I went for a solo lunch last week on someone else’s time and money to give my opinion for a company that isn’t me. I sat for one hour and forty-five minutes for two of the worst courses I can remember eating, served ploddingly slow by a server who knew little about what they were putting down. No question of why the main wasn’t finished, no interest in me being there, despite me being the only person there. The bill was incorrect, eventually amended, and the request of obtaining an itemised receipt like I was asking them to transfer the deeds of the restaurant. It was £32 with a soft drink, and I’ll save naming them because it wasn’t for my blog and you aren’t paying me anywhere near as much as them. It made me sad.
Eating out isn’t cheap, nor should it be. You pay for the overheads and the wages of those there. You pay for business rates and VAT and the general feeling that hospitality is getting rear-ended purely for the sake of it, leaving them with very little at the end. And me, little old me, has changed as a result of it. I don’t want to risk my money on something that might not be great when it comes at an increased cost. If I’m spending £32 on lunch, I’m going to make sure I eat well for it, which brings me to Harborne Kitchen, which conveniently for this introduction has just launched an express lunch that’s £32.50 for three courses. Four of us went for lunch. It made us happy.
So what does £32.50 buy you, I hear both of you ask? A snack, which in this case is a tartlet of beetroot, with candied golden beetroot, pickled beetroot, and a little ricotta at the base of the pastry, followed by a pretty exceptional veloute of parsley with locks of ham hock and ringlets of pickled shallots. The veloute is the green of Paddy’s Day, rich with grassy herb notes and just a little stock loitering ominously in the background. With this comes the excellent sourdough and whipped butter to save the potwash having to work any harder.
Main is hake, all crispy skin and buttery flesh, with haricot beans perked-up by a little ‘nduja and courgette puree. A cohesive main set somewhere in The Med, light but with enough character from the just-about-there nature of the spicy spreadable sausage. Dessert is a mille-feuille of milk chocolate with raspberries that universally goes down a storm. Some of the table think it’s the best course out of the lot, clearly forgetting the veloute. We get lips filled with miso caramel to finish and a bill that works out less than £50 each with a good bottle of wine, notwithstanding the cocktails Russell kindly buys before and after the meal.
Lunch was superb. We ate the second day. It was on sharing a room with not enough other tables, even if one happened to be a journalist who was walking past and saw the menu in the window. I hope she’s not alone in that. Right now, arguably more than ever in my lifetime, value matters. Diners are constantly being told how hospitality is struggling, often forgetting that the average household is also down. This is a great compromise and I’m incredibly lucky that it’s another great restaurant a stone’s throw from my front door that is doing it. The new look Harborne Kitchen is still finding its own identity, yet this is massive step in becoming a kitchen driven by both value and high quality cooking.
10/10
