Moseley

Diwan, Moseley

The choice of where to go for a Balti was once so easy. It used to be the answer to ‘where is the best place to eat a balti?’ and then that’s where we’d go. Now it has other factors to include. Have I written about it before? Do people want to read about it? What’s my angle? All these things that you couldn’t care less for and that keep me awake at night, sweating like I’ve just double-dropped in Miss Moneypenny’s circa 2001. We considered Kabbabish as it’s consistent, a couple on Ladypool Rd, and the one my Mom and Dad went to every week which I kind of like keeping to myself. In the end we opt for Diwan, because the people on the Everything Moseley Facebook page seem to like it and because David Cameron once ate there. It was literally for those reasons. Want my angle? I’ve got two: one is phallic-shaped and the other has a snout.

Because that is how pathetic I’ve become. Give me a cheap shot and I’ll neck it and then order another tray. By the time we pull up outside I have an idea for a piece laden with innuendo and profanity; one that would write itself regardless of what the cooking is like. Except it doesn’t work out that way. I ended up having far too much respect for them to do that. The decor might be on the tired side but they are proud to be here; the service is quiet and efficient, the team more in sync than far flashier kitchens in Birmingham. I request lime pickle for the poppadoms that arrive in less than a minute, the same with drinks, whilst our table is cleaned and reset in the time it takes Claire to go to the ladies and back. They are polite and quiet. We are paying guests in their little world and for that I’ll lay off the cheap tricks for once.

During our meal someone I haven’t seen in ages comes over to the table. “Bloody lovely, isn’t it? We come here at least at week”. Whilst I doubt I’ll ever make it weekly, I can see what she means. The casing for the samosa might be too thick but the inside is accurately spiced, whilst under the canopy of salad is an addictive chicken chaat with rich notes of fenugreek and curry leaf. The three curries we try (well one and two further half-portions) are a little too similar in make-up, though that make-up has a good foundation and is evenly applied. The meat is nicely cooked. It’s a bloody good Balti, better than the vast majority in the neighbouring Balti belt. The rice is good and the garlic naan is more than competent. I’d come back. The bill is under £40 including a couple of soft drinks apiece. It appears that our ex Prime Minister was capable of making at least one decent decision during goverment.

7/10

Taxis are a far easier choice than Balti’s. Take A2B

Chakana, Moseley

The menu at Chakana is full of ingredients I am unfamiliar with. I’d heard of yucca because that’s what they eat on Shipwrecked to not die, and Andean Kiwacha, though I thought he played for Arsenal. Huacatay? Bless you. And something called Tiger Milk which I was pleased to hear is not from a predator’s teat. It’s a lot to take in and many questions are asked. Peruvian food simply isn’t well known north of London. Sure, we have ceviche made by chefs who think that a bit of lime juice on some raw fish will do it, but nothing like Lima which became the first (and only) starred Peruvian in the UK six years ago. Until now.

The chef who won over Michelin in 2013 has a new home, swapping bohemian and artsy Soho for bohemian and artsy Moseley. Robert Ortiz, if our brief encounter is to be believed, is here six days a week, working hard in the kitchen whilst the who’s who of the Birmingham hospitality scene handle front-of-house. The interior matches the tone of the food; it’s bright, and eclectic. The heavy textures of the white walls offset are by bright blues; it’s tasteful and very handsome.

This is my first real experience of this cuisine and I’m impressed. Very, very, impressed. We start with tuna ceviche, the ultra-fresh fish dressed prettily in the pink tigers milk. It’s a million miles away from the ceviche I’m used to: the dressing on the fish keeps going; first acidity, then heat, finishing with a little sweetness, yet still still allowing the tuna to be the star. We follow this up with two from the causas section, which are essentially defined by the cold potato bases. Both the chicken and the king crab are excellent, though if pushed to pick I’d choose the crab one which had less sweetness and more of a chilli kick. Again both are as a pretty as a picture. I’d imagine that some people will order and just stare at the food. We certainly did.

