I met Rebecca when Sunita Mukhi invited five of us to dine with her at her brother’s restaurant The Emperor of India a couple of weeks or so ago. Sunita’s maiden surname was Kalachand and her mother is a Gopaldas and her life has been in textiles. She now designs luxury handbags and has them made in Mumbai. Soon they will be on sale at Mei in Malta too.
The Emperor of India is not new to me. When the girls were still at home we would go there from time to time to give them a break from my cuisine, if you would like to call it that. They loved the high-backed chairs and the somewhat mysterious air that the restaurant exuded then. I suppose it was rather like a room in some castle which they read about in their books of fairytales.
They have been brought up to eat Indian and Chinese food as part of our everyday life and ‘exotic’ food is nursery food to them. In fact both make curries regularly in their own homes now.
The Emperor of India has been redecorated and the high-backed chairs have gone. The food has always been excellent and at the end of a very copious meal I sent a kiss from us all to the chef, provided he was kissable, I warned.
The following week I received a phonecall from Achim Schramm, Achim being short for Joachim. He asked me to be his guest at the celebration of his wife Rebecca’s 50th. It turned out that this was to be a dual celebration. First of all dinner at the Quadro resto at the Westin Dragonara Resort with which I am well acquainted and which has partly contributed to the growing circumference of my waistline. This took place on Saturday 13th April when we were greeted with flutes of Champagne, the tall and slim Rebecca wearing a green ensemble with jewellery to match.
She is American and has a relaxed kind of elegance like that other American lady I recently got to know, Karen Despert, who is married to the French artist, Alain. They both give a great deal of attention to detail.
The tables were laid out on the terrace and Rebecca had chosen round gilded Florentine frames in which our names were written, as place names. I sat next to Philippe Herbert who is a multi-lingual Belgian and associated with Engel & Volkers of which, because of Sara Grech’s collaboration with them, we have heard quite a lot lately. On my right was Rebecca’s husband Achim who is German and also multi-lingual and both of them were very interesting dinner companions.
My favourite dishes in this 5-course meal was the amuse bouche, baptized Scallop Bloody Mary, the Chilled Langoustine Salad and the pre-dessert (yes that’s right) Baked Fresh Fig with Gorgonzola mini herb salad. Not at all namby pamby. The main dishes of fish or meat were sound but not so exciting, the portions a trifle too generous. But no one was complaining, least of all myself.
Soon, a few overtaken by guilt after such a big meal took to the dance floor and Il Puse and his band kept our feet tapping, although this was not exercise enough to get rid of the calories.
But Rebecca’s real birthday was the following day and lunch took place at Palazzo Pariso on a lovely sunny spring day in the gardens which were in full bloom. After glasses of Rose Champagne we sat down at the refectory style arrangement. This time Rebecca placed low bowls of roses on the table and each of us had a little gilded Florentine box in which was placed a heart-shaped pebble with her birthdate on it, ‘so that you don’t forget it,’ she told us. As if we would.
The highlight, to me, on this menu was the Salmon Sashimi which was cured in beetroot and shaped as a rose, to match the roses on the table, and moreover each was sprinkled with gold dust! What a wonderful idea and it was delicious too.
The birthday cake was an almond one and rich and delicious. Guests were reluctant to leave but some had commitments, others lingered on until they finally dragged themselves home.
The Jewellery Exhibition at the Casino Maltese
No one should miss this as it is truly worth a visit or two even. I went two Saturdays ago and as I climbed up the stairs the following anecdote came to mind: A beautiful lady of maturing years, slinked into one of the great Parisian jewellers of the late 1950s and asked to see a very expensive but understated bracelet. She told the manager that she would be bringing in her husband the next day and would he look after him personally and offer him the piece at a secret and very special half price. She explained that the bracelet was out of her husband’s price range but that she would make up the difference.The next day unfolded as she had suggested and, as the husband came back smiling broadly from the manager’s office, she asked if the clasp could be loosened a bit and she said she would pick it up the next day.
Entwined and laughing like teenagers, the couple left the shop. The next day she reappeared with another man with whom it was obvious she shared more than a passing friendship. She sought out the manager and whispered in his ear. The bracelet was brought out again. ‘No wonder you love it,’ said her boyfriend. ‘I can’t believe it’s such a good price; of course you must have it. Will you wear it now?’ And with that her lover paid for the other half of the bracelet which she wore out of the shop knowing she would be seen with it anywhere with impunity, and that she had made her two men, and the manager very happy.
I wondered, as I looked at this very well laid out extraordinary exhibition, what tales those pieces of jewellery had to tell.
I was moved to see a portrait of Angela Borg Olivier whom I remember at school as a girl full of spirit and a sense of humour and I said to myself, ‘This jewellery is more permanent this us.’
Patrimonju’s exhibition is open until 29 May. A great deal of work has gone into it. Goodness knows if it will ever happen again. Please don’t miss it.