Adam’s, October 2020

Given that I’m going to spend November confined to my four walls, I’m kind of pleased I had the ridiculous October that I did. I started it on holiday, went to several starred restaurants, filmed a showreel, helped launch a restaurant, started a business, and flew to Italy to eat in what’s widely regarded as the best restaurant in the world. I drank a lot of wine. A lot of negronis. I was living my best life, as the kids say.

Quite possibly the culinary highlight of this was a solo lunch at Adam’s. It was a happy coincidence; I’d planned on cycling into town for a meeting but blew a puncture on the way. I ended up taking a taxi in, had a glass of wine in the meeting, and decided to chance a walk-in for a nice bit of lunch at a place I’ve been meaning to revisit for over a year. They found me a table, I order a bone dry martini and away we go.

There’s an ease to Adam’s that feels special. The service is graceful and concise. Everyone, from the kitchen downstairs, to the front of house knows every dish inside out. Textbook gougeres appear alongside a beef tartare wrap full of ginger notes. Then bread, sturdy crust and crumb full of chew, and two spreads; one a whipped pork fat studded with bacon and another a butter I don’t cheat on it with. I can’t do that to bacon.

It’s clear that the present one star rating from Michelin isn’t enough for them, and if any restaurant within Birmingham is going to make the jump to a second star, it’s here. The precision that the guide look for at that level is everywhere. A salad of tomatoes arrives cloaked in a jelly disc that ripples like body parts under a duvet. It’s clean yet distinctly Japanese thanks to the shiso, ponzu, and dashi. Then a dish of eel, apple, and caviar which wouldn’t look out of place in Paris. Smoked eel bound in creme fraiche, discs of apple, dots of purée, and a fat quenelle of caviar. A sauce of finger lime needed to cut through all the richness. On the side is a tempura of eel dressed in teriyaki. A stunning dish that offers something different with every mouthful. Loved it, loved it, loved it.

Suckling pig is a big comforting dish of belly and loin, with a hash of potato, silky potato purée, spring onion, roasted onion, pickled onion, a gastrique, and a sticky sauce that they were happy to fetch more of when I took the bread to the last of on the empty plate. More impeccable cooking on the two proteins; one a pale pink, the other slow cooked to the point that the fat becomes the glue to bind skin and meat together. Completely different to anything I’d eaten prior in this lunch, yet rooted in the same faultless workmanship. It probably didn’t need the loin, but maybe that’s just me.

Given I’m the best part of two bottles in by now, dessert is a bit on the hazy side. It’s a cylindrical fig parfait, bound tightly in an orange jelly, orange sorbet, pistachios candied and as an airy El Bulli style sponge, figs, and a chocolate cremeux. I didn’t leave a scrap so it must have been good. Petit fours are washed down with more wine.

The bill is the wrong side of £150 for one and worth every penny, so much so I offer to take my girlfriend back the following day, though she turns me down as she has something called a job. It’s a simply brilliant lunch full of detail and flavour. Adam’s have come along way since I first had the roast chicken Bon Bon in a makeshift dining room on Bennett’s Hill. Eight years on and they feel ready to make the next step up.

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Opheem, October 2020

“He came from Henley, he had a thirst for rowing. I did a tweet about Opheem without then knowing, he’d take me up. Next thing we’d booked”.

And that truly awful rewrite of a Pulp classic is how I met Steve. I tweeted about Opheem’s lunch deal being great value and suggested that if anyone was without a companion, I would join them. Incredibly several people tried to take me up on the offer, and Steve was the only one I could work a date out with. My girlfriend thought it was weird to meet strangers over the internet, conveniently forgetting it’s kind of how we met. We met in a pub, he didn’t try to kill me, and then went to Opheem. Nice guy is Steve. Really nice light blue neck scarf.

I’m old hat at this booking by now. I have a favourite table to sit at, and the team know I’m going to start with a negroni. I’ve been to Opheem more than any other starred for good reason; it’s my favourite place to eat in England. Free from bullshit and pretence, it covers the bases of precision and spice better than anywhere else.

