Memory Blast: The Malta Sandwich
The best sandwich I ever had was made by a millionaire on his boat, moored in a harbour in Malta. We were sitting in the sun when he asked if it was okay to make us lunch — the traditional sandwich he’d grown up with. We said yes, and he started making it right there, no fuss, no washing his hands first, which would normally bug me, but somehow didn’t.
He rubbed mint and oil straight into the bread with his hands, pressing everything in the way he’d learned as a child. Flavoursome, strong, simple, poor man’s food. Everything had to be rubbed, worked in, coaxed. Then he squashed the sandwich together so the oil and herbs could soak and marinate — olive oil, proper oil, the good stuff.
When I say the taste exploded in my mouth, I’m not exaggerating. It was unforgettable. Easily in my top five sandwiches ever — probably number one. He didn’t ask what we wanted; he just made it. I think that made it taste even better. And the sunshine added its own flavour. A Maltese delight.
The millionaire part only matters because he could have had staff make it, but he didn’t. He made it himself, explaining each step, sharing the food he grew up on. Self made millionaires are always the ones I respect most.
Footnote: kim & Nikki
The classic Maltese sandwich, ħobż biż-żejt, literally means “bread with oil” and is built on rubbing oil, herbs, and tomato into the bread — exactly what your millionaire did.
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