Mains are more wholesome offerings. On paper they appear to be protein and starch, though there are complexities in the subtle spicing and layering of the dishes that lift everything. Beef is marinated in vinegar and chilli so that the pink flesh has a back-note of being cooked over flames. There is a charred corn cake, clusters of black quinoa, a kind of nutty salsa and a purée of something fruity, hot, and squash-like. Apologies if the descriptions are vague; it’s a lot of stuff I’ve not eaten before. I just know I’m intrigued and I want to eat more of it. It is the suckling pig that steals the show. It’s Birmingham’s must-eat dish at present. The slow cooked meat collapses easier than our economy, the sweet yucca root is crushed and cut with herbs and the occasional pop of a tart berry that reminds me of sea buckthorn. There are chillis that linger on the back of the palate and root crisps that give the required texture. It’s an accomplished dish well worth £18 of anyone’s money.

If I’ve fallen into hyperbole, then I’m sorry but there is more to come. Desserts continue the trend for me wanting to go back and eat everything. For now you’re just getting the alfajores. It is as it is sold to us – as a dulce de leche custard with meringue – yes, your dreams really have been answered. The dulce de leche is rich, with coffee and caramel notes, the Italian meringue ethereally light. Claire describes it as the best Angel Delight you’ll ever eat, which is why I’ll always be the second best restaurant blogger in our household.

With this we drink some very good cocktails and enjoy a couple of glasses of very nice wine, gently coaxed into our decisions by a team who are well drilled in all things Peruvian. There’s nothing we didn’t love about Chakana; the cooking is interesting and delivered with real skill, keenly priced, and unlike anything we’ve ever had in Birmingham. Since our lunch I’ve been weighing up the score in my head, wavering between a nine and the ten. But this is my blog and my rules, so it’s top marks. The reason is simple; Chakana is easily the most exciting opening of 2019. You absolutely have to try it for yourself.

10/10

Chakana-restaurant.co.uk

I’d strongly recommend several pisco sours and an A2B home

The Dark Horse, Moseley

I offer no apologies for the bias that comes with this post. It would be nigh on impossible for me to write about The Dark Horse without taking into account the many nights I’ve spent in the bar drinking endless of amounts of gin, or beer, or bourbon. It is the place at the bottom of the hill, the two minute six second stroll to the pub, or the four minute stagger home. It is the place where the night occasionally descends into fable, where impromptu limbo contents have been known to occur on a Tuesday night, bottles of overproof rum have been plonked on tables, or endless picklebacks have been drunk until I’ve gone home and mistaken my coat rack as a urinal. The Dark Horse is the place I go for a quiet drink on the way back from work, for the midweek open mic nights, or for a closing time dance on the weekend before half of the village comes back to mine. The good times happen here, that is the least you should know.

And yet I’ve never written about the food. Never really considered it, to be honest. Why should I. I’ve always considered what I do to be a study of a menu, not a post dragged out from a pizza I’ve eaten when I was pissed. Plus I like just being another local with a drink problem to the staff behind the bar instead of the bellend with a blog that I am elsewhere. But things have changed recently. They have a new head chef and the food is slowly taking a new direction; more focus on vegetables, a better understanding of fish; the smoker that was once central to the menu is now another gadget in the large open kitchen out back to be used only when required. The food is better than it ever has been, which I suppose is my job to tell you.

Take the truffle mac’n’cheese, so often a let down of overcooked pasta and gloopy béchamel. Here the pasta retains a little bite and the sauce is big on robust cheddar flavours. I can think of only one place that does a better version in Birmingham and I can’t walk there so in your face, suckers. Smoked salmon is wrapped around a salmon and beetroot mousse, before being encased in sheets of pasta and cut into cylinders. It comes on slick of beetroot puree and with a few sweet potato crisps. Yes, it is a bit cheffy, and no, I didn’t expect to see it on the menu (it’s still not on the online version…), but christ is it good. Balanced and delicate, it shows a new direction that happens to be far stronger than the old one.

When they do look to the smoker it’s still cooking of a high standard. The beef tacos are no longer cooked to a mush, now having enough texture to know it is animal you’re eating. The rest of it works; the tacos (likely shop purchased, but frankly who cares) the guac and the chilli. Same goes for the burrito; I dont like the flabby tortilla and I’ve told them as much, but I do like the control and the balance of the filling that never sits still in the mouth. In particular I like the rice that has a slight Persian feel to it and the grilled chicken which is more fragrant than spicy. That chicken returns for a salad that looks and tastes far too healthy to be within these four walls. Claire mutters something about walking down to eat this as a healthy dinner, which to me sounds like a great excuse for a pint.