Nibbles this time includes a smoked eel macaron and a Jerusalem artichoke tartlet, alongside the more familiar strawberry and sesame ring. Milk loafs with spiced butter, then on to starters: soft shell crab for my lunch date, the potato and tamarind dish for me. Both classics in their own right. We both have the chicken for main, and this time the keema in the onion is better than ever. And that sauce. My lord that sauce. If only Boris could deliver the goods as well as this we might not be in the mess we are. We dive on to the tasting menu for an apple dessert which is clean and refreshing whilst Steve also tries the plum desserts because he’s Steve and he can do what he wants. Half a bottle of wine per person and it’s a bill of sixty quid each including a round of negroni and a tip. Opheem is the best value lunch in the city. Maybe even the country. It’ll be a 2* restaurant within three years; you mark my words. You can see the ambition in the eyes of every member of staff. Aktar wants it. They all want it.

If I’ve flown through that review it’s for good reason. Once again we’re back at a point where eating in restaurants is not permitted, and, as such, my silly little trips feel kind of irrelevant. So, I’m going to use the rest of this piece to say that if you want a taste of Opheem anytime soon, they’ve added to the ‘Aktar at Home’ range. Get the box of curries – ten or so for £60 – and feed the house over many nights, or do as we are doing and have the lamb leg from Great British Menu which comes up on occasion. Order the Sunday roast using the best beef from their sister restaurant, Pulperia, and reheat it at home, or, if you fancy yourself as a cook, take the meat box from the same place and get at least 6 meals from it. Birmingham needs places like Opheem to still be here when the pandemic is over and for that you need to support them right now. I’ll be around for Friday lunches if you want when the world returns to normal.

Staycations at Hampton Manor

Fast forward to the end of the first night of the staycation at Hampton Manor and we’re sat in the bar, whisky in hand whilst Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rumours’ hums away in the background. I’m on whisky number five, maybe six, each handpicked by Fraser’s impeccable taste based on my preferences. Salty, smoky numbers, I’m introduced to distilleries I never knew existed. In all we’ve had a great night; pre-drinks before dinner in their more casual offering, Smoke, then this. The food was tremendous, the setting even better as we found ourselves alone in the dimly lit vine house whilst others dined in the greenhouse and the bare-bricked Smoke to keep us socially distanced. Beetroot and goats cheese, then the softest shoulder of lamb with Dijon potatoes and hispi cabbage; all cooked in the wood fired oven which punctures the wall. Then, to finish, apple pie and custard, a bit like the one you get from the Golden Arches, only better. Washed down with paired wines of real interest. A pokey Pet Nat, a Malbec, then an iced cider. We turn down the chance to toast marshmallows over the open fire: I have whisky to drink, and drink whisky I do. At 9.50pm they give me a large measure of Lagavulin to take to bed with me. It turns out the whisky is included in the package, they just don’t make a song and dance of it. I love this place.

Rewind eight hours and we’re checking in for the long weekend. There is sanitiser and face masks for plebs like us who have left theirs at home, and a warm welcome from a team who all have hospitality at heart. A quick drop off of the bags to the room and we’re back down the stairs for Afternoon Tea in the beautiful Nyetimber summer house. It’s here we have the sausage roll of all sausage rolls, fat scones topped with jam then cream (don’t @ me), delicate strawberry tarts flavoured lightly with basil, and chocolate brownies that we take home because I don’t want to ruin dinner. We wash it down with Nyetimber. Glorious Nyetimber. When in Rome and all that.

Saturday day is when the fun really starts. My whisky head wakes me up just in time for breakfast: eggs benedict and strong black coffee for me, full English and tea for the lady. They are both perfect in a way that hotel breakfasts never are. We plod back towards the walled garden in Smoke for a masterclass in chocolate with WNDR. Ninety minutes later of chuckles and intense nodding and I’ve made my own chocolate bar. Take that, Wonka. Then back to the room, pick up map and walk around the grounds, discuss moving to Hampton in Arden, decide it’s too far away from Couch, then back to Smoke for wine tasting. James’s love of natural wine is infectious, I’ve been drawn into it before, and I’ll never tire of it. We drink a white, something more adventurous, and a red. I still know nothing because I’m drawn into a room filled with people who are keen to try something different and learn at the same time. Absolutely WNDRful. Back to the room, I need a sleep but there’s no time; we have a Michelin starred dinner. Claire gets in the bath, orders Nyetimber. Maybe there is time.

