Bar (0121) at Carters, Moseley

Carters launched a bar menu last week. Repeat. Carters launched a bar menu last week. I’m not sure there is anything more I need to add to that statement. We swung by to collect a book and decided to give it a whirl, despite Claire still wearing her gym clothes and me nursing one of those hangovers which grows with every waking breath. It’s as excellent as you think it would be, a bar spot at one of the best restuarants we have, with a small menu of ever-changing items priced around £6-12.

Keeping it short, we eat a cheese custard with balls of pickled squash, then bread – which seems to have noticably improved – with pork fat spread, and a pate of the best bits of pig and preserved dates to pile inch-thick on to. Chicken liver cereal will be recognisable to anyone who has eaten at the restaurant in the last few years and is now purchasable as a stand-alone, which gave Claire wet dreams about having it for breakfast on the regular. A fillet of dover sole comes with brown shrimps and a buttermilk sauce spiked with wild fennel. This is glorious. Like as good as anything you’ll get anywhere in Brum.

We eat this on the Saturday goverment is voting on the Brexit deal, so it feels right to be eating ‘scallop brex-o’; his piss-take on the shambles. The scallop is barely warm; meaty and fresher than the Prince of Bel-Air. The condiment is a riff on XO with ingriediants found entirely on these shores; the funk of dried crustacean, some serious heat from chillis grown especially for him at Westlands, garlic, some more garlic, sherry and probably a thousand other things that may, or may not be garlic. I vote to let this motion pass, which my arse was only too happy to oblidge to the following morning. And then there is the pasta, which could well be the best way to spend £12 in the entire city. Tagliatelle with plenty of bite, an umami packed sauce of Old Winchester cheese and dulse and a healthy amount of truffle. Seriously. I could eat this every day and never get bored. Unbelievable tekkers, whatever that means.

We finish with white chocolate acid smiley faces because Brad is an absolute legend who has it tattoo’d on his arm. They are delicious. Of course they are. But kids don’t do drugs, it’s not cool. Give them to me instead. Given that the bar only sits four at a time and it’s a first-come-first-serve operation, I toyed with the idea of not writing about this in order to give myself a better chance of grabbing a seat, but that would be a dickish move by these rather large dickish standards. (0121) is a snapshot of my favourite restuarant without the procession of a tasting menu. The food is unmistakingly Carters; sharp and precise, and now very affordable. We leave Moseley in two weeks and it is here that we have chosen to eat our final meal in the village. Whilst we are eating the full menu sat down, I expect to see you perched on a stool at the bar, tucking in to that pasta.

I’ll need A2B to get me here soon.

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