A Restaurant Wishlist from A City Restaurateur

Birmingham isn’t what it once was and — as any native will testify — thank god for that. It is no secret that restaurants have been a significant catalyst for said change, a fact that has, endearingly, been documented to absolute death by the writers who have made this city their turf. There is no original thought remaining to big-up Birmingham restaurants. It feels, therefore, a risky act of treason to write, as I shall here, that we still have a long way to go. Beyond the superlative write-ups, beyond the disproportionate proliferation of chains (some – granted – very much welcome) and beyond the dizzying ambition of fine-dining – this is a city at the beginning, I think, of its culinary revolution. What follows is an entirely biased wishlist for the Brum – an exercise I think is necessary if we are to manifest a reality that tallies with the hype. I am, it may be said, not a man for frivolity or making friends – rather one that cares deeply about Birmingham, in a conflicted and complex way. I write not because I doubt how exciting it has been to witness, and be part of, the city’s change. I write because I want us to continue the hard work, I want us to be a truly international city with food and drink the heartbeat of it.

THE RISE OF THE BISTRO

Everyday dining is the backbone of restaurant culture and an area which, regrettably, we are horribly under-served for a city of our size. There are heroes in the suburbs that deserve note — The Plough (rightly, an institution), newcomers Chapter and the charming Le Petit Bois, The York Road Mafia (including Poli, Uptsairs, The Juke, and more) and The People’s Republic of Stirchley, of course, is full of honourable mentions, too many to list. The city too has Desi pubs aplenty — that remain deeply rooted as community spaces — including my local, the doyenne of the JQ, Hens & Chickens. That said, this remains a city where we have entire neighbourhoods that remain sans bistro.

I long for affordable, seasonal, and ever-changing dining in the grand and shabby tradition of the bistro in all corners. I am quite certain that there are very many hidden gems in communities across the city not yet plastered all over Instagram or frequented by this hungry chef - please do let me know your suggestions.  We need more spaces that are everyday, adaptable, and built on quality and community, and for those existing to get the recognition and limelight they deserve.

SINGLE ITEM MENUS

Whether it is symptomatic of a Brummie’s endearing desire to please everyone, or whether it is just a trap for the regional restaurant, we have a prevailing issue with huge, flabby menus. As a chef, I can tell you the larger the menu, the more likely that there will be compromises on quality, authenticity, ingredient, etc. I also don’t think the blame lies with restaurants who are oft-times reactive to the customer need – doing what they must to remain viable. There are some notable exceptions to the rule, which I regrettably don’t have space to mention by name.

In London, and increasingly Manchester, there is the rise of hole-in-the-wall single item venues. For operators, it reduces the space and cost of establishing a restaurant, and for guests, in a city with a serious commercial property drought, it means the variety and diversity in a given square mile can be much improved.

I long for a Birmingham that has high streets, side streets and a city centre appointed with small, but perfectly formed venues that focus on one thing and do it f*cking well; jian bing, dumplings, roti canai, raclette, Taiwanese fried chicken, lobster rolls, oysters. These are but a few of my favourite things and I would love to be able to get the purist’s option in more neighbourhoods in my hometown – fill every street corner with one and I’ll be happy.

SUNDAY/MONDAY FOOD CULTURE

One of the perpetual challenges of opening and maintaining a restaurant in Birmingham is the total drought of customers on off-peak days. Simply put, there is a serious issue with Sundays and Mondays, especially outside the suburbs. Even more serious, because these are my typical days off and it’s impossible to find near anything I want to eat on either day. Hence my unhealthy addiction to Hockley Social Club or, when we’re feeling bougie, Pulperia or Oyster Club.

A recent visit to Manchester was alarming – to find most of the city open on Sunday through Monday, and most of the city fully-booked. I don’t know the answer to how we stimulate the city but all of us, as customers, will stand to benefit if, as one, we step away from the perpetual bias of Friday/Saturday and embrace any excuse to go out for food seven days a week.

UNDERSTANDING THE CITY’S NUANCED CULINARY HERITAGE 

The pantheon of writing about the Balti, for the most part, is a travesty against the city in that it erases much of the nuanced history of immigration and food culture in Birmingham. Whilst we may now hail as part of our shared cultural capital the cuisine of the South Asian immigrants who set-up shop in the city, this was also a community that we at first scorned and who’s food culture too many are still happy to minimise as “going for an Indian”. To me it is telling that we live in an age where a corporate restaurant chain that, apparently, can only serve celebrities, and must serve every dish twice, is the most widely covered of our restaurants with roots in India.

In recent years I’ve had the privilege to spend some time with Mohammed Ali – an artist and historian with Bengali heritage who has dedicated much of his practice to documenting and understanding the origin story of the “curry” in the city. The majority of original restaurant owners were Bengali – many were wildly successful and Mohammed shows, with due pride, photos of these early operators outside their establishments looking more akin to rockstars than restaurateurs. More troublingly, Ali also can recount far too many stories of the blatant racism experienced in his Father’s restaurant. The cavalier attitude we have taken with a culture that, for many of us is not our own, has allowed us to erase these personal stories from our collective history. Much is lost when we minimise this seam of the city’s culinary heritage down to stories about Birmingham as simply the “Home of the Balti.”

I want to see us celebrating smaller restaurants that are able to tell, through food, a more nuanced story. The history of our treatment of the restaurants of the South Asian diaspora is just one example in a list of many. This of course relies on a level of food journalism that can meet said nuance — on which note…

BETTER FOOD MEDIA

There are a handful of competent food writers in the city – the crowning glory being Rob at FoodieBoys who hasn’t written a sensical word in his entire life. Rob assures me a review of The Wilderness is pending, and what little I know is in it I am described as a goat (and no, not the G.O.A.T., a literal, actual goat). On the more sensible end of the spectrum, there are established bloggers who can write well and are sincere supporters of restaurants, but there are also those who can’t and aren’t. And of course there's the negroni-fuelled, influencer bashing and entirely inimitable Meat and One Veg.  My personal views on the local newspaper of note are well-documented and I shan’t go into them here. I will say that we are a city blessed with a number of exceptionally talented young journalists (paging Kirsty Bosley), but I fear they simply do not have enough opportunity to write comprehensively on anything of note with the frequency they desire and deserve.

In London, one upside of the pandemic was the ascent of Vittles, a newsletter from an enigmatic journalist called Jonathan Nunn. It documents the complexity of London and international food culture in dazzling technicolour. You are as likely to read about the history of fast food in Karachi, or an analysis of the contents of the British aisle in a European supermarket, as you are to be told where to go and what to order. And if it is the latter, you can be damn sure they’ll be sending you to an unassuming frontage somewhere in zone 5. It is a joy to read and makes me long for a more comprehensive and critical culture of food journalism in our city.