This is the third occasion I’ve eaten in Peels and my favourite so far. Rob Palmer’s food now feels like it’s entirely his; the bits of other people’s styles you could see two years back replaced by his style which feels so heavily placed within the garden walls it could be a late Monet. Four courses upgraded to the maximum seven; paired wines with each because we don’t mess around. Nibbles include the best take on a cheese and pickle sandwich I’ve tried, then a first course of cabbage five ways with caviar, followed by the potato terrine with xo butter that I’ve raved about before. That potato dish is in my top ten dishes of the year. No question.

Wagyu tartare is diced a fraction too big for my liking and is a little lost in the onion broth, but this is me nit picking. No problems at all with the grouse which is a step away from the finesse and a big slap in the face of game, as it absolutely should be. The ragout of offal interwoven with barley will live long in the memory. Then the cheese course – a different one to the menu which I’d pre-ordered because I’m an arse – which is Colston Bassett on toast and every bit as good as I’d been told (thanks Fraser). Two desserts finish us off; nitrogen frozen raspberries with cream and basil lay-up for the slam dunk that is chocolate, Sherry, and vanilla. A version of this dish was on the menu when we first ate here. This version should never leave. Three hours of solid one star cooking. I order more wine.

We check out Sunday, after the repeat breakfast and another walk around the grounds. At a starting price of £390 per person excluding drinks this isn’t cheap, but it is the most fun I’ve had all year. Hampton Manor is far more than a one star restaurant. It’s the most polished luxury hotel experience, in the most beautiful grounds, from the most hospitable of people. It’s the chance to unwind and learn, whilst eating and drinking until the bed calls. It’s a little piece of paradise. If this awful year has any positives, one must surely be that the spotlight is on our green and pleasant land. Very few places personify that in the way that Hampton do.

Pictures by the very talented and okay company Claire

8, Birmingham

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8 is a restaurant which needs to be seen rather than read about. On paper the 16 seater restaurant where all of the 8 courses are based around the number 8 might seem a little gimmicky, until, that is, you are on one of those stools, with those plates in front of you eating some seriously good food. It is here that you see a chef unleashed; his own food and ideas on a plate, following a career of cooking to other people’s briefs in high profile restaurants.

Cards on the table, I have had a tiny amount of involvement in the restaurant. I arranged a couple of launch events – one for chefs, the other for press – and gave my opinion at a drinks tasting, and I suggested the services of someone to make the mixed drinks a little better. I’ve received payment for some things and have done others purely out of wanting to see them succeed. The meal you are reading about is from a press night I helped organise. Whilst it’s important to establish facts, it’s also important to remember that I’ve been critical of dishes before they reached this stage. I’ve eaten almost all of them in isolation, though this is the first time I’ve had them as one cohesive dinner.

But first the dining room, which is unlike anything in Birmingham and has very few reference points outside of the city. A kitchen table of 16 seats, each lit individually by a spotlight that beams on to the logo set upon the oxidised concrete. To one side of the room is a neon infinity wall, to the other a large screen which plays the media for each course. It’s ballsy and in your face. It’s full of talking points. It’s the room which is going to be all over your social media for the rest of the year.

Spelt bread arrives first clad in a sticky apple caramel glaze, to be torn apart between two and clad in butter. Then ‘V8’, the first course proper and named after the juice, a tart of mostly tomato and beetroot, with a warm consommé from the same veg. Delicate pastry, almost sweet filling offset with parsley. It’s a cracking start. It’s followed by ‘oxidised’, a fairly classic tartare of dairy cow with mushrooms, truffle, and a gooey yolk, set between two discs of pressed brioche. Well balanced and rich, it continues to set a high standard. ‘Square Root of Eight’ sees a cube of roasted celeriac share a bowl with a dice of the same veg pickled and a broth of the off-cuts, with little more than a grating of hazelnut for adornment. It comes alive thanks to an incredibly clever drink pairing that contains bourbon, Hungarian sweet wine, and toasted barley oil. I’m biased, but those drink pairings are up there with the best in the country.

