Sophie’s booked Dede for my birthday next year. Those who watch Masterchef The Professionals will know it’s in the arse-end of County Cork, alone in its own picturesque space of rolling green hills, weather-worn beaches, and crisp Atlantic ocean. What they won’t know is the effort it takes to get there from Birmingham; a drive to Holyhead, ferry to Dublin, then drive to Baltimore which will total 11 hours split over 3 nights, or a flight to Cork, rent someone else’s car, and drive for 3 hours. I think we’ll do the former. It immediately brought to mind the other remote restaurants, the ones that top the lists and get people all excited, mostly because of the food but also because of the anticipation and the effort of travelling for a bit of dinner. Simon Rogan’s efforts in getting people to visit a little town south of the Lake District, the winding roads that lead to Gareth’s temple six miles outside of Machyllenth, Nathan Outlaw in a little fishing port in Cornwall and the same for The Sportsman in Whitstable. Go even further and look at the effort it took to get to Faviken and now takes to get to Under. Perceived greatness in restaurants often comes with the caveat of being hard to get to. The Michelin guide was built around the drive to get dinner as an excuse to get those tires rolling. They love it.
But what if that greatness is on your doorstep? What if it’s accessible by uber or even by public transport? What if those who travel can have a seven minute walk from our biggest train station, sharply up a hill, through Paradise Square, over the lights, past the College of Birmingham and into the restaurant. Is that any less special because of the bleak building site that is a city in progress as opposed to one in a picturesque village? It shouldn’t be. And whilst I’m very keen to travel for my dinner I’ve also come to the realisation I’m not going to do much better than what we have here. Opheem is a world class restaurant.
I’d defy anyone to not agree with me after the opening courses in the comfort of the lounge. The palate cleanser of cucumber and chilli, the oyster emulsion in the spicy broth, and the little tuiles that actually taste of something, with gels of chilli and mango, as close to Aktar’s vision of the Indian subcontinent will ever get to a poppadom. The Mont Blanc that is apple macaron, date puree, raw beef, and duck liver mousse, followed by the crab crumpet dressed with curry oil and sour lemon. Two of the great snacks/canapes/bites/nibbles you can eat anywhere in this country. Then the cured sea bream under the rubble of popped wild rice into which more liquor is poured. I think I have said it on here before, and to be honest I am too lazy to check, but Sophie is right in her assessment that the menu could end here and you’d have a great meal.
They have no intention of sitting still. No intention of stopping at two stars. They don’t say as much but it is obvious from the off. Better wines with the pairings, more staff, more refinement whilst upping the spice levels a touch. The first course of tandoori hogget replaces the erratic lamb chop by skewering the meat into pressed rectangular cubes of beast, still with that soft perfumed hum of spice, but now more controlled. And the tandoori carrot bearing little resemblance to the dish I ate on the first service here, now angrier and more pronounced in the veloute, more textures to the carrot. It’s rounder, more elaborate. An unexpected highlight before the real highlight of tandoori scallop with xo and almond korma. What a dish. What. A. Fucking. Dish. One for the special journey Michelin brigade, it is arguably the most complete scallop dish out there. We get aloo tuk. I don’t need to tell you about aloo tuk other than I am unanimous with everyone else about the brilliance of a spud dish with tamarind.
There’s a palate cleanser before the monkfish arrives, dusted in spice and cooked over charcoal until the fish glistens with opaque light. It comes with salsify, crosne (a Japanese variety of artichoke that is buttery and slightly nutty in flavour), a puree of something hot and dark, and one of these sauces that has the hallmarks of Aktar throughout. Deep and concentrated, a little fruity, rooted in Asia with French technique. It is all magnificent. We get bread that I barely touch because by now I am very full, though I do find room to try the lime pickle butter which is brilliant. Read that again. Lime pickle butter. Duck rounds off the last of the protein. Breast cooked on the crown over fire, a bon bon of the leg meat, keema under a cabbage leaf dusted with naga powder. Another killer sauce and some harlequin squash in a couple of ways. Sensational. I just wish I had the room for all of it.
Two deserts are shared between the two of us. Roasted pineapple, yuzu sorbet, chilli, and in the only bit of the afternoon I wasn’t sure of, a little too much desiccated coconut for the rest of the plate. Last of all is a play on the After Eight mints you get after your curry with the bill. Chocolate and mint various ways, playful, witty, a really nice way to finish the meal. We skip the lounge and head out for martinis elsewhere with our petit fours boxed-up.
The tasting menu is £175, the paired wines £155 and we have cocktails in the bar before that which add a further £40 to the bill. You could, if you wanted to, do it for substantially less by eating the lunch menu and sharing a fifty quid bottle of wine, but this is a special restaurant worthy of your full attention. A note about the service; it is up there with the best in London. Wine arrives before courses, explanations are given, and stools appear for expensive handbags. Sophie tells me that Opheem is now the restaurant I have written about most. Good job. After years of having my fragile ego dictate that my favourite restaurant should be one that is unattainable to most, I can know tell you that it is on the rim of the city centre, roughly seven minutes walk away from New Street Station. Every Brummie should be celebrating that we have Opheem.
10/10
