The ultimate city centre desi pub ranking

Dear readers — at the start of last year we wrote about the desi pub and its unstoppable rise. If you don’t recall, I’d urge you to revisit.

That piece included the history, the politics, the culture, and even the role of the desi pub as a place of “multicultural intersection”. This is indeed a big topic. In his half-book-half-desi-pub-encyclopedia the journalist David Jesudason writes about the unique cultural place they operate in: “there was a certain section of the white working-class culture that also needs to be — finally – recognised and celebrated… I was taken aback [by] how the white population loved their — and ‘their’ is crucial here — desi pubs.”

Yes, in that piece we touched on all the weighter topics the food writer worth his salt will skillfully weave into his writing, such as to leave you thinking: ‘yes, it is about the food, but it’s also about so much more…’.

We won’t be bothering with any of that today. Today’s piece is about us going to the desi pubs, eating the sizzlers and drinking the cobra. And then deciding which ones are best and ranking them. We’ve also played somewhat fast and loose with the definitions, essentially widening our net to include any Indian food spot where drinking is not just optional, but pretty much integral. We’ve kept it to the city centre this time, and we’ve summoned six contenders to the throne — all of which we’ve visited in the past two weeks. And here they are:

• The Soho Tavern, 
• Indian Cafe Racer (the one at the back of The Wellington, not the new one)
• Peg & Grill
• The Hen & Chickens
• Indian Brewery
• The Indian Streetery

And that’s about all there is to say. Let’s get going…

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One such work, Ewa Dziarnowska’s This resting, patience comes to Eastside Projects – a performance praised by Springback Magazine for its ability to show how “a dance performance can indeed allay fears, offer respite and draw communities together in an act of solidarity.”

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Image credit: Spyros Rennt.

6. The Indian Streatery (Dan Cave)

Drinking alone in public is one of those acts that polite society often finds a bit repulsive. Like playing TikToks out loud on the train or being rude to nuns. Of course, not every solo drinker is the same. If they happen to be middle-aged and bearing down on the body-softening years of life (as I am), then the drink must be disdainfully held as an accelerant to brooding. I am not a young man drinking in the hope of the boisterous possibilities a night out on the bottle brings. No, I am a doleful inebriate twisting a pint glass around as I turn in on myself, totalling up the past.  Alternatively, if the drinker has cloistered themself in the gloomiest corner of an establishment (as I had) — when others are yet to finish their working days — then the whole thing takes on an even more sordid quality. Oh well.

Ensconced in a shadowy cubbyhole at The Indian Streatery — in an otherwise open-plan box of a restaurant, I sit myself on the only table placed between the kitchen door and a shabby MDF wall. I am drinking alone. And as a waitress from an attentive carousel of staff approaches to offer me my second pint before I’ve even finished my first — a delicious Birmingham Brewing Company number, like a Cobra or Kingfisher but with a deeper, spicier profile — I must contend with the fact that I could be about to start on a serious session. 

Perhaps it’s drinking the Streatery is best suited to. The food is, largely, unremarkable. A side slaw described as “feisty” is watery. Vegan and vegetarian options dominate the menu — a treat for a non-meat-eater such as myself — but my palak paneer is easy on the flavour, easy on the paneer, and heavy on the salt. The bread, an oily, spiced bhatura, dextrously described by a friendly staffer, was the sole note of flavour. Not bad to have something to soak up the second lager which I had agreed to. 

Indeed, as the beer took hold, I began to think that the Streatery should redefine itself as a drinking establishment with its plentiful, if not bland, food options sidelined as booze-mop. I’ve always been suspicious of re-imaginings of the balti house which attempt to corporatise or soften the character of our region’s most famous and longstanding food offering. 

And while the Streatery didn’t wholly fall into the Dishoom or Zindiya category — it has a shabbiness of character which almost feels authentic — it hardly holds a candle to the flavours and fun found in the curry houses of the suburbs. But with friendly, chatty staff and only one delicious draught to choose from, even individual inebriates might feel like they're in reliable company, here. Streatery could become a sots' paradise. 

2.5/5

5. Indian Brewery, Snow Hill (Kate Knowles)

Of all the places on this list, Indian Brewery probably feels the most corporate. That’s because it is. But in fairness, perhaps most places visited at 2pm on a Wednesday do, especially when they’re located so close to Birmingham’s ‘business district’ (akin to the City of London but where the gilets are from M&S rather than Ralph Lauren). Chinos aside, this spot under the railway arches near Snow Hill Station actually has a decent atmosphere, aided by loud music, low lighting and the cosy vibe you get when a place is almost full at lunchtime while the weather outside is miserable. 

Unfortunately some blues crept in to dampen my mood when, on trying to order a pint of diet coke, I was told it only came in a regular-sized glass. This would have been fine had the price of soft drinks on tap not been a whole, FOUR Great British Pounds and 15 pence (thus rendering multiple orders out of the question). As I sipped my Sylvanian Family-sized cola, I contemplated the meal ahead. The Indian Brewery menu is a concise affair: a selection of ‘fat naans’ (breads topped with curry); Indian fish and chips; or a choice of three curries (chicken, lamb, or paneer). There are a few small plates of spiced fried things as well as three varieties of fries, described as “damn good”. Presumably past patrons of Indian Brewery have doubted this claim because the blurb accompanying the simple, salted fries hammers the message home in all caps: “THESE FRIES ARE EXTREMELY TASTY!” 

I take pity on the chips and order them despite their slightly desperate attempt to get my attention. They were indeed very moreish, as was the rich and creamy butter paneer fat naan I ate alongside them. It’s a shame about that costly coke though, which really did stick in my craw. 

3/5