From here it gets very, very good. ‘Lucky 8’ is a naughty double mouthful of bread, pork liver parfait, a riff on a famous pickle, cheddar cheese, and lardo. It’s big and moreish. A very famous chef may have eaten three of them. Then a light tartare of scallops and apples, bolstered by a bonito infused cream, which forms the ‘8 Days A Week’ course. We finish the savoury courses with ‘Resurrection’, a venison Wellington studded with foie gras, sauce and that’s it. It doesn’t need anything else. Stellar work, it’s up there with my favourite things to eat in the city. On a side plate is pastry ends. What’s pissed off a kitchen of chefs only adds to the happiness in the dining room.

The first dessert happens to be the first dish that Andrew learnt to make. ‘8-10-2006’ is the date he started as a chef, knocking out carrot cake for afternoon teas. This carrot cake is given an upgrade; one between two, with cream cheese and carrot jam. It’s a stunner. With this a drink that contains carrot vodka. Turns out I like carrot vodka. Last course is ‘8.01’; After Eight, if you like. There’s a chocolate ganache with a puddle of minty chocolate grappa, covered in a spikey alpine of chocolate tuiles. Given the complexity of the work gone into the previous courses, it’s nice to finish on something more simplistic.

The price for the food is £88, more if you go for the drinks pairing, which you really should. I dined in 8 three nights in a row this week prior to the official launch today, and already I have seen minor tweaks and improvements. Given that Andrew describes these as “the eight courses of his career”, it only seems fitting that the dishes continue to evolve, much like him as a chef. As far as experiences go, 8 is as cinematic and widescreen as Birmingham has ever seen. It’s bolshy and ambitious. It demands to be experienced.

You’ve probably correctly guessed I didn’t pay for this.

Better pictures by Where is Claire. Best taxis by A2B.

Wine Freedom, Digbeth

A couple of nights ago we were fortunate enough to do a staycation at Hampton Manor. On the Saturday of this glorious weekend, hungover on whisky and feeling very full, we attended a wine tasting with MD James Hill which forms part of the schedule. James would start by telling us this was a session led by an enthusiast and not an expert, one whose eyes had been opened by a wine specialist named Sam Olive. With a copy of the book ‘Natural Wine’ nestled on the counter, James spoke about how Sam had stripped away the bullshit behind wine, and used a language which was accessible. He told the group how Sam and business partner Taylor now had a garage in Digbeth from which they operate a little wine shop called Wine Freedom, incidentally the name of their bullshit free natural wine business.

Rewind ten days prior and I’m sat in that plant-filled, white washed garage drinking wine with my lovely friend Jo. I knew about Wine Freedom already. Over lockdown we had deliveries from them, and prior to that their produce is in many of my favourite places (Ynyshir, 1000 Trades, The Plough et al). Taylor worked a few hours in my favourite pub and and it seemed like you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing them, including my home, where my girlfriend stores a laminated picture of Sam in a tight grey t-shirt underneath the bed.

I quintuple parked as soon as we got there. I wanted to try all of the wines available by the glass. These seem to be the most user friendly of their range; approachable, young wine which contains grapes and nothing else. I’m still trying to fully understand natural wine but I’m getting there slowly. I do like the ones which taste of wine, but give me the wild ones that have notes of cider and perry and I’ll show you ciders and perry I prefer more. If it means anything I liked all the wines we tried that afternoon, and really really liked a number of them.

In the effort of research we also ordered all the food from the shortish menu. They’ve kept it simple; three cheeses from Neals Yard, good bread and butter, chutneys and pickles, and a potted pork. That potted pork recipe can be found on page 60 of The Book of St John and is possibly the best rillettes recipe you will find, loaded with Madeira, garlic, and spice. The chutneys and pickles too mostly come from the same book, though some have been touched by the grace of Dom Clarke of Caneat. It’s all great, from the squash chutney with ras al hanout, to the pleasingly acidic green tomatoes pickles. It’s all rather special and very inexpensive.

