Baked In Brick
AND THE SEARCH GOES ON
No decorating this weekend, so you’d be forgiven for thinking I’m now on a mission to find the best Sunday roast in Birmingham. Truth is, we’d pretty much decided on Baked in Brick anyway and then heard they’re supposed to do a pretty decent roast. Given my gorgeously free Sunday schedule that included the extra hour in bed, we’ve booked a very respectable 3 o’clock table to settle us into the first dark early evening of autumn.
Baked in Brick has been on my radar for some time, since transitioning their award winning street food to a restaurant in the summer of 2018. Whilst it’s mostly variants of wood-fired pizzas, there are small plates and ‘street food’ menus too. This makes things massively easier with a vegetarian who isn’t particularly keen on the concept of roasts, even without meat. On my part, I’m intrigued.
The general décor leans towards ‘industrial’ with rusting concrete reinforcement mesh on the ceilings, tables and bench seating from reclaimed wood and ‘naked’ OSB—that new type of chipboard currently in vogue in start up bars and restaurants. It takes me a while to realise it’s had a minor Halloween makeover; with the yellow and black striped hazard tape and the wisps of cob webs blending in a little too easily.
The roasts—Aubrey Allen Aged Roast Beef or English Pork Belly—with a veggie option of Lentil Cottage Pie are on the menu at £14.95 for 1 course, £17.95 for 2 courses or £19.95 for 3 courses. On the face of it, this looks good, but neither starter: the Classic French Onion Soup nor the Goats Cheese & Caramelised Red Onion Puff Pastry Tart remotely interests any of us.
Unsurprisingly, Georgie immediately decides to go ‘off piste’, choosing the B.I.B. Smoked Burrata Salad: Westlands Foragers’ Baby Leaf, Heritage Tomatoes, Black Olive Tapenade. We both go for the beef, which is served with “Roast Potatoes, Thyme Roasted Carrots, Sea Aster, Maple Syrup Parsnips & Michelin Starred Yorkshire Pudding.”
There are three reds on the drinks list and I choose the Primasole Primitivo (£23), described as a ‘full, earthy style of red from southern Italy – Really gusty & spicy.’ Assuming it’s meant to say gutsy, I wouldn’t disagree, nor with the spicy and would add black berries and a hint of mocca into the mix too. It’s on the lighter side of a Primitivo too—at 13%—it’s perfect for a Sunday afternoon.
The music is just the right side of loud, which ordinarily is absolutely fine by me. But if you close your eyes and listen to the soundtrack of mostly ‘cheesy power pop’ you’d think this was a full on family and toddlers restaurant. Eyes open, it’s mostly customers with hangovers; trust me I know what a hangover looks like. I‘m jolted into this realisation by MMMBop by Hanson and I genuinely don’t think there are many worse songs ever in the whole history of music. It’s terrible enough without a hangover, but I have to suffer it twice in the two hours we’re here.
When the food arrives to save us from the noise, the burrata isn’t remotely smoked and is without tapenade. The cheesy garlic bread is a disappointment too; lacking probably the most essential ingredient you’d expect… garlic.
The roasts are delivered on a plate with just the beef—perfectly cooked medium rare—a Michelin star-sized Yorkshire pud and what looks like a small pile of wilted spinach, but turns out to be the sea aster; which has a bit more bite than spinach and a depth of flavour nearer samphire. There’s also a tiny glass jar of gravy, so I immediately order more, which arrives without any fuss.
On the table there’s a sharing dish of roasted vegetables: skin-on small potatoes, carrots and parsnips. The potatoes are great; under their crunchy bite they have a yellowy flesh, fluffy and creamy in equal measure and tasting on the nutty side. As for the thyme-roasted carrots, they’re just plain roasted with a very light sprinkling of fresh thyme. Even worse are the parsnips; I can only assume they’ve completely run out of maple syrup.
Whilst I’d never judge a plate of food on quantity alone, if there’s one meal I’d quite happily over eat to the point of explosion, it’s a Sunday roast. There’s just not enough of it, nor is there enough of anything that’s not roasted. Whilst the three key parts, roast potatoes, beef and Yorkshires are there or thereabouts they are completely let down by the supporting cast; sea aster aside. As well as the sides needing to at least deliver what they say they are, the plate needs more vegetables in the ‘not roasted’ category. It’s all just a bit too easy.
A glance at the desserts, presents just one option: Basil Crème Brulee. I order one anyway, assuming it’s a misprint. It arrives looking the part, beautifully golden with a hardened, mottled brown caramelised sugar topping. The custard is perfectly set too, but infused with strings of wilted basil. Fortunately it doesn’t completely overpower the dish, but why would anyone even think to do such a thing?
The total bill comes in at £70.35. It feels too much like you’re eating in a pizza joint, with the price point a couple of notches higher. Fair enough, but the next morning MMMBop is playing on loop in my head. I’d much rather have woken up with food poisoning.
