Dilse irritated me before I turned-up. The voicemail as I tried to book a table promising fine dining, exquisite cocktails and other undeliverable food related hyperbole, very nearly stopping me from holding to speak to someone human. It irritated me again, ten minutes after we had sat and ordered, when the first wave of dishes appeared and they tried to ruin it with dry ice and the instruction that this would be the best time to video for socials. No, this is the worst time. The absolute worst time. It would be just smoke. Pointless smoke. Not even scented stuff like a cheap vape. Just smoke for the sake of smoke; smoke to cover-up the food that spills over the table edge and looks disappointing in every way. Please no. Never. It’s not 2005.
They don’t need to try this hard; don’t need to make promises they can’t keep, don’t need cheap engagement tricks. They don’t need it because the food is very good, in parts impeccable. I’d argue that outside of the in-a-league-of-it’s-own Opheem this is potentially the strongest Indian kitchen in Birmingham. I’d go one further; order vegetarian and you’ll struggle to eat anywhere better in the city.
I’ll just get the stuff I like less out of the way. Gol Gappa has delicate shells and a lovely chickpea filling but the lemony water that goes inside it is horrid. It tastes like dettol with less of the hygiene benefits. Just give me some spicy tamarind water please. And the chicken in the curry we ordered is tasteless and not at the level of somewhere that shouts about being fine dining on their voicemail. But that’s it. The rest is brilliant. Even the tray of dips that come with the poppadoms scream hard work and effort in the kitchen.
Even now, over a week after eating there, I’m struggling to think of a better aloo tikki chaat. The potato cutlet all but covered in yogurt, chutney, and sev, still punching through in big warming hits of spice. Underneath that is a chaat of chickpea, deft and full of life. It’s a street food dish at heart and what this does well is never veering from the heart of it. Same with the paneer masala dosa, the length and width of a forearm. The rice and lentil crepe is delicate, the filling anything but, singing with freshly made garam masala and chilli. The trio of chutneys are excellent, whilst the sambar – a kind of soupy stew of whatever vegetables are spare – is the ideal breakpoint from the dosa. I tell them that my wife considers sambar to be life’s secret health cure. They come back with a much bigger pot.
Once upon a time we lived near Imlee’s in Acocks Green and the chef – a tall imposing yet gentle mannered man from Hyderabadi – gave us a Pacchi Mirchi curry. It became my mothers favourite curry, so much so that I would be sent up the road once a week to collect one for her, which we would share in front of the fire whilst playing cards. I make no apologies that I ordered this dish for no reason other than I miss her and that I wanted my wife to try one of my mom’s favourite things. It is as I remember, a feisty, mischievous dish of green chillies and black pepper that balances bright heat and bitterness. I just wish the chicken was better quality. Naan bread and rice are both excellent.
The bill is £78 between two with a soft drink for Sophie and a cocktail that’s more passable than exquisite. Still, we’ve found somewhere that we are both keen to return to, maybe in January when we are going vegetarian for six weeks. And a final thank you to Rume, who introduced me to here via a glowing report that detailed dishes which we of course never ordered. I’ve been hard on openings in Birmingham this year because most are uninspiring and bland, but Dilse bucks that trend. I just wish they wouldn’t try so hard to be something they are not.
8/10
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