Alas it wasn’t supposed to be like this. There were plans to make it a more finished space, but then the world went to shit and they decided to spend the revised and much lower budget on plants and pallets. They were supposed to have a kitchen and a chef and they still might, but I don’t think it needs it. The wine and the charming service and the communal bit of food do they is just a perfect way to whittle away a few hours with friends, especially when that friend insists on paying the bill. But what do I know? I’m no expert. I’m just another enthusiast trying to understand a little bit more.

Peacer, Moseley, September 2020

Peacer have a wine machine and that’s enough inspiration for me to write about them again. It won’t be a big post, nor should it be. Just a brief love letter to one of my favourite places in my old home. That’s Moseley, not Peacer. I never lived in Peacer, despite trying to claim squatters rights on numerous occasions.

They’ve reopened. It took them a while. Inside not much has changed other than the length of Jack’s hair, which lockdown has created a mane of, and the small matter of a wine machine. Have I mentioned the wine machine? All natural from Wine Freedom, it fits the tone of the space perfectly. Not only do they do pizza by the slice but they now do wine by the glass. Clever guys. Buy a card, pop a card in machine, press size of wine you want. Drink. Repeat. The wines were great. Accessible. Interesting. Youthful.

The pizza is still New York style by the slice. Great big things that need two hands to successfully control. The ‘Smokey’ is very good, the ‘Hot’ with hot honey is even better. Those in the know head straight to ‘Tangy’ with blue cheese, crispy onions, and the house buffalo sauce. It’s one of my favourite things to eat in Birmingham. Always, and I repeat always, ask for a pot of that sauce on the side. I think the tomato and mozzarella salad is new, and goes down very well. It’s simple and well executed.

It’s been a year to the day that we viewed the house in Harborne and I saw the look in Claire’s eyes. I knew then it was the right thing to up and move us, away from the parties, and to a quieter part of town. It’s been a good move us. But for all of its faults I miss Moseley. How one pint on a Wednesday night ends up in someone’s house drinking until daybreak. The ad hoc Zindiya meals and free scallops from Flakes chippy. Miss shopping in Nima Stores and then feeling sad because something so pure can’t last forever. Miss Little Blackwood, and the garden of The Prince, and Joe whipping out a bottle of rum for us to neck in The Dark Horse when he probably should be taking money from us. I miss how the top ranked hotel in the area was our sofa and came with direct access to a free bar. I miss the Tangy from Peacer, so much so that we purchase another four slices to take home with us, before swearing that we’ll go back once a month to make a night of it. Moseley ain’t perfect, but then neither am I. Did I mention that Peacer has a wine machine?

After all that wine we needed to get an A2B home.

Greens, Solihull

Greens do a cocktail called ‘Death by Whisky’. Over lockdown it was suggested to me on numerous occasions that I should have a death by whisky, though whether this was a reference to the drink or a wish from my enemies is unclear. “I’m not sure if I can afford a death by whisky” I responded, often whilst sipping on a whisky, often in the morning. It’s true. Whilst the world was going to shit, I was spending a lot of money on mixed drinks. Mixed drinks make me happy.

I’ve now had a death by whisky and as this is not a posthumous blog piece, you can rightly assume it involved a trip to Greens in Solihull. It sits in the centre of a shopping square, sharing a unit with a coffee bar (Vita) and street food space (Taste Collective), each with outside terrace space and its own identity. The name of the cocktail bar might give you an idea of the colour scheme here, the giant pages of glass ensuring it stays bright and well lit. It’s a comfy, almost Mediterranean way of people watching with a glass of something strong in hand.

Before the drinks, let’s get a quick word about the food. The cheese board is impeccable, which might have something to do with the general manager previously being responsible for looking after the cheese at Simpsons. All British, they have more conventional options like Black Bomber mingling with lesser known such as the superb Waterloo, which won the war when I was defeated. The meats too are all British including wagyu salami, venison bresaola and coppa, which is a far better use of a pigs neck than David Cameron ever suggested.

