Franco Manca
BREAK THE CHAIN
There’s a local legend in town, but for once this isn’t about me. We’ve got tickets to see Frank Skinner at The Symphony Hall. The plan is to eat first too, but nearby it’s mostly a depressing roll call of chains in Brindleyplace; no doubt the only restaurants that can afford premium rents… Pizza Express, Carluccio’s, All Bar One, Café Rouge etc.
In fairness, they’ve all been places I’ve been happy to frequent at some point, although the very essence of what they once were is long gone. Quality inevitably diminishes when there’s the need to deliver profits for shareholders in an increasingly competitive marketplace. As a nation we’re clearly risk adverse when it comes to food, too easily opting for the brands we know.
With it being an 8pm start for the evening’s comedy, with nowhere particularly in mind, we can take our chance to eat a bit further away. But, the roads are gridlocked, as is all too common with some rain at rush hour; although it hasn’t put off the crowd for the first night of the Christmas Market—something else that’s long lost its magic.
We’re now well behind schedule, so I make the snap decision to head for Franco Manca, despite the protests we’ll receive from our daughter for going for pizza without her. That’s assuming we can get a table—booking is only available for parties of 10 or more. Luckily we snag what’s probably the last free table, despite it being a huge dining room and just 6.30.
The menu is impressive, detailing the individual small suppliers for their primary ingredients and they’re mostly organic or free range and seasonal too. The pizza dough is made fresh on site daily and fermented for twenty hours, the cheeses are mostly British and the meats mostly Italian, as are the specialist tomatoes—as indeed they should be. The prices are great too, including the wine. We go for a bottle of the organic, naturally fermented Nero D’Avola – at £16.50, it’s a decent enough dark berry, medium bodied, dry red.
As for the pizzas, Katrina opts for the No. 3—Dry San Marzano tomatoes, roasted potatoes & onions, British mozzarella, Colston Bassett stilton and seasonal pesto with light tomato base and the option of spicy lamb sausage. I go for the No. 7 ‘chef special’—Lightly spiced pancetta, British mozzarella, Colston Bassett stilton, fresh baby kale, crispy onions with light organic tomato and caramelised red onion base.
It’s a great space for dining and there’s an open-air kitchen with a large wood fired pizza oven dominating. The décor is elegant but simple – wooden floor and bare brick walls with paintings and huge blackboards listing the specials. It must have one of Birmingham’s highest ceilings too, with beautiful Victorian decorative cornices above the suspended ‘industrial’ air conditioning and lighting rigs. Whilst this means the music gets lost, it allows the buzz of what must be at least 30 simultaneous conversations to provide the lively atmosphere. It’s an eclectic crowd too.
When the pizzas arrive, it’s very noticeable toppings are very much in the centre, leaving swathes of naked, pillowy, lightly charred crusts—cornicione, the menu informs me. But this should be ideal for the watercress pesto and the scotch bonnet chilli crust dips we’ve ordered. The baby kale leaves are straight from kindergarten and salad fresh, combining beautifully with the thinly sliced, rasher style pancetta, the salty blue kick from the stilton and the scattering of crispy onions providing a crunch too. The sourdough base is perfectly light and moist under its lightly crisp crust, with the caramelised onion base adding sweetness into the mix. This is an excellent pizza and Katrina’s in full agreement about hers.
No. 7 ‘chef special’
However, the crust dips don’t quite deliver, although that could just be me comparing them to those at Poli in Kings Heath, which are out of this world gorgeous. The pesto dip is a bit bland, although it’s likely it hasn’t got much of a fighting chance against all the dominant flavours of the pizza; the chilli one is just shockingly hot, although it’s hard to argue it doesn’t do exactly what it says on the tin.
This is a well-oiled machine— the service has been friendly and surprisingly quick considering its size, so we’ve still got time for dessert. Besides, it’s pretty much obligatory given there’s tiramisù on the menu. Unfortunately, it’s just lightly coffee’ed and with no real sense of booze, so it doesn’t come anywhere close to threatening the all time top 10, unlike the tiramisù at Otto in the Jewellery Quarter. With the wine now gone, Katrina decides on a glass of prosecco for dessert, which prompts me to order a grappa along with a double espresso.
We end up with a bill of just £50.30, so any criticisms border on the churlish. It’s no wonder a small queue has formed outside as we leave for our dash across town.
It just leaves us with one small challenge—admitting to Georgie, not only have we had pizza without her, but great pizza too. She immediately retorts it’s fine as Franco Manca is just a chain. I laugh this off… no way!
Later, I check online and discover there are 36 in London alone, with a further 14 across England. I can only hope they never make it to Brindleyplace.
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