I can tell you from watching the World Cup here that the pizza is decent, and from a recent work night out that the BBQ beans taste great on just about anything. I can tell you from a meal a few months ago that the Kansas city chicken would not be on my personal list of recommendations, but that even the most robust of meateaters will enjoy the vegan goodness of the Texas caviar salad, even if I still have absolutely no idea what Texas caviar is. I can tell you that that when you get there Karolina will be smiling from behind the bar and Ellis will be giving even the straightest men a stonker in their y-fronts. I can tell you that my mate Tom will be sat on the patio having a pint with just about anybody, and that should you see him you should buy him one for services towards Moseley. Most of all I can tell you that the food is a world away from what it once was and is well worthy of your time. I hear they also do a great Sunday roast, though I’m usually far too hungover to try that personally.

8/10

I once got an A2B home here. True Story.

Peacer, Moseley

Some friends of ours told me a story about the origin of Peacer. Allegedly two friends were sending messages to one another after a big night out, both craving pizza to cure them of their hangover. The story continues with them not being able to get the type of pizza they wanted, whereupon they made a pact to open their own pizza shop. It took three years from that point to open Peacer, a new space in half of what used to be the ill-fated Starfish and Coffee on a burgeoning Woodbridge Rd that is fast becoming the food hub of Moseley. Is it true? Well, I have no idea, but I certainly hope so. Restaurants born out of friendship, passion, and silly ideas may be the accountants worst nightmare, though to me it’s brilliant. If you want a New York style slice shop, why not open one? It’s an attitude so fantastically up-and-at-them they could actually be in NYC. Except they are in Moseley, where the people are nicer and a little bit more smelly.

Now let’s keep this real short. Did I like Peacer? Yes I did, Dear Reader, quite a bit actually. I like what they have done with the place, which is both minimalist and practical with petrol blue walls and wooden tables of various shades. I like that they have looked at the small details hard, coming to the right conclusion that every table should have a bottles of Pip’s hot sauce, even if this is optimistic about the honesty of humans. I like that they are doing something different. The premise is simple; large slices of pizza by the slice, five options a day, at £3.50 each. This isn’t the soupy Neapolitan style doing the rounds at the moment that billows hot air from puffed-up crusts, but one that was born in the US of A, like Bruce Springsteen and obesity. The texture is more one dimensional, fillings go from the centre right to the edge, and those crusts are more like crimps. I try three slices, of which I like them all in varying degrees. Perhaps unsurprisingly it is one containing pineapple I like the least, though the sweetcorn and spring onion give it a brightness I wasn’t expecting. I thought the chilli and hot honey one would be my favourite, though as good as it was, it was the halloumi with smoked cheddar that I almost went back for seconds of. This is inspired; sweet and smokey, rife with fatty notes cut through with just a little red onion. £3.50 for a slice? Give me the entire wheel and cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. And pour me another pint of Tiny Rebel whilst you’re at it.

Now we’re going to have to discuss the elephant in the room. The more observant of you may have noticed the lack of meat in the above. I never questioned it, but it would appear that Peacer have opened a vegetarian pizza slice and beer bar without ever saying they are vegetarian. Now I kind of have to point this out because I know some of you can’t operate without a bit of meat in your mouth, but having lived with a vegetarian for six years I was happy about it. These pizzas simply don’t need meat; they are considered, carefully constructed, and, most importantly, really tasty. I can see myself coming here a lot, probably mid-walk from The Prince to The Dark Horse, maybe on the way home for a sneaky slice on the nights we are going to eat boring – sorry, I mean healthy – food. One thing is absolutely sure: in a city saturated with pizza, Peacer is the ideal fit for this particular neighbourhood.

