Il-Mixja ta’ Puttinu: A Seaside Spectacle with Fishy Alibis and a Dash of Ħobż biż-Żejt

The Unexpected Guest

There I was in Sliema, having a grand time at the Puttinu walk, when the strolling crowd grew from a trickle to a torrent of 10,000 strong. Everyone was there, from nannas pushing vintage prams to youngsters strutting with pastizzi in hand, even though, mela, this wasn’t the time to steal any!

Ħobż biż-Žejt Heist

Just as the festive atmosphere was being absorbed, something fishy rolled in with the sea breeze. And it wasn’t the usual suspect that was the delightful lampuki pie from that one eatery in Marsaxlokk. No, no. This was a peculiar scent—the scent of mountains of ħobż biż-żejt gone missing!

The Maltese Enigma: Toni

Introducing Toni Tabib, a local who’s allergic to fenkata (rabbit stew), poor soul. He’s always been seen making his own chunky versions of ħobż biż-żejt laden with Malta’s finest gbejniet. Toni, however, found himself breadless and befuddled. Indeed a twist of irony as thick as the tuna spread on a properly done ħobż.

“Uwejja! Someone pinched my precious ħobż!” Toni cried amidst the commotion of the walk as he brandished a single olive as evidence.

Ripple Effect in Valletta

His outcry rippled all the way to the bastions of Valletta, where the pigeons themselves seemed to gasp. Now Malta’s a small island, right? So a heist of this sourdough scale was bound to stir up some trouble faster than you could say “Kollox sew?”

Mdina’s Mysterious Mingle

Then there’s Karla Kappara, the devious diva from Mdina. She sauntered by Toni, smirking under her oversized lacy parasol, and offered an oddly specific alibi for the time of the ħobż heist.

“I was merely admiring the silence of our ‘Silent City’, and perhaps, entertaining a tourist or two with tales of the Knights,” Karla claimed, batting her eyelashes with more force than the waves hitting Gozo’s shores.

Twist in the Tale: The Revelation

The plot thickened as the organizers, in an attempt to lure the thief, announced a fake contest for the largest ħobż biż-żejt. Everybody at the event, from Ċirkewwa to Marsascala, converged at the designated booth. Suspense hung in the air thicker than the smog over St. Thomas Bay on a Sunday.

The Culprit Unmasked

Toni, fishing for sympathy, was first in line. Karla, sensing drama, fluttered behind him. And then, just as Toni bent over to inspect the booth, he came up with a loaf stuck to his bottom! The bread thief was none other than himself, caught red-handed—or should we say bread-bottomed?

“Aha! The ħobż biż-żejt clung to my trousers when I sat on a bench earlier! What a crumby fiasco!” Toni exclaimed, his face the shade of ġbejna tad-demm.

Epilogue: A Toast to Sourdough

With the mystery solved and the ħobż biż-żejt accounted for, the crowd burst into laughter, and all was again well. In true Maltese spirit, Toni hosted an impromptu picnic, sharing his unintentionally acquired riches. As the sun set on the Puttinu walk, the event was deemed the most memorable to date, leaving everyone full of good food and better stories.

And, mela, that’s the way the bread crumbles in the Times of Mela!