Hmmmm. one of the last times I consulted a guide book for somewhere to stay or eat, I clearly recall deciding that the only thing that the book was ultimately good for was to keep the bathroom door in my sketchy hostel closed...I even remember wondering if the guide book author had actually visited the place in question...that was a couple of years ago in Turkey.
apparently I am a painfully slow learner...and that's why I was so thrilled to find myself in a teeeeeeny-tiiiiiiny converted 'garage' (it had to be a single car garage) restaurant in the otherwise lovely ancient town of Rabat...the infamous lonely planet promised fabulous local fare but warned that the place fills fast with locals - no surprise given that there were only two tables gracing the "Cuckoo's Nest". yup - maybe my first clue should have been that name...
It all started out so promising...the owner - he had to be 102 - met me at door and uttered one of my fave words - "wine??" (felt like wrapping the old dear in a hug at that point - but it would have been one of those awkward nose-to-chest kind of things -- his nose, my chest. I am soooo tall here - standing head and shoulders above most women and quite a few of the men, particularly the older ones...an indication of sparse times endured by tenacious Maltese in past...but back to lunch...) The wine arrived, poured with some panache out of an old Gordon's Gin bottle...no kidding...but I didn't question it - the glass was gratifyingly full to rim after all...
and so what to order? Turned out that the only 2 things that were on offer were the special of the day and the well known Maltese dish "timpana" - Dear god it's good thing that I didn't know what's supposed to be in timpana - brain and other organ bits wrapped in pasta and pastry - ugh. But I am a devout believer in eating local fare so I ordered it. Luckily (?) for me, the dish I was served did not resemble the traditional dish in least but was simply macaroni baked to crunchiness and slathered with some dubious brown gravy. hmmm. I wondered if my one fellow diner was faring better with his choice of special of day...a glance at his plate revealed revolting lumps of something also slathered in same brown gravy. Stifling laughter/tears, I ate a few bites resolutely chased down by wine and fled.
I did find an extraordinarily helpful use for this damn outdated or simply inaccurate guidebook though - it is lies dismembered - it's cover and first 20 or so pages are wedged into my bedroom window to keep it from shaking during the "big blows" currently rattling Malta...hahahaha
ah, yes...the kindly shop owner that first pointed me in direction of Cuckoo's nest when I asked him must have shaken his head as I walked away and thought "dopey tourist"..
but I felt decidedly like a local this afternoon when I ventured out after fierce rainstorm. Heading to market with my fisherman's net bag and my pocket full of euros...when a young man, in that universal gesture of glee, veered his car over to my side of road to splash me with puddle water. Without even a second thought I turned, gave him the rudest (also universal) arm gesture and yelled a robust, "BASTA"!! oh dear. where did that come from?? Channelling my inner Maltese perhaps...hah.
as always, I love that you are with me on this journey and hope your days are full and happy.
warm hugs,
deli