8/10

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Katsu Kitchen, Moseley

I can list as many reasons as I like for starting this blog, but there was only ever one: to gain the respect of chefs. I’ve long had an obsession with the industry, the skill of the knifework, the craft in being able to construct dishes, almagamating flavours into one cohesive dish that balances acidity and sweet, as well as understanding viscosity and texture. Part of me wishes I could have been a chef – I’m a good amateur – and it could have been so different. When I was fifteen I was due to do two weeks work experience at the UCB, only to fall off a bike the afternoon prior and tear up my hand in such a manner that they sent me straight home without passing reception. Maybe this blog is a continuation of the fifteen year old Simon, minus the acne and the obsession with my English teacher, Miss Pope. I’ve said for a while that as soon as I felt like I’ve gained the respect of the industry I’ll call time on this and find a new hobby. If I haven’t got there yet, I am certainly very close to that position. The end is nigh.

A few weeks ago a friend of mine within the industry let me see the other side of the counter. Yes, some idiot really did entrust me with serving customers for his business. I didn’t cook – he’s not that stupid – but I did put bits of meat on breads and fold and roll and ask if they needed sauces and chips. I had a great time working 18 hours over a two day period, drinking more gin than I probably should have and wearing inappropiate footwear. It’s tough work, let me tell you that. I left with tremendous admiration for anyone who could do this full time, promising myself that I would remember how hard it is everytime I was about to say something not nice about someone else’s cooking.

This brings me to Katsu Kitchen, a new restaurant in Moseley that I desperately want to be really nice about but can’t. As great an idea it is to specialise in breaded cutlets of meat, it has to be better than this for me to say otherwise. And that has to start with the raw produce. What they presently have is a small list of things priced mostly under a tenner. Those things are delivered with mostly a good level of skill, but the end product is lack lustre because the proteins they start with are of such poor quality.

We order a chicken katsu, a tonkatsu (the breaded pork from where this movement originated) donburi, and a side of chicken dippers served with a mug of katsu sauce. Despite being fried the chicken has a spongyness to the texture and doesn’t really taste of much, whilst the katsu sauce has a deep flavour with slight burnt notes on the finish. For your £9.90 you get this, rice, an egg which I don’t eat because its from a caged bird, and some lovely pickles. For a fiver less you can have five pieces of the chicken and the mug of sauce that is more of the same. The pork on the donburi is not good: stringy, fatty, and grey. Like Sam Alladyce. I try one piece and decide that rice is the way to go. The rest of the dish is a curryless katsu, though credit to the service who get us more of the brown sauce which is loaded with umami. The front of house are great throughout.

The above and an orange juice clock in at just over £25.00, an affordable amount but one that I won’t be running back to anytime soon. Throughout the meal we were trying to find positives, yet the biggest we could come to is that it is walking distance from our home. For me, there is no comparison to be had with the rice bowl at Tiger Bites Pig which is less money than this, and those looking for katsu will have a better time at Yakinori or even Wagamama. These are the hard facts. You want the best food, start with the best possible ingredients. It’s that simple. The kitchen are working with cheap meats and unforgivable eggs at present, and it’s showing in the finished product. There might be a decent restaurant in here with time if these things change. Maybe.

5/10

You don’t need to walk to a restaurant, not when A2B can take you there

Calum Franklin vs Brad Carter, Carters of Moseley

Brad Carter has a cookbook coming out in a couple of weeks. I say cookbook loosely; the recipes are of the staff meals they cook in between shifts, intermittently placed between pages of Brad’s friends, his inspirations, and his producers. I’ve had a quick look and it really is unlike any cookbook I’ve seen before; it’s going to look great on my coffee table. The pages that matter to me are around halfway through, jet black and with ‘Birmingham’ emblazed across the widest points. It is everything you need to know about Brad in a one-word synopsis.

Part of that love for Birmingham extends to the occasional Sunday evening collaborations with friends of his. There have been recent voyages into Chinese and Thai cuisine which I cant tell you about because I never went, and this one with Calum Franklin which I was given no choice about. Mr Franklin of Holborn Dining Room is well known for his pastry skills, a food type that is effectively heroin to my Northern girlfriend. I’m not saying that she was determined to go, but I was sent a calender event for when booking opened, and we had two alarms, three phones and a laptop ready. She may have lost her shit a bit when it wouldnt let us on to the booking screen, and she was elated when we secured a table. Want Claire anywhere? Promise her things that remind her of home like pie, rain, and the decline of the coal industry. Gin also works, but gravy works better.

