The Old Crown, Digbeth

The Old Crown looks like it has no place on Digbeth High Street. It sits between the handsome façade of the Custard Factory and a less than desirable row of shops, its monochrome timber exterior wonkily perched roadside, with small leaded windows that look too small for its wide face. There is history here; six hundred and fifty years of drunks passing through the doors, its shell created in the midst of the Hundred Year War. I wonder if used to be called The Crown. Inside it wears the age proudly: low beams, flag stones, and heavy wooden bars. Back in the days of farcical facial hair and baggy trousers tapered at the ankle I used to drink here frequently and wonder what went on between these walls. Two world wars and one world cup, probably. It appears to be the only way we can define ourselves as a nation.

The history of the building was in full force on the day we lunch, with the start of a Peaky Blinders tour occurring in the space to the side of our table in the back of the pub. I instantly like the place on account of them listing a kilo of meat under ‘light snacks’. We don’t order it. What we do have is cod cheeks and prawns in a greaseless panko crumb, and a sausage roll that is heavy on both sausage meat and black pepper. There is nothing light about the roll, it is a big portion of something filling for not a lot of money which we take pride in finishing. The mango chutney and chipotle mayo it comes with are sucessful at introducing heat and acidity in an unusual way.

Now if someone had told me that one of the most enjoyable things I’d eaten so far this year would be in a six-hundred-year-old pub in Digbeth I would have laughed. If they had told me it would be vegan I may have passed out. The Trinidadian curry was just that; a spicy whack of blackbeans and pumpkin stewed down so that the flavours merge into one of the best Caribbean plates of food I can recall eating outside of the Carribean. Even the roti was a cut above the norm. Given the choice I’d take this over the chicken burger that failed to deliver on the double-dipped coating it promised. The chicken was good – brined, by the look of it – accurately cooked and a hefty piece for the tenner it is. The rest of the burger more than competent; lightly pickled onions, jalepenos, a guacomole which was a little too smooth for my liking, but it didn’t excite me in the way the curry did. A steak and ale pie is delivered to the next table along which draws groans. I’ll order that next time.

Portions this size leave no room for dessert, leaving us to finish up the drinks and head next door to Clean Kilo for the most ethical of shops. I can own up to being naive about The Old Crown – I’d partied here without ever considering food as an option; it was Claire that got us here, having eaten the food and enjoyed it BC (before Carlo). She was right, it really is an option, delivering honest food in a comfortable environment with very little priced at over a tenner. This building started off as coach house, where people passing through would come to be fed, watered, and bed. Remarkably for a world that has changed so much, that has stayed a constant for over six centuries. Long may that tradition continue.

7/10

A2B is my horse and carriage of choice.

Margheri, 2019, Lichfield

Back when this blog was in nappies Margheri was it’s first real success story. I went with my mate Jim on a Saturday night when there was just him and I, along with another table of two. I was blown away by the quality of the food, wondering why, at that time at least, I would have to come to Lichfield to get great pizza. I wrote nice things about it and, for the first time in my life, it did some good. People went. Lots of people in fact. They sent me a lovely message telling me how they were in the enviable position of turning tables away at the weekend. In truth it had little to do with me: food this good was always going to reach its audience eventually; I was just in the right place at the right time to drop the proverbial Mentos into the neck of the Cola bottle.

Since then I’ve been back maybe half a dozen times. Usually before the boxing evenings Jim hosts at his home, and always involving copious amounts of limoncello accompanied by the sort of piss-poor behaviour that happens when you’re old and don’t get out enough. It’s great, and I should shout about it more often, but I’ve wrote about it already. Except I should shout about it again. That first post, one of my most popular at the time, maxed out at just under 800 views. To put it in perspective I often pass that number in a day, my most average of posts get multiples of that, and the more popular many times that figure. It’s time to tell you once again that Margheri is really, really, really good.

This time we add Fritturini to the usual Deli Doughball starters. The basket contains a variety of beige domes that only reveal their identity once bitten into. There are textbook arancini, potato croquettes with heavily seasoned mash, and balls of cheesey pasta that are new to me. It’s Italian streetfood served in the quiet town of Lichfield. The dough balls are still excellent; crunchy exteriors giving way to the same dough that makes up those oh-so-good pizzas I’ll shortly get to. The rocket and tomato salad on top tastes of both ingredients; a minor miracle given this is the end of January.

