300. Purnell’s Plates. A New Bull In Town.

 

  When it comes to Mediterranean cuisine, unlike Greek and Italian food which I find to be, respectively, excruciatingly dull and extremely overrated, I do derive great pleasure from being presented with a plate on which almost any Spanish dish is presented. Spanish cuisine in Birmingham has been significantly unrepresented so I was thrilled that the Yummy Brummie had identified a hole in the market and realised that he was the man to fill it. Hence I found myself ambling along Edmund Street on the first day that Purnell’s Plates opened to the public. It was advertised as selling Spanish tapas which for me at least was highly alluring. 

  The interior is mildly claustrophobic, being a narrow ‘L’ shape opening up into a small square place at the rear, The decor is smart and the restaurant is littered with artefacts such as bull’s horns to remind the diner that this is a little piece of Spain in the city where bulls are embraced so enthusiastically. The walls have art which also generally, though not entirely, emphasise the theme of Iberia. The long bar is the first sight to greet the customer as they enter the restaurant and I was pleased to recognise some old faces there including Adrien Garnier, restaurant manager at the mother ship, Purnell’s, who said he was there for a couple of days to keep an eye on the opening.

  Seated comfortably at my table I noted that the opening lunchtime was a a little slow with a total of only six customers, including myself, there during the time I sat and lunched. I asked for a cocktail but the bar was not yet ready to serve them so instead I had a glass of Madri, a Spanish beer which was perfectly drinkable. I was rather excited about delving into the menu and getting on with the pleasing selection of dishes.  First to arrive was my Anchoas en tostada served with a generous helping of delicious pesto which nicely balanced the fish’s salty delightfulness and which I gobbled down with relish while I waited for my other dishes to arrive. 

  Then the main dishes came out, sauntering their way to the table with a self-assuredness that they were going to pleasure the diners who had ordered them in a comforting, full-bodied, rustic sort of way albeit with some sophistication that only came to the fore when the taste buds had got into gear. Naughty, spicy patatas bravas; very nicely cooked cod, bacalao al pil pil, in a pil pil sauce (garlic, paprika, parsley) and the most triumphant of them all, Chorizo al vino tinto, chunky pieces of spicy chorizo raised to a whole new level by the accompanying, remarkably delicious red wine sauce which was dark and shiny and unctious - I would eat that dish anytime.

  What came next was something of a surprise. I thought of finishing off with crema Catalona but what emerged from the kitchen appeared to be a dramatic genetic mutation of the dish I knew, recognised and loved. Perhaps Purnell’s chefs knew more about it than I (and the rest of the world) did. Ah yes! It was a deconstructed crema Catalana, that was it. There was a heavily whipped cream with shards of caramel emerging erect from it. It just didn’t seem right. In fact it seemed rather lazy. It was pleasant enough but my message would be - reconstruct your crema Catalana as soon as possible.

     The crema Catalana apart, this was an enjoyable meal. Reservations have already been made for a return visit. Rating:- 🌛🌛🌛

  The labrador and I have since passed a happy five days in Weston super Mare which gave me opportunity to visit the legendary Papa’s for some truly fine cod and chips, lovely chunks of cod meat in a pleasingly light batter and some very passable chips to accompany it, and The Ginger Pig Kitchen where the crema Catalana is a triumphant model example of what Purnell’s Plates should be turning out (and the accompanying sable pig is a pleasure too).

  Chef Andrew Sheridan has announced the closure of About 8. Perhaps this is wise. It was always a very personal project, just as Black And Green is also. Alas he could not clone himself and therefore divided his time between cooking at About 8 at the weekend and at Black And Green during the week. About 8 was excellent but possibly too self-indulgent and it was hampering what was taking place in Craft which had been divided up by net curtains suggestive of a harem rather than a restaurant and where the food was not  really to the standard it had previously been.

  Now Craft is being converted into a brasserie and reincluding the space previously occupied by About 8. At the same time the dining pods in the ‘garden area’, which I always thought looked rather tacky, though they did help to see Craft through the COVID-19 lockdown crisis, have been removed. It seems Craft is going upmarket in image at the very least and hopefully the food served there will return to its previous heights in parallel with the look. About 8 is relocating to Liverpool from where Sheridan originated and it is not clear in Sheridan’s announcement whether he himself is planning to return there which would obviously, even if unintentionally, affect the personality of the food served at Black And Green. Sheridan is also planning to open a new restaurant, Severn and Wye, at Newent in Gloucestershire, south of Malvern as well as opening a gastropub in Newent.

