Trattoria Del Pescatore

"At 5 am a few weeks ago, we left Valletta harbour in Malta for the sole purpose of having dinner at Trattoria del Pescatore in Scoglitti, on the coast of Sicily. My father had been raving about the experience he goes there at least twice a year and thus my brother’s and my own expectations were rocket high, to say nothing of our salivary glands which had been drooling for days in anticipation. The restaurant itself, up a side street and away from the main marina drag is unassuming from the outside. In fact if it weren’t for the recommendation I don’t think I would have been enticed inside by the brilliant harsh white lighting in the glass conservatory. However seated inside, in what must have been the front parlour of an old house with its curved ceiling, the ambience is passable enough. On the other hand the decoration is not what regulars drive halfway across Sicily for. Suffice to say, if you are a pescatarian, you’ve entered paradise. Just don’t eat for a week before coming here. I lost count but we must have been served at least 15 dishes over six courses. A series of cold antipasti including delicious crunchy sea asparagus, oysters, polpo, langustini, tuna carpaccio with sweet orange segments, besides another 3 plates which I can’t quite recall was followed by a steaming heaped boat of fresh mussels. Forget the moules frittes in Montpelier, these were the best mussels I have ever downed, alternatively using the shells themselves and some fresh, home baked, yellow hued, sour dough bread to scoop up the delicious broth the mussels were swimming in. I could have stopped eating right then. I was already full up. But the repast was just taking off. Bear in mind, we had been presented with no menu and at least my brother and myself did not know what was coming next and from what I could see neither of the other guests had any clue to as to the proceedings either. We had barely enough time to catch our breath, when the very competent young waiter who was the only one serving on the floor) appeared, laden with dishes of hot antipasti, stacked above one another on his octopus arms. Blinking I took in plates of melted scamoza cheese in batter soaked with honey and walnuts, the softest, non oily or excessively chewy calamari fritti I mean they were perfect there were giant shrimps in batter and the rest again I forget. By now we were well and truly stuffed. My brother went out for several cigarette breaks and my father and I were groaning with the effort of not letting anything go to waste first world problems indeed . Next came the most perfectly cooked grilled fish. Actually in retrospect, I’m not sure if it was baked on grilled. All I know is that this should have been the star of the show in its own right but my satiated tastebuds could not properly give it the due respect it was owed. It may have been a pesce San Pietru, maybe not, but it was everything a fish, served on its own, left to talk for itself not drowned in any fancy sauce, should be. The sea on a plate, fresh, crisp, melt in the mouth fishy milkiness. A cleansing the palate, lemon and cutting sorbet was next or was it last? At this point we wondered what had happened to the pasta course primo piatto only because my father had mentioned it. The owner who recognized my father, came over to our table and informed us that the pasta dish was unusually) always last. Unable to move, we regretfully and apologetically relayed to the owner and subsequently the waiter that we would like to skip the final course. The owner was most dismayed. It comes in the price he told us. Just an assaginio a little taster). No it wasn’t a question of price, ok just a twirl of the fork, nothing more please, we placated him, our curiosity piqued as it always is where food is concerned. Whilst we were waiting for the finale to our meal, there is no dessert or coffee on the menu or available, the cafes have to make money too we were told, custom, like love is shared), patting our stomachs, we exchanged giggles and knowing looks, with the other overfed guests. The giggles escalated to laughter as our fellow diners were flabbergasted with each new entree at the sheer abundance of the set menu. It was their turn to laugh when the waiter sets down an enormous tureen of pasta alle Scoglie. Three turns of a fork? You must be kidding. We stared incredulously at the bowl which in itself was a main meal for at least six people. I felt sick just considering how I was going to attempt sampling it. There wasn’t one millimeter of space left in my already distended stomach. The pasta dish was a summary of every item of seafood we had tasted up until then. There they were again taking the curtain call: the shrimps, langustini, all the shellfish, prawns, you name it, piled high in heaps above ringlets of tomato coated al dente spaghetti. All this seafood had died for us, it was only respectful to eat it, not to let it have kicked the bucket in vain. I fortified myself with another swing of delicious ‘house’ wine nothing housey about it and stomped through the task, faltering and heaving. I would a needed a crane to get me out of this restaurant. The bill was no shocker, quite the contrary. All of this including wine, sparkling water, bread and digestivos for only about 45 euros a head. Hands down the best fish meal all round, I have ever eaten. The problem is where do you go from here?"