Our plans for dinner were simple; drive over to Stourbridge to collect a present and go for a quick, one-course dinner at The Old Wharf Inn. Sophie wanted the chicken caesar salad, whilst I was going for the raviolo. Glass of wine for me, soft drink for the wife, fifty quid, done, and home in time to watch the last season of Succession. En route we found out that whilst the pub was open, the kitchen was not, mainly due to some utter woke nonsense that means chefs have to work normal hours like everyone else, have a social life, see their families, not serve Simon Carlo dinner when he wants it, and blah blah bloody blah. Sophie suggests that we drive to Hagley to Plates and Grapes for tapas or Moody’s for pizza, but no, not open or happening, because I can only assume that everyone local in hospitality does their big shop in Merry Hill on a Tuesday. We reach Nickolls and Perks, pick-up said present and have an impromptu whiskey tasting which gives us a chance to talk about next month’s Midlands Whiskey Fest that they are hosting. “Where shall we eat?” I ask Jerome, giving him three local options that I’ve just passed on the journey from car to shop. He discounts one immediately, suggesting that either The Bombay or The Gurkha would work. We can see The Gurkha Bar & Grill from the windows of the tasting room, approximate distance of fifteen metres. I’m a little pissed from the whisky. That’ll do nicely.
There is stuff that I like about them immediately. The warm welcome for a start, and the fact that they are proud to be a Nepalese restaurant and not hiding beneath the generic Indian banner. I like that as soon as we order momos – those wonderful steamed doughy dumplings from Nepal – we are told that they are made fresh to order and would be circa twenty minutes. That’s fine. We order and start to work on a couple of poppadoms, freshly fried with various dips and relishes that feel a cut above the norm. Over my wife’s head F1 repeats play on the big screen. The place is filling up nicely for a Tuesday afternoon.
Stick to the Nepali stuff and you’ll be rewarded with some very cheap and very nice dinner. The momo’s are delicate and light, with minced chicken that is fragranced with ginger and soy, with a tomato achar that punches with balanced acidity and heat. These – if you can discount the ethereal one that occasionally garnishes a main at Opheem – are the best examples of momo I have had. Same with the chicken taka tak, a dish that whilst eaten across the north sub-continent actually owes its roots to the streets of Lahore. Good chicken, thick gravy based sauce that’s been attacked by masala, loads of garlic, loads of chilli. Just great street food with the volume turned up. We stain our fingers by going in with little more than a garlic naan, a sweaty brow, and a grin.
Alas, the mixed grill sees a drop in quality. I’m thankful that they let us swap out the chicken wings for the fish pakora, even if that pakora is cottonwool-like, and neither of us like the cubes of chicken tikka that are short on flavour and long on cooking time. The crimson red sheekh kebabs are the pick of the bunch, pleasingly fatty and smokey like a John Candy look-a-like competition, with a good backbone of pepper and cumin. Despite this I think I’d go back; service was lovely, portions are generous, and the £44 bill for two leaves us with enough food for lunch the following day. Desi pubs are ten-a-penny these days, The Gurkha Bar and Grill has a small point of difference and executes that part of the menu far better than most.
7/10
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