Maltese cuisine and press junkets
A few months ago, the Maltese tourist board offered to fly me and a gaggle of other hacks to the island to explore Maltese cuisine. This sounded like a joke, so I went—and it was. Not that Malta doesn’t have a cuisine: it does. But it’s the cuisine of a middle-rank Eastbourne hotel in the 1970s. That’s Malta, a dusty south coast resort for the elderly of England that happens to be a few miles from north Africa.
On the first evening the staff of the tourist board took us to watch a noted Maltese chef cook and serve the favourites of the contemporary Maltese kitchen. The first course was minestrone and the second a Mrs Beeton staple, stewed beef olives. The beef was the best, the chef told me: imported from New Zealand.
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