Pastizzi at €2: Malta’s food prices soar, squeezing festa traditions and family tables

**Inflation rate creeps up, pushed by food prices**

The aroma of freshly-baked ftira that once drifted cheaply from Ħamrun’s corner bakeries is becoming a luxury. Malta’s inflation rate ticked up to 3.2 % in May, driven almost single-handedly by what we put on our plates. National Statistics Office figures show food prices rising 7.4 % year-on-year—the fastest clip since 2012—outpacing rent, fuel and even the much-lamented utility bills. For a country whose social life revolves around long Sunday lunches and village festa stalls, the pinch is more than economic; it’s emotional.

“Two euros for a pastizz? I remember when that got you four and a cigarette,” joked 68-year-old Nenu Pace while queueing at the Valletta open-market, clutching a canvas bag that once carried bargains. Vendors no longer bother to haggle; they commiserate. Imported tomatoes, battered by North African heatwaves and Italian frost, now sell at €3.80 a kilo—double last summer’s price. Local growers say they can’t plug the gap: irrigation water costs have jumped 15 %, and fertiliser prices remain stubbornly high after global supply-chain shocks.

The timing is cruel. June marks the start of the village festa season, when band clubs traditionally bulk-buy ħobż biż-żejt ingredients for fundraising picnics and marches. “We’ve cut sandwiches from 400 to 250,” confessed Maria Cassar, president of the St Gregory’s club in Żejtun. “Families still donate, but we feel guilty charging €2.50 when it used to be a token euro.” Across the harbour, the Sliema local council cancelled the popular “Festa tal-Ħut” fish festival altogether, citing “unpredictable seafood quotations”.

Restaurant owners are walking a tightrope. Ruben’s Bistro in Marsaskala removed rabbit from its set menu after farm prices surged 20 %. “We swapped in pork, but regulars complain it’s not the same,” chef-owner Ruben Borg said. “Maltese cuisine is identity; change the plate and you touch a nerve.” Data from the Malta Hotels & Restaurants Association show 18 % of eateries have shrunk portions, while 9 % have introduced “market-price” disclaimers usually reserved for lobster.

Households are improvising. Facebook group “Malta Budget Cooks” gained 12,000 members in three weeks, trading tips on substituting canned Italian tomatoes with home-grown ġbejniet-enhanced sauces. But not everyone has rooftop space for tomato vines. Single-parent families are hit hardest: food banks run by the Jesuit Refugee Service report 30 % more Maltese nationals requesting assistance compared to 2023. “The working poor—cleaners, carers, security guards—can’t absorb another spike,” coordinator Kimberly Briffa warned.

Government measures announced in the May budget—€5 million in food-import subsidies and a €0.20-per-litre milk rebate—have barely dented shelf prices. Economists argue the scheme leaks benefit to middle-men. “Malta’s small size magnifies shocks,” said Marie Briguglio, lecturer in economic policy. “One freighter delayed at Suez and the whole archipelago feels it.” She advocates accelerating EU-funded hydroponic greenhouses on abandoned air-force land, a plan stuck in planning since 2021.

Yet cultural resilience runs deep. In Birgu, residents revived the wartime “Kilin u Ful” (rabbit and beans) collective, pooling backyard produce for communal stews. “Sharing was how our grandparents beat scarcity,” explained 24-year-old farmer Luke Zahra, who donates surplus zucchini. “If prices keep rising, we’ll go back to barter—ħobż for lemons, eggs for wine.”

For now, the nation’s eyes are on next month’s harvest. Meteorologists forecast a scorching July; farmers pray for rain, shoppers for mercy. Until then, the Maltese kitchen—historically the heart of family life—will keep beating, albeit to a more expensive rhythm. And the pastizzi, like everything else, will continue their ascent, flaky witnesses to a changing island.