Malta Your last chance to vote for your favourite restaurant
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Final Hours to Crown Malta’s Best Eatery: Why Your Restaurant Award Vote Matters More Than Ever

Your last chance to vote for your favourite restaurant
By Hot Malta Staff

Sliema’s seafront was still glowing with Christmas lights when Nadine Camilleri, 34, tapped “submit” on her phone and watched the confirmation screen pop up: “Thank you for voting in the Malta Restaurant Awards 2024.” For the St Julian’s marketing executive it was more than a casual click; it was a small act of civic pride. “I voted for a tiny ħobż biż-żejt kiosk in Marsaxlokk,” she laughs. “My nonna used to queue there on Sundays. If that place wins, the whole family cries happy tears.”

Tonight at 23:59 the five-week public ballot slams shut. After that, the 42,000 votes already cast will be locked, tallied and handed to an independent auditor before Sunday’s black-tie gala at the Phoenicia. If you haven’t picked your champion yet, you have roughly 18 hours—less time than it takes to slow-cook a traditional fenkata.

Why the rush matters
In a country where 2.3 million tourists outnumber residents five to one, restaurants are not just businesses; they are the frontline of Maltese identity. A win doesn’t just boost bookings—it can change fortunes. Last year’s “Best Newcomer”, a Gozitan goat-cheese bistro in Xlendi, reported a 70 % spike in winter revenue, allowing chef-owner Rebecca Galea to hire six new staff from the village. “Suddenly we were open six days instead of three,” she tells Hot Malta. “Young people who used to leave for London stayed here instead.”

The awards, run voluntarily by the Malta Food & Beverage Association, are the island’s only industry prize decided entirely by residents, not a jury of chefs. That makes the final sprint uniquely emotional. Facebook groups from Birżebbuġa to Mellieħa are alight with cousins tag-team campaigning. One viral TikTok shows 92-year-old Ċensa from Żejtun flashing her voter code like a golden ticket. “I chose the place that still serves rabbit with grapes like in the old days,” she declares.

Local context, global flavour
This year’s shortlist mirrors Malta’s hybrid soul: Michelin-starred tasting menus sit beside pastizzeriji that charge €1.20 for a pea cake. Valletta’s grainy limestone walls host Japanese omakase; a 250-year-old bakery in Qormi stuffs ħobż with Korean fried chicken. The clash isn’t gimmick—it’s survival. Rents have doubled since 2019; energy bills trebled. A single viral win can buffer a family eatery against the storm of international chains mushrooming around Tigné Point.

“Every vote is a miniature economic policy,” explains economist Stephanie Xuereb. “When locals champion a restaurant, they keep money circulating here instead of leaking to multinational shareholders.” Her modelling shows that if every voter spends just €25 at their chosen winner during 2024, an extra €1 million stays in the domestic economy—enough to fund 35 full-time jobs.

Community impact on the ground
Drive through Żurrieq and you’ll spot a hand-painted banner outside Ta’ Rita’s: “Votawlna, ħbieb!” Rita Camilleri, 58, has been rolling ravioli with her son since her husband died in 2021. A nomination for “Best Traditional” has already filled her weekday lunches. “Yesterday a whole hen-party from Sweden booked because they saw us on the awards feed,” she beams, wiping flour from her apron. “If we win, I’ll finally fix the roof that leaks on my grandchildren’s playroom.”

Environmentalists are hijacking the buzz too. Sustainable-fish eatery Nċiħ in Marsalforn trails in third place, but its campaign video—shot on Gozo’s rubbish-strewn seabed—has pushed 1,200 first-time voters to choose green. “We proved that ethics can be delicious,” says chef Gabriel Caruana, who swapped imported salmon to locally caught lampuki.

How to cast yours
1. Visit maltarestaurantawards.com
2. Enter your e-ID or voter card number (anti-bot measure).
3. Pick one favourite per category; you don’t have to vote in them all.
4. Screenshots are allowed—bragging rights commence immediately.

The after-party
Winners receive a hand-blown Mdina glass trophy and a year-long window sticker that tourists photograph more than the monuments outside. Past victors confess the real prize is legitimacy: banks lower loan rates, landlords freeze rents, and children proudly tell classmates, “My parents’ place is the best in Malta.”

So before Netflix asks if you’re still watching, open a new tab and vote. You’ll probably dine there sooner than you think—Malta is, after all, the size of a large town with the appetite of a continent. And when the ferry horn sounds on Sunday night and the confetti cannons pop, you’ll know you helped write the next chapter of an island that feeds the world but still fights to feed itself.

Tick tock. Mars is rising over the Grand Harbour, somebody’s simmering wine-and-garlic snails, and the poll closes faster than you can say “ħobż biż-żejt”. Don’t wake up tomorrow wondering what could have been—wake up knowing you kept a stove burning, a cousin employed, and a tradition alive.

Vote. Now. Jetlag and excuses won’t taste half as good.

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