It’s been four years since I last wrote about Dishoom. In those four years they have established themselves as part of the Birmingham hierarchy, taking what is prime real estate and encouraging neighbours like Alberts Schloss, the voom-voom racey-racey place, Le Bellezza and the Yorks Coming Soon signage into the area. They’ve cooked bacon naans galore, served-up bottomless chai, and explained on numerous occasions that Ruby Murray is not in fact Andy’s randy aunt but a dreadful term for a curry that nobody needs. It is always busy. Always. Dishoom is somewhat untouchable in the city of Birmingham and to be honest it’s having a negative effect on the food coming out of the kitchen.
I’ve thought it for a while but I had little to back it up. We go for breakfast quite a bit because breakfasts in the city centre are generally shit and they had a six month period where they’d constantly get it wrong, meaning I ate a lot of free breakfasts. Eggs cooked until the yolk could be used for indoor cricket, or bacon barely cooked at all. Solo lunches, usually consisting of chilli chicken, dhaal, and a garlic naan where the chicken went from being one of my favourite things to just another bit of my life that constantly disappoints despite how much I invest in it. Two weeks ago a lunch left me livid for being so poor. We went again because they have new bits on the menu and because dear friends have incredibly never been. I’m less angry now, more nonplussed.
The poppads of old have gone, all four shards of them, replaced with new cheap-crisp style ones that taste like Pombears less interesting sibling, straight out of a packet with a mango chutney that is as boring as it is useless. They’ve updated the pau bhaji to hospital food; sloppier than a dog’s kiss with a similar taste profile, whilst the much changed keema pau is at least a better, spicier, more purposeful version than that of old. My opinion of the chilli chicken hasn’t changed; when done well it is one of the great dishes of the city, though they need to check the intensity of the chillies. Some days it is spicy, others barbaric in heat because the kitchen work from a standardised recipe that they cook seven days a week throughout the year, and chillies don’t play ball on consistency. As it is, last night was one of the better I’ve had of late.
But then there is the other side of what Dishoom has become. Bigger menu and more scope to appease the groups that contain people who would rather be in Bella Italia over an anglicised take on an Irani cafe in a country they’ll likely never visit; meaning that there are corners of the menu which are so boring Bill Murray has earmarked it for the sequel to Lost in Translation. I implore you never to order the Makhmali paneer because absolutely nothing happens. It’s pointless. Eat a pack of Dairylea slices in one go instead, just remember to take the plastic off. Actually either way will be a better option. The garlic naan is good but then it always is.
Our vegan pals order their own five vegan dishes and keep them in their vegan mitts, leaving us with a total bill of £163 including five drinks and service charge, which is absolutely fine but at least give us some service worth paying for. Don’t get the drink order wrong, try to remember that one of half of the table eats meat and don’t give the hard sell on the twenty-five-quid lamb special to the two people who aren’t keen on slaughter for human consumption. At one point a manager comes over to ask how everything is and then leaves before I hit the fourth syllable of ‘err, it’s okay’. And okay it was. Just okay. Like British summertime or Beyonce’s attempt at country music. Dishoom has changed a lot over the last four years. I’m not sure it is for the best.
6/10