What follows is three hours of food that I’m still trying to walk off two weeks later and Claire would describe as the most enjoyable night she’s had in a Birmingham restaurant. The first course is listed as a tart, but is really a vol-au-vent of puff pastry filled with the components of lobster thermidore. The luxurious touches come in the form of a breaded claw, rising proudly from the pastry, and a little Exmoor caviar for salinity. It is cheesy, yet with a whack of the ocean. If seventies dinner parties tasted this good I’d gladly wear flares and grow my pubes to travel back in time.

The showpiece was up next, paraded by Brad throughout the dining room like he was in a beauty pageant for bearded men in shorts. A patè en croute bearing the words ‘Carters vs HDR’ the along the length, which when sliced contained a centrepiece of the acid house smiley face – a tattoo that Carter has on the inside of his bicep. To me, this was the strongest course; the filling of rabbit, pork, and pistachio distinct, lightened by the turmeric coloured chicken mousseline that makes up the face. The pastry is rich, though not as rich as the decadent rabbit jelly that has been fed into it all day. On the side are fermented mushrooms cooked in butter, and mustard seeds sweetened with local honey. The acidity is gentle, leaving the pastry as the king. It is the complete dish. Last year we tried a world championship winning patè en croute at Daniel et Denise in Lyon: this was better.

And without wishing to sound like a press release, the fun didnt stop there. A scotch egg was executed perfectly, the filling of white pudding and pork highly seasoned, the bright yolk oozy and luscious. What we really love is the buttermilk and wild garlic sauce that is sharp and has the astrigency of white garlic thanks to last years pickled garlic buds. A pithivier of mutton finishes off the savoury courses, with the suprise of a top-half of layered spuds on entry. It is, as the table next to us point out, essentially a cottage pie encased in puff pastry, and if the sound of that doesn’t turn you please take those eyes of yours elsewhere because we don’t want you here. The asparagus spears cooked in lamb fat are just plain naughty, too. Shout out to my girlfriend who shows the dining room just how Northern she is by filling one half of the pastry shell with gravy. Her mother would be so proud.

Dessert is a Paris Brest – 2019’s most on trend pastry – filled with raspberry creme pattiserie lightly scented with rose. It would have been easy to kill this with floral notes, but they hold on to the essence of those lovely raspberries and choux pastry. I have no idea how I fit it in, but I do. It’s been a long night.

The menu ticks in at £75 a head and we add a considerable amount more tucking into far much pink wine and then red wine and then more pink wine and a little more red wine. It’s not a cheap Sunday evening, nor should it be. Birmingham needs nights like this; chefs of Calum Franklins ability showing us something entirely unique – we’re booking in to Holborn Dining Room to try more of his work as a result, so it’s worked from that perspective. It was a fantastic night, one that makes me smile thinking about it even now. Brad Carter lives and breathes this city. We should all be very thankful for that.

A2B love Birmingham almost as much as Brad and ferried my fat arse around as ever.

Palmyra, Moseley

One of the things about this blog that I find tricky is how to address the decline in standards. I eat out three, maybe four times a week, frequently in the same places. I don’t write about all these meals because a) I can’t arsed, and b) it would be incredibly boring for you to hear about my 176th meal in a place that never changes its menu. It would be naive of me to think that any place keeps to the same level week-in-week-out for years on end, yet my words on a restaurant are merely a singular snapshot of one meal that I’ve had. This I’m extremely aware of. There are presently places – iconic places at that – in Birmingham city centre that I would avoid because I don’t think they are as good as they should be, and likewise there are a few which are marginally better than when I first went. It is a balancing act to know when to steam in on these places, when to praise them, or when to just leave them alone. It is a balancing act that I am yet to master, mostly because I am really shit at balancing. I can tell you that the last pizza we had at Otto was the best we’ve eaten from there, that Bonehead has hit a consistent stride just in time for the head chef to leave, and that my patience with Lewis’s has pretty much ran out.

Damascena is one of those places. It’s probably ill practice for me to mention the competition for a similar restaurant that I am about to rave about, but the truth is Damascena is not as good as it used to be. We used to eat from there once a week. Then once a fortnite. Now hardly ever. The standard has dropped, and I have no problem mentioning this because I wrote to them to tell them some time ago. They wrote back with an answer that was refreshingly honest and infuriatingly blood boiling in equal parts.

