Better to aim for the stars and occasionally miss, than to settle for a life of safe suburban dough balls
I am fully expecting Harborne Kitchen to be embarrassingly empty on a Thursday lunchtime; in a largely residential neighbourhood, it’s certainly not competing on price with the reliable charms of the Pizza Express a few doors down. Indeed, from the outside, it has all the allure of a high-street dental surgery.
But I’m wrong: it’s two-thirds full. My friend, a local in this leafy bit of Brum, takes great pleasure in informing me that there’s a Michelin-starred rival just down the road, “next to the charity shop, opposite the bank”, a revelation that blows my tiny London mind – as, I suspect, was the intention. Gloves off, I think: Birmingham means business.
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