The Golden Fork
13 Triq Il-Kbira, Attard
Tel: 9971 1273

Food: 9/10
Service: 9/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value: 9/10
Overall: 9/10

The amuse-bouches have us oohing and aahing. I coo over the very first mouthful.

Parisian perfection beckons in the form of impossibly pretty impossibly fancy, undeniably French macarons. These darlings are little savoury gems, exploding with the tangy tartness of goat’s cheese and prettied up even further by the addition of edible flower petals. The crisp shell cracks under the pressure of the slightest of bites; the irresistible crunch giving way to an alluringly chewy, soft interior.

The goat’s cheese filling, whipped and whisked to dreamy cream heaven, sandwiches the two halves together. There are bite-sized steamed buns topped with a sprinkling of the crispiest, tiniest, saltiest squares of bacon, incredibly crunchy and flavourful. Fresh crusty bread is also brought over together with a sublime seaweed butter.

It all opens up irrepressible appetites.

 The cosy craziness of Christmas is in full swing the night I’m at The Golden Fork, in that limbo, that no man’s land, that is the period between Christmas and New Year. Situated in Attard, the Golden Fork is fabulously located. I’m eating in the charming, characterful front room of a corner townhouse; the small dining area anchored by a stylish bar.

Lamb loin, the sheer comfort of this dish!

The kitchen must be compact, compressed between the downstairs dining area and the upstairs dining room. Heading the kitchen is the lady of the house herself, Chef Laetizia Vella; a bright young thing with an already impressive resume under her belt.

The atmosphere of the restaurant is all ease and smart comfort; the service engaging yet unobtrusive. The menu is agreeably short, providing a nice balance of the meaty, the vegetarian and the piscatorial.

The slow-cooked octopus has been rendered wonderfully tender and almost butter-soft and comes laid on a bed of pickled vegetables. It has been beautifully cooked.

The chargrilled peppers and tomatoes bring vibrancy of colour and flavour, with hints of peppery zippiness coming from the nasturtium leaves. It’s a nice piece of cookery, light and delicious, finished off with a veil of warming spiced broth that delivers a concentrated and comforting hit.

The fine shreds of wild boar meat melt away; rich, gamey and indulgent

The wild boar tortelloni are stunningly good. The pasta itself, the deepest shade of yellow, each tortellone carefully hand-folded; tantalisingly taut with a bite that is perfection itself. Eating into them is a thoroughly satisfying act.

The fine shreds of wild boar meat melt away; rich, gamey and indulgent. The dish is pungent with mushroom. They’re everywhere on the plate and I can’t stop smiling.

Nestled at the centre of the tortelloni is a mushroom and shallot duxelles. It brings texture and remarkable flavour with its finely chopped mushrooms, sautéed shallots and herbs, all swathed in butter. I could smear it on to just about anything. The entire dish is brought together by a full-bodied mushroom velouté; deeply savoury, complex and powerful.

Thick and viscous, I spread it around my plate like heavenly marmalade; taking enormous pleasure in dredging the tortelloni through it, allowing them to have a long, unrestrained wallow. I contemplate ordering a further portion of the tortelloni as a main course. Another portion for dessert.

It’s intoxicatingly delicious.

 The main course meagre (wild as is any fish served at The Golden Fork) arrives; delicately flavoured, roasted until its skin has been toasted to a whisper-light crispness that gently gives way to the moist flakiness of the fish. It’s all about clean flavours.

There’s a smooth parsley purée beneath, a layer of luxurious silkiness. The thin, translucent folds of roasted shallots and chicory are radiant, bathed in its alluring shade of parsley-green freshness.

The fish is perfected with a multi-dimensional smoked fish broth. It’s an umami explosion that completes the dish. The fleshy texture of the meagre melts into it. Sublime.

A robust dish, the lamb loin is quite exquisite. This prized cut of full-flavoured meat is served a tender medium rare. It smoulders, a deep carmine blush at its core.

Drops of dark chocolate – divinely decadent, and decked out for Christmas.

Well-seasoned and succulent, the lamb melts in the mouth. Perched on fresh vegetables, it comes with slender stalks of charred sprouting broccoli and crunchy kale. Ah, the sheer comfort of this dish.

A richly intense sauce marries everything together beautifully. Ripe with red wine and tarragon, it’s a rich gamey jus; dense, sticky and sweet, punching the palate with its personality.

It’s a sauce in which to drown your deepest sorrows. It glosses over everything. Me and the lamb cried out for more of it.

And there you have it - one satisfying dish after another; each plate a delight, polished and clever. We ramble on to our hotly anticipated dessert.

Looking quite extravagant and thoroughly festive is the ‘Drops of Dark Chocolate’. It’s a wonderful play of ideas and is every inch Christmas on a plate. A brilliantly crisp pastry case forms the buttery base of this chocolate delice dessert.

Studded with fat beads of milk chocolate and dark chocolate and a layering of interspersed pears and prunes, it all blends together beautifully making for a decadently divine dessert. The advertised red wine sorbet, however, lacks the warmth, the spice and quite frankly the oomph that we expect it to bring.  

The ‘Cloud Caramelised Brioche’ is deeply calorific, served piping hot - far too hot to be devoured immediately. The sizzling amber coloured honeycomb caramel spatters and spits at me. I almost singe an eyebrow.

The sugar-dusted, golden mounds of brioche are buttery, deliciously soft pillows with a lovely and light texture. But we are still speaking of brioche. And there’s almost too much of it.

The quenelle of honey ice cream topping the doughy mounds is far too small and melts away within minutes. I could do with vast, mountainous dollops of it. I ladle oozy caramel sauce over every spoonful wishing there was some contrasting texture like a poached pear to cut through the heaviness and the sugar and the butter.

A swig of lovely home-made limoncello later and we roll our blissfully overfed bodies up and out of our seats.

Yes, this fork is golden, and I’ll gladly have another forkful, or two or three.