But fear not, Dear Readers. Both of you. We have a new kid in town and hopefully this one won’t be tripe in two years time. Palmyra, I gather, comes from a previous employee of Damascena, and is located about 40m away from said establishment. It is absolutely-no-doubt-at-all better than the place over the road: the only questions are whether it is better than Damascena ever was, and if it is the best of its kind in the entire city, to which I say yes on both fronts. The decor is loud and boisterious, with more gold than a rappers mouth and the subtlety of a footballer’s wardrobe. I settle on the soft furnishings by the window and subsequently get told off for not ordering at the counter. I order a mezza for one and strike a deal to add meat to the hummus for an extra quid. I also add barrata harrah and a drink, taking my bill up to the heady heights of £17.09. Please keep that figure in mind.

From that mezza is a tahini heavy hummus, possibly a little overworked, topped with chicken shwarma that has crisp fat and delicate meat. It has a fattoush salad, sharp and spicy, with those addictive shards of pastry that add bite. There is a bowl of fuul with lingering heat, full of ripe tomato notes and thickened with blitzed up fava bean. It is topped with chopped tomatoes and plenty of fresh herbs, and I take pride in pressing the flat breads against the edge of the bowl and not leaving a scrap. That fuul is remarkable, as is the falafel which is the best I’ve eaten anywhere. The coating has been fried to a crisp, the inside soft and dissipating in the mouth. It is how I imagine falafel should tastes but never does. I plough through the two slices of salty halloumi, leaving the olives and salad to be boxed for later. Its a lot of food for what is normally (meat free) £9. It could easily feed two people. The barrata harrah is completely unnecessary but so good. A huge portion of spicy potatoes with flavours that refuse to sit still. Again, as good as I’ve eaten anywhere.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that I enjoyed Palmyra a lot, so much so that I attempt to personally thank the chef whilst paying. He doesn’t see me; he’s too busy dancing in the kitchen. It’s probably for the best. I’ve found somewhere that I love again: a little place down the road from me that serves the most incredible middle-eastern food full of vibrancy and flavour. I really hope that in two years time I’m not moaning about them too, though for now I’ll just take having them around.

9/10

Moseley a little tricky to get to? Let A2B do the hard work

Nyetimber dinner at Little Blackwood

Last October I attended the inaugural Nyetimber dinner at Little Blackwood. It was the night before my best mate’s stag in Prague, a gentle five courses with matching fizz to ease into an eventful four days which saw my liver hand in it’s notice period two days before we flew home. We knew the dinner was going to be great fun when we arrived at 7pm; the wine merchant was here, the street food pioneer, several restauranteurs, the spirits agency (booze, not Derek Accora), and me, date partner for my very beautiful editor/photographer/accountant/life partner. We’re all here because we can spot a bargains when we see one: £75 quid for a dinner at one of the best neighbourhood bistros in the city with wine whose retail value alone can’t be far off the ticket price. It was great; a man spoke about the fizzy stuff, we drank the fizzy stuff and ate the food. I may have got tipsy and the night may have ended many hours after it should have. It was one of my favourite nights of 2018.

When they announced further sets of dates I threw my deposit straight at them without checking that Claire wasn’t skiing in Canada. She was. I end up on a boys date; just two absolute lads doing the absolute lads thing of drinking fine wine, discussing global politics, and eating really, really good food in a relaxed enviroment. What lads. The menus here just keep on getting better. More appealing, more balanced. There is a skill in writing menus and Ben has nailed it. The first course is more canape in size; a tapioca and seaweed cracker with blobs of mint gel and carrot puree that is bright and earthy and goes very well with the classic cuvee. Following this is a pig cheek in a lobster bisque the bronzed colour of a Benidorm pensioner. The bisque is heavily reduced and super rich, almost too much for the cheek which is cooked to a soft and gelatinous texture. Caviar adds an elegant salinity. It’s lovely, classical cooking, that would benefit from a bit of respite somewhere. With this is the Blanc de Blanc, my personal favourite of the Nyetimber range.

