‘We’re a family here’ – How Sicilian-born Aurelio Belli fed Sliema for 50 years and became a Maltese legend

‘We’re a family here’ – Aurelio Belli opens up on 50 years of feeding Sliema, one plate of rabbit at a time

Sliema’s promenade hums with the clang of yacht masts and the hiss of espresso machines, but step inside Ta’ Kris restaurant on a Tuesday afternoon and the soundtrack changes: clinking carafes of local wine, Maltese chatter bouncing off stone walls, and the unmistakable sizzle of fenek hitting hot iron. Behind the pass, 72-year-old Aurelio Belli wipes his brow with the same cotton cloth he’s used since 1973 and repeats the sentence he’s uttered to every new hire, every supplier, every first-time customer: “Mela, we’re a family here.”

It’s not a corporate slogan. Belli, who arrived from Sicily at 19 with a duffel bag and his mother’s wooden spoon, has spent half a century turning a former bakery on Bisazza Street into what locals simply call “Dad’s place”. In a country where 85 % of restaurants change hands within five years, Ta’ Kris has outlasted Labour and Nationalist governments, the switch to the euro, and the sky-rise invasion that turned the quiet fishing village of Sliema into Malta’s densest postcode. The secret, Belli insists, is refusing to treat anyone like a tourist—even when they arrive clutching a cruise-ship map.

“Maltese, English, Korean, it doesn’t matter,” he says, adjusting the red scarf knotted sailor-style around his neck. “If you eat here, you eat like my children.” That means rabbit stewed for three hours in Gozitan wine, lampuki pie when the season is right, and imqaret still warm from the fryer. Prices are chalked on a blackboard because Belli changes them daily, depending on what fishermen bring to the door at dawn. “I don’t do delivery apps,” he shrugs. “If you want Ta’ Kris, you come to Ta’ Kris. You sit. You talk. You leave happier.”

The formula has turned the 40-cover trattoria into a civic institution. When Valletta’s theatres close for summer, actors migrate here for post-show spaghetti. PN MPs occupy one corner table; Labour activists the other, separated only by a fresco of the Madonna. During the 2019 ferry strike, Belli loaded trays of minestra onto the Sliema-Valletta passenger boat so stranded commuters could eat. “Politics stops at the door,” he laughs. “We only argue about who gets the last prawn.”

Local historians reckon Ta’ Kris helped save Maltese cuisine from itself. In the 1980s, foreign package deals pushed hotel kitchens toward chicken cordon bleu and chips. Belli doubled down on fenek, bragioli, and horse-meat steaks, sourcing from farmers in Żurrieq who still delivered by donkey. “We were laughed at,” recalls Raymond Grech, 68, a regular since the Ford Escort was the island’s status symbol. “Aurelio said, ‘One day they’ll copy us.’ Now every new bistro has ‘traditional’ on the menu.”

The pandemic nearly ended the story. Lockdowns wiped out Easter bookings—usually enough to float the quiet winter months. Staff volunteered to work for groceries; landlords waived rent; parish priests blessed the doorway on Facebook Live. When indoor dining reopened, Belli instituted a “pay what you can” policy for the first month. Nobody abused it. “The village kept us alive,” he says, eyes glassy. “How do you repay that? You stay open. You keep the stove burning.”

Today, queues snake around the corner again, but Belli worries the island’s soul is slipping away. “Look up,” he gestures toward the 30-storey tower rising opposite, its glass reflecting the restaurant’s wooden shutters like a fun-fair mirror. “Soon you won’t see the sky. If we lose our places, we lose our stories.” To fight back, he’s training third-generation cooks: his granddaughter Claudia, 21, now shapes ricotta ravioli beside him, earbuds dangling under a hairnet. “She rolls faster than I ever did,” he grins. “The hand remembers what the heart wants.”

Asked about retirement, Belli flicks the question away like burnt garlic. “Retire to what? This is my patio, my club, my church. When I drop, they’ll carry me out past table six. Until then, the rabbit’s on the stove.”

Outside, sunset paints the tower gold. A cruise passenger peers in, guidebook in hand. A waitress—Claudia—opens the door. “Welcome to Ta’ Kris,” she smiles. “You’re just in time for family.”