It’s shortly after 7am, I’m aboard a train to go and work in London for a few days. If you haven’t heard of The London, which is perfectly acceptable, it’s a small commuter village conveniently one hour away from Birmingham. The train is packed and I’m squeezed into one of the last available seats because the seat I booked doesn’t exist. Bravo, Avanti West Coast you useless sack of shit. My head hurts. It’s not a new feeling; I live in a perpetual fog of regret. Last night was Alberts Schloss. It’s always his bloody Schloss.
Albert has now been residing in his Birmingham house for four months. I’m slow on the uptake writing it up because there was a press night where I turned up too pissed with mates to eat the free food but not too pissed to enjoy the free bar, and then I went — lots — and managed to delete the piece I’d written whilst on an Alberts Schloss hangover in what Alanis Morrisette would describe as a fucking nightmare. Sometimes I go and don’t have an appetite. I like to think that they wouldn’t be bothered if I don’t write about the Birmingham site, but they pay for a PR so they clearly are. You’ll get a snapshot now complete with my rubbish pictures (a snapshit?!), because this is my patch and my rules.
First of all, it’s very good. Not Oyster Club precise good, more feed the soul until it bursts good. Start with the pretzels to see how good an example they can be in the right hands. Move on to the croquettes, any of them, but the ham if you push me, oozing cheesey goodness like Pat Sharpe on Fun House. Experience tells me that the meatballs in a pokey tomato sauce is substantial enough for a government approved pint. It makes a good lunch or light dinner. Drink schnapps. For mains stick to pork, either as the knuckle of crisp skin and flesh that clumps away from the bone, or the bratwurst style sausages made even better with a curry sauce. Maybe don’t order the burgers, but you really don’t need to when the currywurst is so good. Drink more schnapps.
I haven’t had any desserts in Brum, though I can finish with a solid recommendation. The breakfast pastries here are up there with the best in the city (see also; Early Bird, Mulino), headed up by a talent I’ve followed throughout my adult life. Howing is a superstar, Albert is very lucky to have him. The pastries are laminated, a good thing given you’ll likely need to wipe them clean of fluid after seeing them. They are the ideal way to ease off a hangover from a night dancing on tables to the best cabaret acts in the city. It could have been so easy to sit back and not put any effort into the food here. Instead they’ve made it a place worthy of a meal in itself. I have a lot of time for that mentality.
9/10
