I WAS not aware that the Midlands had its own
cuisine, let alone that it was sufficient- ly large to construct a regularly changing menu around it. But at My Old Flower, London's first Brummie — or as chef- patron Wayne Runcie insists, Black Coun- try — restaurant, which officially opens on Saturday, the menu manages to eschew any dish whose provenance is not that of an area bounded by Wolverhampton to the north and Bromsgrove to the south.
'I feel that basically Birmingham has really been misunderstood,' says Runcie. `What I always say is why is it so surprising that the towns which gave us the flax loom and the Hillman Avenger shouldn't pro- duce some really brilliant food too?'
And against all expectations the food is brilliant. It is the decor which is something of a stumbling block. There in the middle of the stripped-pine floor in the hall is the engine block of what Runcie assured me is a rare 1947 Triumph motorcycle. The lighting comes from a collection — unique, apparently — of 19th-century iron- founders' clogs into which dim red light bulbs have been screwed. It is thus difficult to make out the precise nature of the lumps of ferrous detritus which line the walls and threaten to fall at any moment into one's Potage Walsall.
`I could have done the place out in pink and grey like all those poncy places up the road,' says Runcie, 'but I love my city all true Brummies do — and I felt it was my duty to display its treasures.'
Wayne is one of a new wave of innova- tive young British chefs to emerge from the Solihull School of Catering, the first col- lege to be funded jointly by a local author- ity and private enterprise — in this case by Runcie Non-Ferrous Metals PLC, the firm set up by his uncle Eric. The college motto, and one carried down south by young Runcie, is to the point: Ubi sordes, ibi orichalcum.
Except that the sordes, here in the culinary sense, is offal. 'None of the others want to use it. Sure Little [Alistair] and Hopkinson [Simon] and that lot play around with the odd goose kidney, but they don't take it seriously like what I do.'
And there, sure enough, under the heading of 'Specialites de la Maison' is Runcie's proudest achievement: Meli-Me- lo 'Abracadabra' des Abats. This is, above all else, brown. The pile of amorphous lumps in the centre of the brown plate is brown, the glutinous sauce which sur- rounds it is brown, even the grilled decora- tive nasturtium leaves ('We find them growing wild outside Kings Norton') are defiantly brown.
I admit it: I paused before plunging my knife in and when I took my first bite it was with closed eyes. But rarely have I felt such a pleasurable explosion of taste on my tongue. First the slight bitterness of the kidneys, then the flaccid butteriness of the sweetbreads, and underpinning all of this the evocatively ferrous graininess of the carbonised liver. The sauce is based on a purée of brain and heart — 'a sort of metaphor for the cuisine if you like' - spiked with a touch of Runcie's own sauce brun. 'I tried using Al sauce for a while, but it wasn't vinegary enough for the effect I was after.'
For those too squeamish — and it is their loss — to delve into the innermost beast, I'd recommend those more common dishes which are admitted to Runcie's menu only by dint of one or two special ingredients being added to them. Les Doigts du Poisson avec sa Coulis is Runcie's own version of a dish eaten at tea-time from Cannock to Redditch. His reworking of a mince-meat dish he discovered on a day- trip to France shows Runcie's culinary wit: the Burgers of Calais come with a thick layer of provocatively lumpy mashed pota- to.
It is perhaps on his puddings that Run- cie, as it were, falls down. I was convinced only by the Black Country Gateau: 'It's like Black Forest but with angelica instead of the cherries and Malibu instead of the kirsch. My kids love it.' And so did I.
At £62.50 for two (including beer and sherry) My Old Flower isn't cheap, but Runcie's is a brave effort and deserves our support.
My Old Flower (closed Tuesdays and when Aston Villa are playing in London), 42 Letsby Avenue, London WI; tel: (01) 237 5197.
Nigella Lawson
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