleys. countless years. Band club histories are far out of my depth I’m It was just about as perfect as it could be... except it suddenly got afraid, so I’ll leave that to historians, but I’ve eaten enough rabbit better when we were served a delicate prickly–pear liqueur and a to confidently say that this one was a real treat. We all ate with plate of hot imqaret. Exquisite. gusto and got to know each other a bit better. I would later enquire which local delicacy the rest of the group enjoyed the At this point Nick took his leave, and after enjoying the afternoon most, and was pleased to note they all especially liked the rabbit, sun a little the I did too, the taste of dates still lingering on my it being so different to the usual offering of meats around Europe. tongue. Walking through Valletta is always an experience, but the food trail made something so much more memorable and Second (ok, third) helpings of rabbit devoured, we sprung back engrossing of it. In three hours I gained a new-found appreciation onto the crowded streets and made our way to a tiny corner store of a beloved city, paired with the great satisfaction that only comes for a twist on the traditional – a chocolate liqueur infused with a from a great meal (or five). A morning well spent. variety of local fruits and herbs. I picked the carob one, and I

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RECIPE

COLD TOMATO SOUP INGREDIENTS

PREPARATION

1kg ripe tomatoes 500ml water 100g breadcrumbs 100ml Borges olive oil Salt Pepper

1. To make the mint oil, blanch the mint, then plunge into ice water, dry and crush with the olive oil.

2. Cut up the tomatoes and put into a bowl with the breadcrumbs (it’s best to do this the day before, so that the bread softens and soaks up all the flavour).

3. Blend to make a thin paste and then add salt, pepper and olive oil.

4. Strain through a chinois to remove any skin and seeds. Chill well.

5. Add a little mint oil before serving.

For the mint oil: A bunch of mint Borges Extra Virgin Olive oil Serves 4 people

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