I suppose that bones getting creakier by the minute is part of growing old. And so it is that I am finding myself regularly on the couch of my persevering physiotherapist. The other day, for my creak-fest session, we were joined by a young Sicilian physio intern. I have to say that he made the hard slog much easier for the simple reason that he kept talking about food. Italian food to be more precise.

As I fast-walked backward on the treadmill, he told me all about the different regional mozzarellas (the Salerno one is the best); how to make the best tomato sauce (with the tomatoes from Ispica); and the best dough for pizza (dilemma: Roman style or Neapolitan style?). This student was barely out of his teens and you could sense the pride and the amor proprio for the cuisine of his homeland.

He is not an exception. Strike a conversation with any Italian, whatever the age, and they are bound to talk to you about their cucina, their art and their cultural heritage. Strike a conversation with any Maltese and they’re bound to list their ailments (vide my introduction above), and how much they ate when they last went abroad and what a bargain it was. If pushed to talk about our food, we’ll direct the conversation to, um, Twistees and Kinnie.  Our next-door neighbours, the Italians, are taught all about culture from the crib. They are taught to appreciate that the Paestum-Salerno mozzarella tastes different to that of Foggia and that the tomatoes of Ispica are good to make sauce with while those of Pachino are best eaten raw.

They know about the treasures of art in their region and they are proud of it. But that’s because culture is priority number one not only at school but even in the family. Italians will leave Italy and go and work abroad but they are forever tied to their land.

In the meantime, where has our cultural culinary identity gone? Our cuisine is so rich, so full of influences from all over Europe (just read Matty Cremona’s The Way We Ate) but how are we nurturing it? We aren’t. We just head off to restaurants because we have nowhere else to go and we eat whatever is given to us because we do not know how to be critical.

If you have a love for culture, you’re called a snob and an elitist (plus other unprintable things). Since when has it become like this? This is the land of Mattia Preti, of Valletta, of the most delicious honey and Mediterranean food. Why is it that now we revere ignorance, blandness and ugliness? Are we letting the tasteless nouveau riche and champagne socialists take over and make us believe that we should all be like them?

Culture is what binds people to a land and when politically and economically things start going awry their heart bleeds and they want to fight to make their country better. If there are no cultural ties, then, when things go wrong, the only option is to leave. If we keep going like this, Malta will suffer a worse brain drain than that of the 1950s and 1980s.

Don’t wait till you’re too creaky, we paved the EU way for you – go for it, pack your bags now- Kristina Chetcuti

The EY Generate Youth Survey released a few days ago has given us a snapshot of what’s coming: 60 per cent of young people in Malta would rather live and work in another European country. Our young generation has a strong environmental conscience; they can’t bear overdevelopment and they care about Malta’s international image. No wonder they feel so hopeless about their own future.

Meanwhile, our ministers are busy doing pre-election house calls. One of them told a friend of my daughter’s – a 15-year-old much concerned about the environment – that “it’s just a phase”. “You’re worrying about trees now because you’re only 15. Soon you’ll forget trees and worry about getting a house and furniture.”

With sexist idiots like these running the country, I say to youngsters: don’t wait till you’re too creaky, we paved the EU way for you – go for it, pack your bags now.


I wonder if the prime minister goes to the supermarket to do his monthly shop. If so, has he noticed that the bills are getting steeper and steeper? Maybe he doesn’t because, let’s face it, if he can afford hundreds of euros of fuel to go to Sicily on weekly trips with his boat, an added €100 to the supermarket bill won’t make a difference. 

These last three weeks, I’ve lost count of the number of people who told me how they can’t keep up with the cost of living.

“I just work to pay for the household food; my husband’s salary pays off the house loan, the utilities’ bills and school stuff for our son… then we’re left skimping to make it to the end of the month,” one told me.

Over summer, food staples, because of Brexit, COVID, shipping and whatnot, have doubled or tripled in price. Daily living expenses have soared.

“I’m leaving. I can’t afford to have children here,” another woman in her early 30s told me.

Internationally things are looking dismal and 2022 is not earmarked to be a great year for the planet.

We already have started feeling the pinch but, come next year, price hikes are going to hit us like a thunderstorm.

Then, only then, will the prime minister realise that an increase of €7 a month is an insulting joke. 

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