And the drinks. Headed up by Rob Wood (that name should mean something to you if you care about drinks), it’s about time that Solihull laid claim to a bar that made top-tier drinks. I really like the Death by Whisky, which is a boozy four-blend of various types with sherry and maple, maybe more so than the gadgetry of Smoke and Mirrors that requires you to pull a cherry and chocolate flavoured whisky drink from a smoke box. Fantastic Mr. Fig is punchy and decadent mouthful of wonder, whilst Whoopsy Daisy is all jammy fruitiness. Maybe best of all is Flowers and Blossoms, with its light floral notes and gentle acidity from sakè. It’s a really great drink.

Service is genuine and kind, on this night led by someone who used to run a bar in Harborne and another who was always too good to break up fights in Moseley. Now I don’t usually make a thing of writing about bars, but I feel compelled to spread the word about here. The nightlife in Solihull is dismal; it’s a place where Slug and Lettuce reigns supreme fuelled by Pornstar Martinis. Green’s offers something different, a classier, more cultured way of drinking in a part of town that can afford it but somehow never had it. Those who had to travel before for good drinks now can stay within their own postal code.

Fazenda, August 2020

To write about Fazenda post apocalypse feels like writing about a new restaurant, more so than anywhere that I would consider visiting for pleasure. I’m not going to overlook the struggles that all restaurants have faced in the last eight weeks to reopen, but I’m specifically referring to the model that this business previously ran on. This is a place that pre-COVID involved having the whole cuts of animal carved at the table, whilst the gaps in between were filled with trips to a vast salad bar; the latter simply not possible at present, whilst the former has its own issues. When the government closed restaurants part of me feared that we’d never see Fazenda again.

They are back and it’s clear that they’ve considered the right way of going about things before they did. They’ve dropped a lot of covers – 50 or so – meaning that tables are well spaced and mostly behind screens, and whilst the meat is still carved, it is done from a safe distance with individual prongs to collect it as flops from the skewer. The biggest change is with sides and the wine, now accessed via a link and ordered from phone to table by a dedicated server.

I think I preferred the new way. I think. Certainly not the face masks and the distance, but the side plates that are now cooked to order and have improved. After the opening board of cured meats, cheeses, and other bits, we get mushrooms pan fried in lots of garlic and a little cream that benefit from fresh preparation, as do fries straight out of the fryer dusted in parmesan and a little slush of truffle oil. We both love the dinky balls of mozzarella and tomato dressed in the spiky green of chimichurri, and the red peppers roasted until the skin blackens and makes the flesh sweet throughout. Perhaps the Brazilian black bean stew isn’t quite as deep a flavour as I remember, but that’s okay because now we have a purée of sweet potato so soft it could be baby food. That purée is given bags of character with feta and mint, crunch from sweet potato crisps, and would be ordered again later in the night.

I’m well aware that very few customers book Fazenda off the back of the side dishes (RIP salad bar 2018-2020). Its draw for most is the meat, and so it should be. Over the two or so hours we eat long slivers of rare beef sirloin and rump that glisten a ruby haze when cut, and generous chunks of fillet cooked almost blue. Lamb cutlets are smokey, tender bites whilst Brazil’s favourite cut of beef, picanha (rump cap is as close as you’ll get here) is cooked with absolute precision. Indeed all the meat is nailed-on for accuracy tonight. I’ll be nitpicking if I told you that the sausage was way too salty, which it was, but fine for pointing out that the gammon was correctly high in salt. Pork collar with honey was all kinds of excellent.

Front of house was flawless from start to finish, and I’ll fight anyone who tells me that there is a better place to drink the wines of South America in Brum than here. The price of £34.50 per person in the evening can quickly spiral when desserts and booze are factored in, but this is money well spent. We leave the restaurant and head to the hotel over the road for an extended night cap. In a world where every movement is restricted I’m pleased we are able to still have these experiences. Fazenda, it’s great to have you back.

Apologies to the A2B driver I had drive us around at 1am looking for a pool table

Bop Kitchen @ The Juke, Kings Heath.

I was told about Bop Kitchen’s pop-up first by one of the city’s best chefs, who knew one half of the team, and then by my girlfriend who knew nothing other than she wanted a kebab. Both are perfectly valid reasons. So back to Kings Heath we go; first to the wonderful Grace & James for some cold rosé in the bright heat, then across the road to the equally wonderful Juke for a G&T and a kebab. That classic flavour combination.

