Can we go straight to the curried mutton? Let’s go straight to the curried mutton. A dish that resulted in me sending multiple WhatsApp’s to people over dinner to tell them to cancel all plans and go get it themselves. A dish that drew obvious comparisons to the other curried mutton dishes I’ve had in this city, in other cities, and in other countries with way better weather. A dish that was the last thing Sophie mentioned to me before she fell to sleep leaving me alone with CM Punk, and the first thing she brought up as I was brushing my teeth at 6am this morning. I was going to say it’s always a good sign when sleep is book-ended by the same thought but it rarely is. Let’s just say that this is one of the good times. Looking back on my messages I’ve said I’ll go back with five different friends. Don’t ever let it be said I’m not committed to this.
That mutton curry is deep and aromatic, sauce glossy and thickened by both bone and marrow. It is the product of low heat and time, of caramelising meat and layering-up the flavours until it speaks in a voice so low and soothing it could be Barry White reading Jackanory. The meat doesn’t require a knife. The meal doesn’t require a conversation. It is life affirming, soul warming, hold-on-to-your-loved ones levels of brilliance. Sophie wants the chunks of meat over the rice and peas, I want that liquor all over the proper chips. We both get what we want and we are so pleased for it.
I’ve eaten Esmies food before at street food events and loved it, yet here, in the calming space of Temper and Brown on Albion Street it feels a little more accomplished. A bigger space to cook means a bigger menu to offer and there is tapas that doesn’t need to be called tapas which are really just small plates of stuff you’ll find dotted around the Caribbean; such as the trini doubles from Trinidad, an island I’ve never been to but a dish I’ve eaten before. These are brilliant. Calling them curried chickpeas is a disservice, they are cooked from memory out of love, light from the pica de gallo-like blend of tomato and onion, and soured with tamarind. The flat breads merely a vessel to soak up the juices and stop you having to use your finger to clean the plate. We order the giant dumpling, surely born from streetfood events where consumers demand something grippable, carved in half and filled with jerk chicken, peppers and onions, served with proper chips and ‘slaw. The jerk chicken is excellent; licked with fire and smoke, I think I’ll take it au natural next time.
And then there is the mac’n’cheese, better than any mac we had last year in Barbardos, which is a low bar admittedly , but one I’ll mention given these are just £5. The trini doubles are £6, the mains £13 each, and we have soft drinks because I’m on antibiotics. The service is kind and sincere and family-led from this rather lovely family-led gastropub in the Jewellery Quarter. As an aside, this ticks every box of a national food critic looking for that unicorn of an affordable place doing brilliant things, so much that I nearly messaged one to offer them this meal before I put it out. But we go on holiday in two weeks and I have no time left to take an afternoon off, nor wait for their queue of restaurants to reach this particular one six weeks after they visit. I guess they will have to find out like everyone else just how incredible the food is here. Have I mentioned the curried mutton?
9/10
*Please read. There is a newsletter coming very soon. Once a month, a recap of where I’ve been and a little exclusive opinion. I’d really appreciate you signing up.