299. Cheal’s. Now In Knowle.

   At the beginning of February 2023, Cheal’s of Henley closed its doors for the last time and moved from one pretty Warwickshire village, Henley-in-Arden, to another, Knowle. I could see why - Knowle, where there’s a lot of serious wealth, certainly seemed more full of buzz on its high street which runs straight through the village than Henley which always appears rather sedate and not fully open. More buzz, more possible customers.

  Knowle has some interesting buildings to admire, including the lovely parish church, if taking a preprandial stroll, and Chef Patron (and former Simpsons Head Chef) Matt Cheal has brought his restaurant to a building, though larger than the restaurant’s birthplace in Henley, which has exteriorly, the same olde worlde charm as its predecessor.

  On entry however there is the shock of the new. The restful, intimate comfort of the Henley location has given way to glitzy, more spacious comfort which takes some getting used to after the cosiness of the Henley site. After being greeted by a large, somewhat tacky mirror when first stepping into the building, there is a sizeable, in-your-face bar down stairs where you can imagine the local wealth splashing out on gins and tonics and cocktails and on ascending the stairs up to Cheal’s restaurant there is space and lots of lighting and some dining booths and more glitz and it isn’t quite what you expect Cheal’s to be if you’ve dined in Henley a few times.

    No matter. The sommelier or perhaps restaurant manager or perhaps both (I know we English don’t like wearing badges but their value is sometimes dismissed too easily) initially looked after me and seated me (very comfortably I might add) and politely and professionally went through the opening movement of this culinary symphony but I should have been quite happy if he could have smiled a little. 

  A fine Monkey 47 and tonic soon drew me into the new way of things however, soothed too by the light jazz music soundtrack discretely playing and it wasn’t long, without a moment’s hesitation, that I was placing an order for the six course tasting menu, perhaps an optimal length for such a concept, and arranging for a couple of glasses of wine, well chosen by the restaurant staff for me. I admired the lovely, gold-edged charger on the table, its centre glistening and snowdrop white, which I think was meant to tell the diner what the newCheal’s was all about. That may be so but for me Cheal’s is first and foremost about the excellence of the food which mixes the superb accuracy of classic cuisine with originality and new Britishness.  So how was the food in these opening days of the new restaurant?

  Two little amuses gueules sounded the opening bars as Cheal’s metaphorical kitchen orchestra got underway. They hit the right notes straightaway. First a tiny but beautiful play on fish and chips - a little panisse with an immaculately crispy edge served with battered fish roe and a soupçon of pea purée. This was witty and amusing. Then a gorgeous tartlet made of the most sublimely crispy pastry filled with perfectly textured and delicious beef tartare blanketed by parmesan.Two little gems which brought immense pleasure.

Then arrived a lovely, deeply flavoured bowl of mushroom broth with chopped shitake and nicely textured pearl barley. This was served with Cheal’s’ excellent sourdough and a delightful herb roll with two butters include a yeast butter. Cheal’s seemed to have moved locations seamlessly in terms of its fine cuisine.

  And so to the starter proper - a finely seared scallop with a gorgeous lobster tempura, the pleasing sweetness in the dish derived from the presence of sultanas pairing happily with the flavour of curry oil. The accompanying cauliflower purée and capers were wholly appropriate.

  Matt Cheal’s menus usually seem to have a crispy egg course. Long may they do so as he always comes up with new twists on them and executes the eponymous ingredient perfectly. I have had one or two grim crispy eggs in some other establishments in my time but Cheal is a maestro. The variant this time gave me a finely crispy egg on a pleasing bed of cabbage all surrounded by potato espuma and winter truffle shavings scattered all over - delicious in it entirety - but the most miraculous part was the egg itself - when cut open it was the most supremely perfectly runny egg yolk I have ever had the opportunity to admire and  to enjoy. 

On to the fish. I enjoyed the beautifully served sea bass - was it just a few seconds over? - and though I liked the sweetness of the passion fruit which worked very well I gained nothing from the Muscade de Provence pumpkin and the pistachios certainly gave texture though they did seem a little odd in the context of the dish. An interesting dish all the same.

   The main course of Balmoral Estate venison was less rare than found in some restaurants but for me it was spot on. This was as tender a piece of meat as will be met anywhere - quite delicious - and very nicely accompanied by a thrillingly rustic ally flavoured ball of haggis, equally delightful salt-baked swede, its sweet earthiness just right for the dish, cavalo nero, red cabbage ketchup and a silky juniper sauce.

