If you cannot decide between the convenience of Britain, the cuisine of Italy and the colourful culture of Tunisia, there is an island in the middle of the Mediterranean that quietly offers all three.
Malta sits about 90 kilometres south of Sicily, closer to North Africa than to the European mainland, and it has spent several thousand years collecting the infleunces of the people who passed through.
The English is fluent, the espresso is Roman, and the language is a Semitic one with Arabic bones. Every conqueror, trader and pilgrim left something behind, and the most delicious record of it is the menu.
Valletta, the Knights’ City
Begin in Valletta, a capital the size of a large village and built with the confidence of an empire. The Knights of St John raised it after surviving the Great Siege of 1565, and its honey-coloured limestone streets run in a tidy grid down to the water on both sides. Wander in the late afternoon, when the stone turns gold and the wooden balconies, painted in deep greens, blues and reds, glow like jewel boxes against the façades. Washing flutters above steep stairways that tumble toward the harbour, and church bells carry across the rooftops.
Step inside St John’s Co-Cathedral and the austere exterior gives way to a riot of gilded vaults and painted ceilings. The floor is a mosaic of inlaid marble tombs of Knights, and in the oratory hangs Caravaggio’s The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, the only work the painter ever signed. Afterwards, walk to the Upper Barrakka Gardens and look across the Grand Harbour to the Three Cities, where the fortifications still face the sea. At midday, the Saluting Battery fires its guns across the water.
The island’s most democratic snack belongs here. Pastizzi are flaky, diamond-shaped pastries filled with ricotta or soft peas, sold from hole-in-the-wall pastizzerias for pocket change. The pastry shatters into buttery layers, and the filling is warm and faintly sweet. They carry the memory of Sicily and the Arab world in the same crisp fold, and they are best eaten hot, standing up, with a glass of sweet tea. For something slower, take a table at a harbour-view restaurant and order the bragioli, thin beef rolls stuffed with egg, breadcrumbs and bacon, then braised in a rich, wine-dark sauce. It is a dish of Sicilian lineage, cooked here with a Maltese hand.
Mdina, the Silent City
Malta’s former capital sits on a hilltop in the island’s centre, and it is genuinely hushed. Cars are almost entirely barred, the lanes are narrow enough to touch both walls, and lanterns light the honeyed stone after dark. The name comes from the Arabic medina, a reminder that Arab rule from the ninth century shaped the island’s language, its fortifications and its kitchen. Linger on the bastions at sunset, when the whole island spreads out below in patchwork fields and limestone villages.
Then find a table for rabbit, the unofficial national dish. Stuffat tal-fenek is braised slowly in red wine, garlic and bay until the meat falls from the bone, and it is often served in two courses, with the rich sauce spooned over spaghetti first. The story goes that it became a staple when the Knights kept the hunting rights for themselves and left the humble rabbit to the locals. Finish with coffee and a slice of cake on a terrace above the bastions, with the island stretching to the sea.
Marsaxlokk and the Fishing Boats
On Sundays, the fishing village of Marsaxlokk in the island’s south-east turns its harbour into a market. Stalls spill along the water selling the morning’s catch, alongside lace, honey and jars of sun-red tomato paste. Bobbing in the bay are the luzzu, the painted wooden fishing boats in blue, yellow and red, with an eye on the bow that echoes a Phoenician and Egyptian tradition of watching over sailors. The reflections shimmer in water so clear you can see the hulls’ shadows on the seabed.
Choose a waterside table and let lunch run long. Grilled fish with lemon and olive oil is the classic, while the Maltese sea-and-salt tradition shows up in aljotta, a garlicky fish soup with tomato, rice and mint. In autumn, look for lampuki pie, a rustic bake of dolphinfish with spinach, cauliflower and olives that marks the start of the fishing season. Pair it with a chilled glass of local white, and watch the boats rock in the afternoon light.
Gozo, Older Than the Pyramids
A short ferry ride takes you to Gozo, Malta’s greener, slower sister island, where the pace softens and the landscape turns to terraced fields, hilltop citadels and cliffs that fall into deep blue. The Ġgantija temples here date back to around 3600 BC, which makes them older than Stonehenge and the pyramids of Giza. Standing among those enormous limestone blocks, you sense just how long people have been gathering, feeding themselves and giving thanks on this archipelago.
Gozo’s table is the most rustic on the islands, and the most rewarding. Look for ġbejniet, small cheeses made from sheep’s or goat’s milk, served fresh and soft, sun-dried and firm, or crusted in black pepper. Try the Gozitan ftira, a sourdough flatbread baked with tomato, potato, anchovy and local cheese, a dish that sits somewhere between pizza and pie and answers to neither. Along the northern coast, families still rake sea salt from rock pans carved into the shoreline, a craft that has gone on for centuries. Taste it on a ripe tomato with a drizzle of Gozitan olive oil and a slice of crusty bread, and the whole island is on the plate.
A Table Set by Empires
Understand the food of Malta and you understand its history. The Phoenicians and Romans brought olives, wine and salt. The Arabs introduced citrus, cumin and the date-filled fried pastries called imqaret, still sold hot from street stalls in Valletta, fragrant with anise and orange. Sicily and the Normans left behind kapunata, the island’s answer to caponata, a sweet-sour stew of aubergine, tomato and capers. The Knights and their Italian entourage left a taste for baked pasta, most gloriously in timpana, a pie of macaroni, ragù and egg sealed in golden pastry. Then came two centuries of British rule, which gave Malta its red post boxes, its fondness for tea and a surprising devotion to corned beef.
Look closer and the layers keep revealing themselves. Hobza biż-żejt, the Maltese bread rubbed with ripe tomato, tuna, capers and olive oil, is the island’s sandwich of choice. Bigilla, a dip of mashed broad beans with garlic and parsley, has the quiet depth of a North African mezze. Honey scented with thyme and carob, and the prickly pear liqueur Bajtra, speak of the same sun-baked soil.
Add to that the drinks. Kinnie, a bittersweet orange soda, is the national fizz, and Cisk is the lager of choice on a hot afternoon. The local wines, made from indigenous grapes such as Ġellewża and Girgentina, are finally getting the attention they deserve, and the island’s restaurant scene has grown up fast, with Michelin-starred rooms now sitting alongside the family kitchens.
When to Go
Go in spring or autumn, when the light is soft, the crowds thin and the sea is still warm enough to swim in. Hire a car if you want to roam, but stay in Valletta for a few nights first, because the city rewards those who linger: a morning coffee on a quiet square, a long lunch in the shade, an evening walk when the stone turns to amber.
Order the pastizzi on your first morning and the rabbit on your last night. Somewhere between the two, you will stop trying to choose between Britain, Italy and Morocco.
