How our weekly trivia night led to a new menu item

Our weekly trivia night began with the usual mix of local knowledge, questionable confidence and show-off singing. At Tre Angeli in Sliema, teams settle around shared tables between rounds, compare scores and order drinks while the host prepares the next question. Karaoke takes centre stage on other evenings, and our happy-hour specials keep the bar lively, but the quiz has its own rhythm: people return because it feels easy to join in, even when the answers stretch beyond football, films and geography.

One evening, a final-round question about the dish that best represents Maltese home cooking produced an answer that stayed with our kitchen team. A guest argued for rabbit stew, and the rest of the table quickly agreed. Before the evening ended, they asked whether we served it. We did not, and rather than treating the question as a passing comment, we invited the team back the following week to taste a kitchen trial.

A question nobody planned

That moment was the starting point, not the whole idea. Trivia creates useful conversations because a wrong answer can be as revealing as a correct one. Guests talk about food they grew up with, holidays they remember and flavours they cannot place on a menu. At the table where rabbit stew won the discussion, one person knew the dish from a Maltese home and another had only heard of it. That gap between recognition and experience gave us something worth exploring.

Over the following weeks, we paid closer attention to requests around the existing menu. People asked for smaller plates to share, for stew with bread rather than as a heavy course, and for something that worked with a drink before karaoke. These were passing remarks, but together they described the kind of plate our regulars wanted: generous, sociable and connected to the evening rather than sealed off from it.

We tested the idea in a familiar setting. A new dish arrived on a quieter evening, when the quiz teams could compare notes without the host’s countdown. They tasted, wrote comments and ordered the kitchen version again. Their enthusiasm mattered, but so did the details. The best addition to the menu had to hold its own on a normal night, not depend on trivia to make it memorable.

From table talk to the pass

Our chef began with the flavours that make Maltese rabbit stew a home dish rather than a novelty: slow-cooked meat, a wine-based gravy, tender vegetables and enough time for the flavours to settle. We kept those central elements intact while testing balances of salt, acidity and sweetness. Capers gave one version a sharper finish; a longer braise gave another deeper body. The point was respect for the tradition, with enough refinement for a modern Sliema dining room.

The early samples clarified what the dish should not be. A thick sauce could swamp the meat, and a large bowl made the plate feel formal and slow for a lively bar. We reduced the portion, loosened the gravy and planned the bread to arrive alongside it. The name changed several times as well. Eventually, we called it the Quiz Table Stew, a name that invited curiosity without making the recipe sound like a gimmick.

Once the kitchen version was stable, we invited regular guests to choose between two final finishes. One was brighter and more herbaceous; the other leaned towards deeper wine notes. The votes went to the brighter option, softened with a little more cooking. Their choice directly shaped the recipe now on our menu, and it is satisfying that the people who first asked for the dish also helped decide how it would taste.

Building a dish through shared tasting

The finished Quiz Table Stew is built for the centre of a table. Tender rabbit sits in a glossy red-wine gravy with potatoes and vegetables, while herbs and a little acidity keep each spoonful lively. Warm bread is essential because the sauce is meant to be shared. For solo diners, we have a smaller bowl with the same accompaniments. The presentation is simple, but the long cooking gives the dish depth that arrives on the first taste.

During testing, one team admitted that they had assumed rabbit would be gamey or unfamiliar. A few bites changed their minds. Another guest asked whether the wine in the gravy would overwhelm the flavour, then compared it favourably with bold food they knew from home. These comments helped us keep the seasoning clear and the meat generous rather than hiding either behind heavy sauce. Good cooking won the argument before the quiz could.

The most useful feedback came through the stories around the plates. Someone remembered rabbit stew from a Sunday lunch in Gozo. Someone else had never tried it but wanted a Maltese dish beyond familiar stuffed pies. A visiting family ordered it for the adults, then bought extra bread for the children. Each story widened the dish beyond a single correct answer and showed how much the name on the menu could invite.

A final kitchen detail came from the side we serve beside the stew. We reviewed sweet baking ideas for inspiration, then built a small olive-oil cake around lemon, thyme and honey. Its crumb was tender and lightly sweet, giving the table something fresh to finish with without competing with the rich sauce. The cake has since become a quiet favourite in its own right.

A plate made for the whole table

Serving the dish as a shared centrepiece changed the way people ordered. Instead of one guest choosing for everyone, the team placed the Quiz Table Stew in the middle with bread, salad and a few straightforward sides. That felt natural after a quiz, when the table is already covered in score sheets and conversation. We kept an individual portion for guests eating alone and ensured that ordering the stew did not require committing the whole group to unfamiliar food.

The bar team tested the stew with the spritzes we serve during happy hour, checking that their citrus and fizz could cut through the rich gravy. Guests who wanted something stronger asked for recommendations rather than a fixed pairing, so the choice stayed informal. The plate could accompany a light drink, a long evening or the final notes of a karaoke song without needing a separate set menu.

Sharing also worked for the finishing plate. We cut the lemon and thyme olive-oil cake into generous pieces for the group and served a smaller portion with individual bowls. Some teams skipped dessert; others stayed for the final song. Nobody had to commit to a formal tasting menu, and the rhythm of the room stayed intact.

What Australian guests brought to the bar

Australian guests brought useful shorthand for the experience. A team from Melbourne knew the city’s lively competitive trivia scene, while visitors from Sydney compared our evening with the after-work quizzes that fill bars around the harbour. They recognised the combination of serious questions and friendly arguments immediately. We also borrowed the proudly theatrical style of an Australian quizmaster, using expressive reveals and plenty of banter to keep the room moving.

The food references were just as recognisable: a meat pie with tomato sauce at the footy, a weekend sausage sizzle at the local RSL or cricket club, and the produce displays at Melbourne’s Queen Victoria Market. Each comparison told us something about expectations. Aussies know that hearty food can still be carefully made, that sharing works best when the centrepiece is full of flavour, and that a familiar side can make a new dish easier to approach.

One practical request came from a Melbourne guest who wanted to compare whisky with the stew. The bar team used our guide to a custom whiskey flight to build a side-by-side tasting for the table. A pour with soft fruit and gentle spice sat best with the gravy; a sharper one worked better with the lemon cake.

We did not try to turn the Quiz Table Stew into an Australian dish. Its Maltese identity remained intact, just as our venue remained a karaoke bar and restaurant in Sliema. The common ground was the ritual around it: team names, playful rivalries, food brought to the middle of the table and no pressure to order the same thing as everyone else. For our Australian guests, the quiz made an unfamiliar flavour feel welcoming; for regulars, it added a new reason to claim their usual table.

Join the next round at Tre Angeli

The Quiz Table Stew now has a permanent place alongside our wider restaurant menu. It works for a relaxed lunch, an after-work visit or the end of a karaoke session, and it gives groups an easy dish to share while they work through a trivia round. We still adjust the sides with the seasons, but the core remains the response to that original question: make something recognisable, comforting and worth talking about after the scores are settled.

Join our weekly quiz at Tre Angeli, settle in with friends over a drink from our happy-hour specials, and order the Quiz Table Stew while the questions get heated. The dish is available whether or not you enter the quiz, so a quiet corner and a full team can both find their place at the bar.

Reserve a table for the next round, bring your sharpest teammates and your most competitive guesses, and come ready to taste the dish that began with a question at the bar.