No, I'm kidding.....
In fairness I should point out here that this meal was a present: weekday lunchtime 2 courses, plus a glass of prosecco. This seems to be a big part of the turnover, there being a pre-printed menu to cover same, and signs all over advertising this as the perfect gift. Fair enough, as well as enabling me to see the outlay my friends had made. £80 it seems, more of which later.
This particular MPW Steakhouse & Grill occupies a wonderful room, high up in The Cube, the latest iteration within Birmingham's once-proud prestige Mailbox site. As you leave the lift and pass through the MPW gallery of moody black and white shots, scattered with his bons mots and quoted commentaries, suddenly you see where you are, a stonking panorama across the greater Birmingham area from ahigh. This makes it all seem worthwhile, spotting and ticking off all the buildings across the horizon. (And this could have been a table side view, for a fiver per head, ask your waiter, politely reminds the menu.) We didn't, accepting a table in sight of the open plan service area.
A brief respite to scan the menu, yes, 10% gratuity (optional) will be added, and the cost of various sundries explained. 3 choices of starter, 3 of main. We both elected for the chicken liver pate, having to ask for our Prosecco after it arrived. A chilled slab of perfectly adequate supermarket pate did little more than take the edge away of our appetites, the alleged sourdough toast unconvincing. But it's fine, it's a freebie. I chose one of the MPW commended and endorsed wines to aid and abet the fizz, never having been quite taken in by the Prosecco lobby, a chilean white Viognier. I liked it a lot. Proof that the concept of Vin de Patron works, if not inexpensively. Steak had to be my choice, given the name of the place, a 6 oz sirloin. I asked for medium rare, but they, apparently, only do pink or well-done. OK, pink it was, but this was a conceit I hadn't heard of before. Xu had the sea-bass, with extra spinach: sides came as extra, as did the pepper sauce I chose. So what sort of chips would I get, I wondered, what double/triple cooked wonders would these be? No such pomp, these were good old, I would guess, oven chips and sat alongside a smooth sculpted slice of pink-ish centred meat. I would imagine every piece of meat to be of exactly the same size and shape, but may be wrong. 3 cherry toms took guard as the thin jus displayed it's singular lack of pepper and washed to the edge of the plate. Sure, it tasted like steak and chips, even looking a passable facsimile thereof, but precious little credit to the kitchen or, it's onetime lauded namesake. Think some of the bottom end Berni's you frequented as a young and impoverished diner. I did too. They were better, constantly having to remind myself the good grace of my benefactor. The fish was good, I was told, although it fair to say I have eaten larger anchovies. Neither of us are big on puddings so had a peep, electing otherwise, likewise coffee.
Interestingly, when the bill came, the £80 price for a gift meal had shrunk to, I think £39, as the amount allowed for and the amount the 10% (optional) service charge was based upon, alongside the extra veg, sauce and wine. I hope I have this wrong, but don't suppose I will ever know. Suspicious this may be the sort of gaff where staff may not attract their own tips, again I may be wrong, I elected to leave a tenner separately, this roughly equating the expected amount.
The chef who made me cry? A big sign branded MPW as the "chef who made Gordon Ramsay cry", is displayed high on the wall. Given now even Gordon is becoming a distant memory in the culinary zeitgeist, times changing, I wonder who is crying now, apart from all the way to the bank.