The highlight of the night would be the monkfish, dusted in Indian spices and cooked to an opaque centre. We have a little flatbread topped with tarka dahl, slithers of charred mango, and best all of a curry leaf pesto that provides huge waves of flavour. I’ve said it before, Ben really knows how to work spice; he judges it better than most chefs who specialise in that cuisine. This is no different – it’s bold and skilled and downright delicious. It also goes very well with the pricey, but very tasty, 2013 Tillington Single Vineyard.

By now I’m getting full. The last savoury course is duck breast, skin precisely rendered down, the meat cooked to a consistent pink. A little cottage pie of the leg meat on the side is where the fun is at, balanced out by roasted carrots and a vivid beetroot puree. Nyetimbers Rose sees us through this course excellently. We finish on half a custard tart each, a little stewed rhubarb, a poached baton of the same fruit, and some clotted cream. The pastry is excellent to the point that I’d like to see more of it here. I could have easily had a full one to myself and then some again. I should have asked. With all of this we drink a really lovely Rhone Valley red from a wine list curated by Chris Connolly in the way he does, before bidding farewell to the night.

Little Blackwood has been open less than a year and I’ve lost count of the amounts of time I’ve eaten here. For me it encapsulates exactly what a neighbourhood restaurant should be; friendly, affordable, embracing the spirit of the community. They do all of this whilst offering a menu that changes frequently and these occasional evenings filled with pizzaz. I hide no facts that it is 120m from my front door, and to anyone that thinks this may affect my judgement please consider that Deolali and Sorrento Lounge are almost as close. The location of Little Blackwood is a perk, nothing more, and they have carved out their own audience with smart cooking at fair prices. I honestly don’t think I could ask for a better local restaurant.

Birmingham’s Top Eight Dishes For Under A Fiver

Last January I gave you Birmingham’s top ten dishes for under a tenner; a well-researched ensemble of culinary treats that wouldn’t break the bank. It is still a very good list one year on, showing that when it comes to useless lists that you’ll almost certainly never use, it is I who truly separates the wheat from the chav. But a lot has changed in twelve months. A new threat has emerged, with a long winter ahead of this country looming in the vague shape of Game of Thrones season 8. Brexit, also. I want to give you even more value. So back once again like the renegade master, here is eight dishes in Birmingham for under a fiver with not a Greggs vegan sausage roll in sight. And if eight seems a funny number, you’re right. I had more than five but less than ten with zero filler: these really are the best dishes in town if you’re looking to save the pennies.

Tamworth Pork Sausage Roll, £3.75. Kilder.

This is how you do a sausage roll. Pork from an animal that has lived off the land, spiced with black pepper, and a good fat to meat ratio. The pastry is buttery and flaky. You get a choice of sauces whereupon you should consider brown and then choose brown. And don’t believe them for sticking this under the ‘snack’ banner; this is a lunch for one by itself. Website

White Cut Chicken Bao, £4.50. Tiger Bites Pig.

It was about this time last year that Birmingham went into meltdown over a new opening that specialised in bao. They were rubbish; these most certainly are not. Fluffy pillows of joy filled with smart flavours, my pick of the two under a fiver is this one with poached chicken and crispy skin. Keep an eye out for the forthcoming full review; its a cracker. Website.

Aloo Tikki Chaat, £4.50. Zindiya

This and the chicken tikka have been my go-to order for almost two years, and this dish in particular is probably my favourite vegetarian plate of food in the entire city. Essentially a chickpea curry with a spiced potato patty in the centre, it has bags of attitude. I eat it at least once a week. Website

Pork and Fennel Scotch Egg, £4.50. Pint Shop

But the scotch egg at Pint Shop is an onion bhajii, I hear you say? Correct, young whippersnapper, but there is also one downstairs at the bar that you might like even more. Given the choice I would plump for the more conventional of the two which has more flavour of pork. But what does this multi-award winning nobody know? Quite a lot, actually. Website.

Slice of Pizza, £3.00. Baked in Brick.

I would love to have included an entire pizza in this list but pizza doesn’t grow on five pound trees in this country. Instead I would like to draw your attention to probably Birmingham’s best pizza, which also happens to be the only one I know of which does pizza by the slice. Whatever is on will do; a large wedge of the good stuff and some chilli oil to dredge the crusts through. Website.

