Gassi goes out to eat: Sa Volta in Palma

A conversation about full plates, empty glasses, and the question of why everything always seems to need a concept.

Gassi lives on his yacht in Palma's harbor. For the purpose of this interview, that is actually completely irrelevant. Nevertheless, Gassi will manage to come back to it. We meet him after eating at Sa Volta in Palma's old town. Hams hang above him. Wine stands before him. He looks content. This might take a while.

Gassi, how did you actually come across Sa Volta?
I walked in. That might sound disappointing, but I don't research restaurants for three days in advance. I walk through Palma, see a place, and usually decide within ten seconds whether I want to go in. With Sa Volta, it was pretty simple: it was full, it was loud, and no one was standing in front of the door trying to explain to me what to expect inside. Those are three good signs already.

So you decide based on volume?
Not just that. But a restaurant where 40 people are eating and no one is talking makes me nervous. When eating, things can be a bit chaotic. Plates arrive, plates leave, someone orders something else, someone steals your last prawn and then claims nobody wanted it anyway. That is a dinner for me. If I want total silence, I can go back to the boat.

Is it that quiet on a yacht?
No. But there I can at least decide who gets the last prawn.

What was your first thought at Sa Volta?
They mean business. I like that. You walk in and there isn't just a single ham hanging decoratively because an interior designer decided that a ham radiates authenticity. There are a lot of them hanging there. At some point, it’s no longer decoration, it’s an attitude. I sat there and thought: Good, we understand each other.

You and the restaurant?
Me and the hams, at first. The restaurant still had to earn it.

“A menu is a suggestion.”

How do you approach a menu like that?
I read it.

That is surprisingly conventional.
I’m not an animal, after all. But I don’t understand people who decide exactly what they’re going to order online beforehand. Then you’re finally sitting in Mallorca, you have a menu in front of you, and the decision was made the day before yesterday on the sofa in Bielefeld. Why? A menu is a suggestion. You look at what you feel like having, order a few things, and adjust your decision later with further orders.

So you generally order too little?
No. I order in stages. That sounds significantly more professional.

And what belongs on the table for you at Sa Volta?
I would share. Definitely. Tapas, fish, seafood, octopus, prawns—a few different things, and then you see where it goes. The nice thing about that is that the evening can evolve. Maybe you like something so much that you order it again. Maybe you see something better at the next table. Maybe it turns out that the person who supposedly "really wasn't hungry" has since eaten 40 percent of your order. You need reserves for that.

And how was the food actually?
Really good. Uncomplicatedly good. When I’m eating, I don't want to constantly feel like I’m sitting an exam. Sometimes something comes to the table, you try it, and you immediately want another bite. That is a pretty excellent definition of delicious. That’s exactly how the evening was here.

No “explosion of Mediterranean flavors”?
If something explodes on my plate, I’m not paying.

“You can recognize a good restaurant by the last piece of bread.”

How do you recognize a good restaurant at all?
At the end. The beginning is easy. Everyone is hungry, the first glasses are full, and everyone is happy. It gets interesting when everyone is actually full. Does everyone stay anyway? Is more bread taken? Does someone order another glass? Does nobody start nervously looking at the clock? If a table is more enjoyable after the meal than before, the restaurant was good. In any case, no one wanted to jump up at Sa Volta.

In the photo, your glass looks pretty empty already.
The photo documents an interim status.

How many interim statuses were there?
The editorial team is hopefully not keeping statistics on that.

Not yet.
Then I would like to expressly advise against the introduction of such a thing at this point.

“I don’t want an insider tip. I want a good evening.”

Would you recommend Sa Volta to WOW Finca guests?
Yes, but not with this tourist mandate: "Today we have to discover an insider tip." That drives you crazy. Go to Palma because Palma is magnificent. Walk through the old town, look around, sit down at some point, and have a good evening. Sa Volta fits perfectly with that. It is central, lively, Spanish, uncomplicated—and afterwards you are already in the middle of the city and only really need to decide which direction to head in next.

You say “head in next.” When is an evening actually finished for you?
The evening decides that. I find fixed end times for dining strange. If it’s nice, you stay. If it’s not nice, you leave. I don’t need a clock for that. The advantage of where I live, of course, is that my home floats down in the harbor and doesn't suddenly end up somewhere else at night. At least, usually not.

At least, usually not?
It’s a boat. One should grant it a minimum amount of movement.

What does the perfect Sa Volta evening look like for you?
Don’t start too early. Walk through Palma beforehand. Then head to Sa Volta, order several things, share, have wine with it, and don’t try to finish in 60 minutes. Afterward, walk through the old town some more. Maybe a final glass somewhere. Eventually, head toward the harbor. When I arrive there and I’m still in the mood, I sit on the back of the boat. That is usually the moment I realize I was far too sensible during dinner.

What does “too sensible” mean for you?
No dessert.

Do you regret that?
Almost always.

You only get one sentence to describe Sa Volta. What would it be?
A restaurant with a lot of hams.

So: go there?

Go there. Order different things. Share. Bring time with you. And please don’t say after three tapas: "That’s enough for us." That sentence has never made a good evening better.

And afterwards?
We'll see.

Back to the yacht?
Eventually.

How big was it again?
Now you are the one asking.

Gassi at Sa Volta in Palma – and if you want to go there too:
Monday: 12:00–24:00 | Tuesday: 12:00–24:00 | Wednesday: 12:00–24:00 | Thursday: 12:00–24:00 | Friday: 12:00–24:00 | Saturday: 12:00–24:00 | Sunday: closed