Let’s be honest: No one is mistaking Malta for Monte Carlo. The Mediterranean island has one of the largest and most highly rated cruise ports in Europe—and the hordes of day-trippers that go with it—and its airport is dominated by low-cost carriers. All of which makes it delightful to find a native-son chef who’s dedicated to showing off the soulful side of his island.
That’s exactly what Jonathan Brincat is doing at his Michelin-starred restaurant, Noni, in the center of Valletta. The place occupies a 400-year-old townhouse that was once, among many other things, a bakery, a jazz club and a shop where his grandfather sold televisions. Noni is also the nickname of both grandfather and grandson (and television shop). It’s a small enclave of history that stayed true to itself even as tourism took hold all around it.
To be sure, Malta’s soulful side very much exists. Look beyond the all-inclusive resorts, the souvenir shops and the fly-and-flop crowd, and the island reveals its charms. Thanks to its strategic location in the southern Mediterranean, its 7,000-year history is layered with the many ancient civilizations that claimed it, 300 years’ worth of Early Modern heritage left by the Knights of St. John, and traces of the British colonial society that lasted until 1964. (And lately it’s been trending with the retire-on-the-cheap set.)
This is an island decorated by Caravaggio, who spent much of the end of his life in semi-exile here, settling his debts with large-scale paintings. One of the most impressive The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist is in the high Gothic St. John’s Co-Cathedral in the old heart of Valletta. The Knights left behind all sorts of regal treasures, and the city’s massive fortifications continue to impress. Now the old city is UNESCO-listed and pedestrianized, a warren of ochre-hued buildings with wooden balconies hanging off their upper floors.
Noni (the restaurant) is Brincat’s love letter to that side of his birthplace. There are other nice places to eat on the island, but none is as personal. It’s a celebration of traditional Maltese cuisine and his family’s own recipes. (If there’s any doubt that this is a family project, consider that front of house is run by the chef’s sister, Ritienne, who brings her own warmth to the proceedings.) He’s pulling off a delicate balancing act: Maltese guests delight in having their nostalgia buttons pushed by his takes on their traditional comfort food, while newcomers to the island can simply enjoy the flavors—no additional context needed.
Like the restaurant building, with its subterranean stone vaults, cast-iron doors and centuries-old ovens (still in use!), his cuisine sits at the intersection of the old and the new. Both Jonathan and Ritienne picked up extensive global experience—the chef worked in London, Australia and Asia—before creating their very homegrown take on fine dining.
There’s a lot of storytelling in the tasting menu, which comes in “intro” and “deluxe” versions (six or eight official courses, plus the usual little snacks and treats). Servers present a small note card telling the story of each dish—the idea that the ricotta-like fresh cheese (gbejna) that’s served with ham hock and spring peas represents “comfort, memory and home,” while the bitter almond “takes you back in an instant, granita on hot afternoons, almond-stuffed sweets at fiesta time”—beside each plate as they serve them, and there’s an ongoing conversation about the role various foods played at the family table.
The fish soup (aljotta) is a good example of Brincat’s cooking. It’s still peasant food—whatever fish came off the boats that day, clear broth, garlic, mint and rice—but here it’s beautifully presented and aromatic with sea herbs and chili oil. It’s a highlight of the menu.
But his signature dish—one he began making at an earlier restaurant that’s now available at Noni as a supplement to either menu—is a creation entirely his own. He wanted to pay homage to the octopus his mother cooked when he was a child. It wasn’t particularly traditional, but she tossed in a chicken bouillon cube for flavor. He liked the idea but wanted to do something more elevated, so he borrowed the flavors from a Moroccan chicken tagine, such as cinnamon, preserved oranges and dates. He layered squid ink underneath for more depth of flavor, then added fregola as a less grainy alternative to couscous. It’s an indelible combination.
The menu notes that the dates come from Maltese producer David il-Pessikan, and that the gbejna is from Ta’Zeppi Farm, a small artisanal cheese outfit where the sheep barn is right in front of the dairy. In fact, Brincat is justifiably proud of his network of friends and producers, ranging from the high-end (like Tartarun in Marsaxlokk, which he says is the best fish restaurant on the island) to the proudly rustic.
That means a visit to his friend Tony Sammut’s place, Ta’ Cicivetta. A couple of years ago, Sammut traded his managerial job for a version of his hospitality dream. Now he and his family welcome visitors to their home and olive oil farm for a taste of Maltese country life. Guests make their own ftira sandwiches (local flatbread with olive oil, tomato paste, tuna, capers, olives and whatever else is on hand). Then he cooks the main event, usually a rabbit he’s just hunted on his property.
It’s messy and homespun and tastes like Malta. It’s absolutely not Monte Carlo, and that’s what makes it great. As with Noni, it’s a reminder that childhood memory foods can become the basis for a gourmet journey. And it’s a reason that this tiny island south of Sicily is worth another look.