Batagor, £5.00. Ngopi.

Thank Farah for this. She took my girlfriend who got all excited and insisted we go. It’s one of the most intriguing dishes in Birmingham that could go on to become a cult classic. Fried chicken and prawn wontons join fried tofu in a peanut sauce marriage of harmony. I honestly never knew Indonesian food could be so interesting. Another full review incoming.

Smoked Beetroot, goats cheese, horseradish and watercress salad, £5.00. Purecraft Bar.

It’s January, you want to be healthy and frugal, right? Purecraft have got your back. Like everything else they do, this is loaded with flavour. The ideal light dinner. Website.

Bao, £4. Little Blackwood.

They are going to murder me for this. The baos are a dessert option as part of a set menu, but get them individually and they are billed at £4 each – I know this because I have paid for them. You’ll probably only get away with this doing what we do, which is by drinking wine on the stools and begging for them. The only dessert on the list, these deep fried bao are similar to donuts when cooked, sliced open and filled with whatever flavours are on: it could be rosehip, salted caramel, champagne, banoffee, or numerous others. The ideal way to finish a meal, and indeed this list. Website.

Want to do this as a food crawl? I’ll join you. Let’s take an A2B. Seriously, let’s do this.

Little Blackwood, August 2018

In my usual frantic rush to write about anywhere decent first, I may have been a little hasty with my original review of Little Blackwood. For a start I decsribe the service as “kind and well meant, if a little raw”. Well you can scrap the raw bit from that now. I make note that the Asian influences that run through the menu, which, although still there, could be joined by flourishes of European or occasionally South American on what is a now distinctly British restaurant. Reading the first review back it’s clear there was potential which has been realised now for several months. Little Blackwood has transformed into a neighbourhood bistro perfect for its Moseley enviroment.

It helps that they change the menu in full every month, each one based on the success of the last. They have a firm understanding of what the customer wants, tailoring the dishes likewise. When we first came there was ‘steak if you want’, now it seems that beef is omnipresent, whether that be as a crispy salad starter or as sharing cote du beouf for two as main. The wine list, an initial bugbear of mine, is now an ass-kicking list of low to mid range beauties, joined by a carefully curated cocktail menu. The evolution has taken four months. On the Friday we first visit the dining room is pretty much empty; on this early evening Thursday visit they are turning tables away.

It helps that the food has got better and better and better. A hash of chorizo and black pudding is big and earthy, becoming an unrestrained party when the poached egg yolk is cut loose. A jus with the sweet and sour notes of tamarind turns the volume up to eleven rather than calms it down. On the flip of this is bruscetta where notes of garlic lurk somewhere between the dice of tomato and bread. On the side of this is burrata, smoked under the cloche the plate arrives in. It’s simple in practice with enough nuanced flavours cleverly hidden across it to keep fools like me interested.

The best bit of the meal here happens to be the best dish I’ve eaten at Little Blackwood. A supreme of chicken, I assume first cooked sous-vide and then finished in the pan, is all beautiful flesh and crisped, salty, skin. The adornments of tenderstem brocolli, chanterelles, and light-as-a-feather gnocchi are all it needs, with a jus of the cooking juices lightened with a touch of lemon juice. I don’t think this dish would have happened four months back, when the desire was to show technique and load the plate with elements. This is simple cooking, perfectly seasoned. Simplistic enough to fulfil a midweek dinner, special enough to warrant eating on a more lavish occasion. Also special was panfried hake with a paella of clams, rabbit, and chorizo. The paella is as good as any in the city, the rice accurately cooked and taking on all the rabbit stock. It looks and eats great. Dessert is still the deep fried baos. They are still great, in particular the banoffee that packs plenty of flavour.

Pricing has altered now to £24 for two courses, three for £30, and a good amount less at lunch. It’s a steal for the quality. We’ve been to Little Blackwood on numerous times since they opened, to eat a couple of courses, sometimes to just sit at the bar and soak up the atmosphere. It’s great seeing the growth, watching a passionate young couple develop a very good local restaurant. The people of Moseley are clearly lapping it up. Long may that continue.

Transport provided by A2B Radio Cars