  The dessert which usually appears in Cheal’s tasting menu is a usually not-less-than-excellent soufflé and this is a reason to choose the tasting menu option if there were no other (which there is of course). This time it was a nicely flavoured forced rhubarb soufflé complemented by tangy ginger ice cream. After this came an excellent selection of six English and French cheeses with accompanying quince jelly, grapes and a generous number of crackers. The cheeses presented are listed on the menu depicted below. Alas I was too full to eat them there and then but they were nicely boxed up in a Baron Bigod container for me to eat at my leisure which I subsequently did with great pleasure. Rating:- 🌞🌞🌞.

     Before I had taken myself to Cheal’s I had had a short walk around Knowle itself. The local church is impressive with pleasing stained glass but an otherwise understated interior. The churchyard contained a large number of older graves, especially notable were a number of rather grandiose Victorian stone monuments.  I noted the presence of the ‘King’s Oak’, not named because Charles II hid up it after the battle of Worcester which is the case with most big oak trees in the West Midlands counties but rather more prosaically because it had been planted there to commemorate King George V’s coronation. I wondered if the village in that hoary and iconic ITV soap opera, Crossroads, also King’s Oak, had been named after it by one of the programme’s  producers, after they had come across the tree and with a sense of irony, given that the star of the show’s name was Noele Gordon and the tree was in Knowle, had felt the coincidence and the aptness too hard to resist. Well, it’s a nice idea.

298. Salt. Tempest.

 

  It had been a while since I had last been able to visit Paul Foster’s Salt in Stratford upon Avon. I have paid fewer visits to the town because the number of Shakespeare plays being presented at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre has been considerably reduced in the last year or so and some of the plays have been terrifyingly bowdlerised by its thankfully outgoing ultra-woke production managers (let’s hope the next lot are not even worse) and also because the days on which I was to be in town Salt has been fully booked.

  But now I was back. After a friendly greeting I was sat comfortably at my table in the recently redecorated dining area which could be described as chic rustic. At the small pass area, the chefs were gearing up for the evening and while waiting for the main event to start I discussed what I was going to have to drink with Salt’s enthusiastic and knowledgeable sommelier and nibbled smoked almonds and olives. Two fine amuses gueules followed and then some delightful in-house produced sourdough and butter with yeast fermented now for ten years.

  The first course was a fabulously delicious mushroom consommé full of shimeji mushrooms floating like mermaids in a still sea of deeply flavoured but nuanced mushroom consommé which was so fine that one feels it should be gradually lapped up rather than scooped up in a spoon and bodily delivered to one’s mouth. On top were enjoyably crispy shreds of mushrooms but an egg yolk purée in the depths of the consommé contributed nothing for me at least to this otherwise very special dish. I am a little perplexed about how one purées an yolk but I leave the cooking up to chef and take responsibility for the eating - and the tasting - of it.

  

  The next course was cured Loch Duart salmon served in a very adult way with sea fennel, dill and the lash of kombu powder. Then I chose red emmalle potato mouse textured pleasingly with puffed rice and then a magnificent beef tartare enlivened by charcoal mayonnaise and the earthiness precise tiny cubes of swede. 

    For the main I chose a lovely piece of Isle of Gigha halibut over saddle of fallow deer (which looked magnificent in the cooking which I could view being carried out near the pass and on the plate when presented to the table next to me). The roast halibut was seared to golden, exquisitely accurately cooked and perfectly accompanied by fine plump St Austell mussels and sea vegetables with the most impressively successful piece of crispy fish skin I have been served for a long time. A gem of a dish.

   

  The intermediate course epitomised the sophistication of dishes served at Salt - this brought the clash and cooperation of sweet and savoury together beautifully - goat’s milk ice cream, the sweetness of mango and the dark flavours and crunch of a sesame seed crisp. Finally the meal took its leave of me with a delightful ‘sweet’, outwardly simple one would think, of a remarkable ball of duck egg custard with precisely cooked rhubarb, a tasty rhubarb ice cream and ludicrously indulgent lumps of aerated white chocolate.

  Salt is in the vanguard of sophisticated yet accessible cuisine in the West Midlands. The new decor and the more comfortable seating and even the approachability of the staff help to make a visit to the restaurant pleasurable but the ingenuity and quality of the food served there means that Salt has not only fulfilled its early promised but has  established it as one of the highlights of dining out in the West Midlands region.