It’s thriving. It would appear that the duo on the grills have brought most of South Birmingham with them. The Juke has never been the biggest of spaces and today they are open purely outside, with tables stretching out across York Road.

I’ll save you my pitiful pictures but these are the best kebabs I’ve eaten in Birmingham. Soft, pillowy flatbreads enclosing flavours that are reminiscent of everyone’s favourite pissed food yet skilled enough to have come from someone who knows their way around a chopping board. They remind me of a more polite Black Axe Mangal. The mutton kofta is pleasingly dense and full of ovine flavour, with hummus that’s retained a little texture and the occasional bite of pistachio. But it’s the chicken that you need to order. The pomegranate glazed bird and the hot sauce and apricot dukka, with the filthy addition of shards of chicken skin which crack between teeth. I’m in love with it and refuse to share.

They sell out by the time we finish up, which is excellent for a set-up only trading for the second time. I hope The Juke get them back and soon. It’s perfect beer food. I’m too old and grey and flabby to live somewhere that cool anymore, but it’s great to dip in and out of York Road. I really like The Juke. I really like Bop Kitchen. They make a great couple.

A2B took my drunk ass home for free.

Eat Out to Help Out, Week 1

It turns out that Rishi Sunak, the former hedge fund manager who personally profited from the collapse of RBS to the tune of many millions, is an actual angel. A tiny, 5’7″ angel, sent from the heavens to sit atop of my Christmas tree. First the furlough scheme which has allowed me to complete Netflix over the last four months, and now the salaciously named Eat Out to Help Out incentive. I went out several times this week to get Rishi’d, fully embracing the 50% off food (and soft drinks) to the maximum tune of a tenner. And here, my gift to you, a super quick post about what I ate. I won’t give prices because you’re all adults and frankly I can’t be arsed to look on the internet. In your face, RBS.

Arch 13.

What’s that Rishi? No discount on vino? Damn you and your insistence on taking all that sweet sweet alcohol tax. We had a cheese board, couple of meats, and some mighty fine hummus. It was all in stellar condition, hand picked from the best possible suppliers. I’ve missed Arch 13 a lot. It’s a bloody great bar.

Zen Metro.

People are shits. Absolutely horrid shits. Zen got stung the weekend before with 25% of bookings not showing. Horrid shits. The power of the internet meant that one tweet later Zen had twenty or so jaded readers of a food blog in for dinner. Claire had a very serviceable salmon dish, whilst I went for the Zen Inferno, a mild curry in no way steeped in Birdseye chillis. I finished it with sweat pouring off my brow, holding in the internal burning by not coughing. My arse still hasn’t recovered. Service by Jaimon was as sharp and personable as ever.

Purecraft Kitchen.

Behold the greatest bar snack in the world! Smoked potato, crushed and then crisped up in fat, doused in beer cheese sauce. Whatever beer cheese is I want it my belly. All the beer cheese time. Add the best scotch egg in Brum, a killer sausage roll, burgers of beef and of chicken (have the latter), and you have an extremely enjoyable lunch. Praise be to Rishi, my little gnome friend.

Little Blackwood.

Is there a better way to spend a Wednesday evening than at Little Blackwood? How about bao and ramen at Little Blackwood. Twenty quid (well a tenner because of Rishibabes) gets two of the former and one of the latter. We eat them all; the salmon bao and the duck bao wolfed down in record time. The spicy laksa with just-cooked prawns bobbing on the surface and the ramen with its chewy noodles and a broth with a dashi base and the texture of long simmered bones. Do it.

Baked in Brick.

Not technically on the scheme yet, but we went on Thursday when pizza is two-for-one all day, thus effectively adding one more day to destroyer of banks Rishi Sunak’s scheme. Lee has been working on his dough all lockdown and it shows. This was the best pizza I’ve eaten at Baked in Brick. I’m reliably told that you should keep your eyes peeled for a special pop-up in the next week or two. See, you come here for dreadful writing and I give you an exclusive. Ain’t that grand.

I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure I heard Rishi say everyone should use A2B