I guess an indicator of how well restaurants are doing is the feedback I receive on the words I have written about them from the very people who have read about the restaurants on this rather excellent website. Sometimes – but very rarely – I get it wrong and readers quite rightly let me know that. In my defence, I’ve been doing this long enough to make it difficult in Birmingham to go somewhere where I’m not known to some extent, whether that be by a customer, or member of staff, right up to that time the manager told me my picture was in the kitchen. This means, I suppose, I often get slightly treated better, or at the very minimum they try a bit harder. Like the time when I had a Sunday roast unknowingly cooked by a group executive chef who came from another site after they flagged my name, wrote about it, and the roast that some readers had one week later was described as ‘dogshit’ and ‘possibly the worst £20 they had ever spent’. And likewise, the readers will often let me know when I’m doing it right. They did last week with a couple of lovely emails about Opheem and they did the last time I wrote about Cuubo. One messaged me to say that “as well as Opheem, it is their favourite place to eat in Birmingham”.

A couple of things to point out before I crack on with the food. You may already know that Cuubo is at the top of my road. For me to walk to Harborne High Street I have to pass it, meaning that every time I nip to the shops, the bus stop, or the pub I go via Cuubo. I see Dan more than I see my own father, which is not a reflection on me being a dreadful child, but because of this route and also because Dan often parks on my road. We’re mates. I almost killed him asking him to make our wedding croquembouche. But crucially, I don’t get special treatment because the restaurant is so tiny that every person in Cuubo can see Dan and vice versa. I paid for this dinner like I pay for all of my dinners there, and as Chris and Meg will testify, when it is busy not even I can swing a table in the restaurant. It’s twenty-two covers and that’s your lot. Not even a spot outside my front door can alter that.

Now the food. A very nice martini followed by some of the best bread in Birmingham. A sourdough that tastes of sourdough and is slightly lactic with a chewy, almost meaty crust. With this comes excellent butter topped with toasted yeast, a simple idea but one that everybody I go with seems to adore. Pea gazpacho for us both to start; a bright and cooling bowl of sweet verdant notes with pops of interest everywhere. Pea shoots, feathery dill, juicy peas. Cuubo isn’t reinventing the wheel, merely taking it on a lovely holiday to the Mediterranean for a tan and little inspiration.

Sophie gets cod for main. It’s cooked irritatingly perfectly. Sweet and sour tomatoes, courgette puree, I think the light suggestion of basil or at least something faintly anise that works with the salty samphire. I get the braised beef coated in that thick, intensely flavoured sauce that stays exactly where it is told. It’s a newish take on the dish that goes full Maccie D’s on the garnish; grilled lettuce, cheese sauce, gherkins, beef fat croutons, and crispy bacon. It takes skill to make braised beef feel summery. Dan has skill for days.



Sophie goes off-menu for dessert and gets me to ask them for sgroppino for her, which is basically sorbet with a big shot of vodka poured over to the top. Try it sometime. I get the millefeuille of strawberry, vanilla, and basil, served-up with a mind-blowingly good strawberry sorbet. A proper dessert, with sugar and acidity. Just superb. The bill is just shy of £200 including a bottle of red and a couple of cocktails, and I’d argue there aren’t many (if any) better places knocking around at that price point. As an aside, we got the lovely vicar who married us gift vouchers for a dinner here as a thank you. We did it because the food is great, it’s intimate, and it embodies community in the way that neighbourhood restaurants should. Cuubo fully deserves all of the success and awards that will come with time.
10/10
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