Rating:- 🌞🌞🌞

  The day before - 

  Lucy The Labrador and I were in Stratford upon Avon so that I could go to see what I expected to be its RSC’s latest bowdlerised Shakespeare production, this time I expected a mangled version of The Tempest. This gave me the chance to try lunching in the recently opened Prospero Lounge in Bridge Street whose offerings on its enormous menu are drastically eclectic and include an international tapas section, a wide variety of full English breakfasts and a long list of various burgers. 

  The lure was that the dining establishment is dog friendly and Lucy could sit with me and try to tempt me to feed her tidbits from the food on my plate. She has developed this form of emotional blackmail to a fine art, nothing looks more appealing and persuasive than a Labrador’s face when it is in a give-me-your-dinner mode. But a dog is a man’s best friend so by extension a man must be a dog’s best friend and therefore share what is on his plate with his best mate.

  The Prospero Lounge is a large space filled with shabby chic furniture and its walls are lined with a vast number of paintings which are obviously there as some sort of in joke since they seem to have been bought as a job lot from some sort of dire flea market. This a decidedly hipster sort of place - though admittedly far too big in spatial terms - but I can’t think of any hipsters I’ve ever seen in Stratford; it’s the sort of place where scruffy young socialists who have just carried out a couple of hours of canvassing for the local Labour Party Constituency Association will gather after doing so to join in a self-congratulationary comradely latte. But on this particular late lunchtime the customers were none of those - the place was full of better-off pensioners most of whom would never welcome a socialist government no matter what degree of meltdown the Conservative Party descended into. Cost of living crisis - what cost of living crisis?

  As reported in previous Blogs I am not a burger enthusiast but for some reason I had it in my mind that that was what I should order and I was going to do it in style. There were in fact a remarkable and ambitious fifty dishes on the menu (not including side dishes, puddings and cakes) plus cocktails, smoothies, beers, wines milkshakes, coffees, teas and so on. This all looked like a recipe for disaster.

  When the dog and I arrived many of the tables needed to be cleared - it was not an attractive sight. Still we found a table in the pleasingly warm dining area near the large windows from where we could watch Stratford passing by. After a prolonged study of the Bible-length menu I went to the counter and ordered a vanilla milkshake and the most ambitious of the burgers - the so-called Smokey Joe. The milkshake arrived in a large milk bottle with a straw that was irritatingly not long enough to reach the bottom of that particular container but the drink was pleasingly tasty and the vanilla flavour was delightfully discernible.

  The Smokey Joe burger arrived not longed afterwards. The menu describes it as, “6oz beef patty, spiced beef brisket, chorizo, lettuce, tomato, red onion, American cheese, spicy chilli ketchup and burger sauce” served with brioche bun, fries and house slaw”. The chips were good, tasty and a little crispy and not dry inside as some dining establishments seem to serve up.

  The burger itself was inelegantly served.The brioch was sweetly tasty and the ketchup added flavour but the slivers of cheese on top were unmelted and unpleasantly cold, the ‘slaw’ was far too cold when eaten with the burger and was not a pleasure and as for the chorizo there were just 3 little slivers of it and equally there was an ungenerous portion of brisket. The patty while well-cooked on the outside was certainly very rare inside to the extent I began to wonder where rareness ends and rawness begins. It was not appetising though the Labrador, who enjoys a little helping of raw meat from time to time, had no objections to it so all was well that ended well, for Lucy at least.

  The staff were quite pleasant. 

  I left Prospero’s Lounge in doubt that I would visit it again even if the dog is allowed to accompany me. I was pleased at least that the name of the restaurant I had eaten in that day tied up nicely with the play I was to see that evening. I like coincidences. 

  And I enjoyed, against all the odds, this production of The Tempest once the director had allowed magic to seep into it (throughout, it strived to relate the play to the current concern about man’s abuse of the environment and the natural world - a sort of Shakespeare as Greta Thunberg; the printed programme was full of drivel including Prospero’s magical initiation of the tempest which strands many of the protagonists on Prospero’s island being attributed to ‘geo-engineering’ by Prospero[(no, it wasn’t, it was magic]). Alex Kingston, in the RSC’s now established and frequently tiresome gender switching, played Prospero and very well too. Her delivery of the immortal soliloquy, “We are such stuff as dreams are made of …” was powerful and tears transiently raced to my eyes. The director was finally unable to continue cutting out the magic in the play as the final scenes brought spirits and monsters and thrills which even the RSC and its world wise production staff could not suppress. 

  Magic then is what we want - in the world, in the theatre and in the restaurant.