There is something killing this nation. It is making us fat. The fattest in Europe by a wide margin, according to the punsters at Times of Malta.
We always thought it was the pastizz, but we were wrong. It turns out only nine per cent of us eat a pastizz weekly. Most of us don’t really touch them at all.
This is what is really happening. Four hundred and fifty years after we pushed them away, the Turks are back. And they’re killing us softly with their food.
But there is one outlet that is killing us faster than the rest. I discovered it today.
It goes by the despicably friendly name Posh Kebab. It doesn’t have a Facebook page. Its online presence exists only in the form of suspiciously non-hyperbolic posts on Are You Being Served?
Even in real life the restaurant appears almost camouflaged by the middle-class-Maltese-crowdedness that is the Pama shopping centre. The perfect location: a giant hypermarket whose perimeter is only contained to respect the sacred parking lot engulfing it. A ħarġa that the Maltese could only dream of before: comfortable parking, shoppink, eating, drinking and driving home.
On the outside, Posh Kebab seems like any other doner kebab shop: casual, loud and chaotic. There are some distinct characteristics though.