Now those pizzas. I think it may be the best pizza I’ve eaten in the UK. It’s all here; the 00 flour dough that stretches out slowly like the holes of an old belt, the tomato base made from the San Marzano variety, and the buffalo mozzarella, all imported from their home region: the commitment to a true Neapolitan pizza experience has rarely been greater. On this occasion we share a Calabrese that has fiery ‘nduja and fresh basil leaves, and a special with parma ham and an entire bulb of burrata that oozes heavy cream when pierced. Both have dough blistered at a soaring heat that leaves more leopard spots than a Lilly Savage tribute act. Both have that slightly soupy centre. Both are really, really excellent.

I’ve never had dessert here, unless you count limoncello as dessert, in which case I love dessert here. The bill on this occasion is £90 between five, a figure that doesnt require the accountant amongst us to declare as a bargain. For something so simple good pizza is difficult to find. After writing this food blog for what feels like an eternity I can recommend only three in Birmingham, another three in London, one in Bristol, and Margheri in Lichfield; maybe the best of them all.

Transport provided by those local heroes, A2B

The Early Bird, Kings Heath

If I look back to the early days of this blog I can clearly see the areas that improved the most in this city. Four years ago we had the Michelin stars, the high-end and low-end Indian restaurants, the street food resurgence, and the cheap eats in China Town. We never had the burger joints, the sushi bars, the craft beer pubs that take grub seriously, or many places to go for breakfast. Seriously, the last point is a big one. If breakfast really is the most important meal of the day, we have neglected it to the point that the authorities should have got involved. There were a couple of coffee shops in the city centre doing a very average job and receiving far more praise than they deserved, whilst the best happened to be found in a pub in Harborne and a delicatessen in Moseley. How times have changed. We have an abundance of choice now; an assortment of cuisines and cultures delivering great food in every area. I have my favourites and you probably already have yours. Mine may be different to yours and that is perfectly fine, you are allowed to be wrong sometimes. It’s why I have the awards and you don’t.

Whatever your position on this subject may be, please add The Early Bird to your lists of ‘must visits’ with immediate effect. I could, but won’t, harp on about how they turn yesterday’s leftover produce into some of today’s cakes, and how sustainability and zero-waste is at the forefront of what they do. Instead I’ll focus on the dishes we ate, which puts it straight to the top of those within walking distance of my gaff. A bacon bap is a good starting point given the effort it demonstrates. The meat has been marinated in ginger beer and fried so that the thick ribbons of fat have browned and turned crispy. The brioche bun is delicate, with a little sweet chilli jam that has little in the way of heat but plenty of sweetness. It is British in notion though conjures up the use of sweetness, texture, and spice of Hong Kong side streets. At less than a fiver I can see this becoming a regular fixture in my life. Another brunch dish has sourdough with scrambled eggs, chorizo, peppers, and almonds. The eggs could do with a little more salt, but that aside it’s another example of taking a familar dish and tweaking it to add contrast and bite.

Whatever you order, do not attempt to leave without ordering the french toast made from yesterdays cinnamon roll. It’s sweet and unrelenting and naughty, but so very good. The toast is stodgy in the best possible way, with charred orange, mascarpone, and a pecan praline so dangerously addictive they could sell it for forty pound a gram. I end up sharing it against my will and very nearly order another. Instead I go to the cake counter and order a rhubarb and custard brioche to takeaway. Later that evening we cut it in half to reveal a set custard encased in what I think is yesterday’s brioche. There is a hint of orange blossom that works with the rhubarb. It’s rather brilliant.

The bill for all of this with two good coffees is less than thirty pound, and that could be shaved by a third if you’re half as greedy as we are. We both really enjoyed it, agreeing that right here is our new local go-to. Some places feel like they’re trying too hard, pushing ingredients on to plates because trend dictates they do so. Not here. The Early Bird is completely at ease with itself, putting flavour and technique ahead of everything else. Exactly my kind of place.

8/10

Can’t walk there? A2B it like the pro traveller you are

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.