Café Lounge
Xemxija Bay
St Paul’s Bay
Tel: 2701 5266

Food: 7/10
Service: 8/10
Ambience: 7/10
Value: 8/10
Overall: 7.5/10

As one ventures into the northern climes of Malta a feeling of rural other-worldliness descends, leaving the south-eastern suburban sprawl behind. Who needs all those towns endlessly spilling over and into one another, swallowing up the countryside as they go?

In contrast, the northern hillside hamlet of Xemxija bordering a bay of the same name feels like a welcome haven. It’s a charming agglomeration of flats and sleepy apart-hotels with the faintly melancholy air of having been built during another epoch entirely. What a great setting for a Zombie Apocalypse movie! (note to self: probably not the perfect moment for puns about a viral epidemic...?)

Last year, this beach was the scene of a social media storm. Countless Facebook posts depicted helpless, flailing fish gasping their last on the sodden coast road. Malta had suffered one of the most violent tempests for many a decade. The relentless swell had flung these hapless creatures far from their natural marine habitat, the poor souls. Talk about an apocalypse!

More recently, I strolled along this same promenade to much calmer waters. As they glistened magically in the moonlight, I prayed that the white-robed Lady of the Lake might rise silently from their depths. She would present me with that hallowed sword of the realm, Excalibur. Finally! Time to wield the annealed silver of my birthright against the zombies, proving my mettle to one and all.

But I digress. My point is it’s a charming bay, yes? Thus did I happen upon Café Lounge, tucked modestly away on the northern corner of the main beach drag. Merrymakers sat both inside and out on the terrace, despite the evening chill. (And rest assured: nary a one of them was foaming at the mouth. Phew.)

Intrigued, I sat at a central table within, where I was greeted by a warmly lit antechamber. The decor at Café Lounge is a fusion of kitsch iconography and classic wood tones. Charming art pieces and feisty wallpaper create a welcoming, intimate aura (for this is not a large venue).

The place may tout itself as a café. But don’t be fooled, oh weary traveller. For a closer inspection of the deceptively simple menu will reveal a solid offering of the culinary mainstays of our era. Breakfast and pancakes are also in attendance, so expect a healthy morning crowd.

I must say: the menu’s no-frills language both reassured and refreshed this dubious knight. This, in an Instagram age where pandemic culinary pretentiousness appears to reign supreme.

In support of my gripe, I humbly invite you to peruse the haughty nomenclature to be found on so many other establishments’ menus, nowadays. After all: a burger is just a burger, right? Why not name it so? Café Lounge evidently agrees with me. (Yes I know: I am so alone.)

This mushroom soup gradually presented a rich, creamy aftertaste.

A delightful Specials-of-the-Week chalkboard (crowned by a collection of head-caps, no less!) caters to famished warriors of a more adventurous gastric disposition. You can eschew the classic menu with such alternatives as grilled fish and calamari, barbeque ribs, gluten-free pizza, tropical smoothies and an imqaret dessert, no less!

The tasty tomato sauce actually bolstered the octopus, instead of deadening my tastebuds to that much milder pescatarian flavour

You’re doubtless wondering, by now, if I’m ever going to actually talk about the meal itself, eh? Well alright, already! I began with a glass of white wine. This chilled San Valentino was crisp and unpretentious, with a surprisingly sweet bouquet and aftertaste. It complemented the dry body, yielding a tart-overall flavour that was rather to my liking.

(I know what you’re thinking: these knights-in-shining-armour really are a bunch of fussy-britches, when all is said and done. Note to self, though: I need to start trying more reds. Because as many a somelier will tunefully intone “real wine is red wine”. That said... I like my whites. So sue me.)

As I scanned the menu, chatter from nearby (non-rabid) diners and background music provided welcome aural relief. Endless prior hours of almighty jack-hammering back in my neighborhood had left me half-deaf. The construction crew a block over from my flat is apparently hell-bent on tunnelling deep enough to end up ‘At The Earth’s Core’. But that didn’t end so well, for Doug McClure and Peter Cushing, guys. (Hint, hint.)

I’m not entirely joking. Rather, I dread that one day these overzealous diggers will finally crash through the final membrane that caps a gaping subterranean sinkhole. The hammering will thus be replaced by a cacophonous human-triggered earthquake. My entire neighborhood will promptly collapse into the bowels of the earth, never to be seen again. (Yes: I watch way too many horror and disaster movies, nowadays.)

Back to real life, and I ordered the mushroom soup as a starter. It arrived hot (careful!) in an enormous bowl crowned with croutons and garnished on the side with balsamic glaze and chopped parsley. Full marks for presentation. I added just a dash of salt and pepper, and once or twice, pulled a smidge of that balsamic cream down, to finesse the spoonful with an extra kick.

This rich soup rather grew on me (once it had cooled enough, phew!). It was blended, but the texture of the ingredients was left intact. A lovely, creamy aftertaste arose but only after several spoonfuls. This starter was actually on the specials board. Note to management: this might be one for the permanent menu… pretty-please?

For my main course, I opted for spaghetti with octopus. The pasta (charmingly presented, once again) was served with a marinara-style sauce replete with olives, capers, onions and a rocket-leaf garnish. Generous octopus chunks felt slightly firm to the teeth, and quite frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. I rather like my cooked molluscs a tad on the tougher side.

The tasty tomato sauce actually bolstered the octopus, despite concerns that it might deaden my tastebuds to that much milder pescatarian flavour. But no: the chefs at Café Lounge know their business, folks. As does the waiting staff: a pot of parmesan cheese arrived in anticipation of my main. (Useless rumination: is cheese the world over so well-loved principally for the saltiness it adds to most dishes? French readers might balk at the sheer cheddary vulgarity of this suggestion, I suppose.)

So my meal, though conventional, was right on the mark. I also noted nearby diners tucking into tasty-looking pizzas. The service at Café Lounge was professionally rendered with dispatch, and was both timely and polite. Why, oh why, can’t it always be this way? (I’m drifting back to ruminations about population-culling outbreaks once again, aren’t I? Ugh.)

The soup and pasta dishes left me truly stuffed, so generously proportioned are the servings. Neither did quantity come at the expense of quality, as I believe by now I’ve made abundantly clear. Prices are modest in comparison to the norm, making for a highvalue proposition indeed. The toilets were serviceable and clean, albeit a smidge cramped.

If you’re coming in hungry from a northern beach but have tired of the obligatory greasy road-side ftira, check this place out. Just be sure to get there before the evening rush. For come springtime, I daresay you won’t be the only one putting my ‘genius’ theory into practice. While a café it may ultimately be, Café Lounge is one that goes about its business with considerable panache, and more than a touch of class. Recommended!