Adil's
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
I’d have been in my early 20s when I had my first balti and it was love at first bite (sorry). This was long before there was such a thing as The Balti Triangle and I’d normally be fully charged after a night out in town. Served in the steel dish they’d been cooked in, they often arrived at the table still bubbling like molten lava. It was a minor health and safety hazard with sleeves rolled up, just a naan for scooping and usually being quite pissed, but any balti dish burns were an essential part of the experience and worn with pride. I couldn’t get enough of them; on at least three baltis a week and with that addiction, it was easily the fattest I’ve ever been. Magical days.
Whilst, there’s little doubt Birmingham introduced balti to the UK, there are two schools of thought as to where the name comes from. The popular belief is it’s named after the metal dish, as balti is the Hindu word for bucket. But at Adil’s, which lays claim to be the first restaurant to put balti on the menu, it’s a dish that originates from… wait for it… Baltistan in Northern Kashmir and it’s the specific style of cooking and blend of spices typical of that region. Their standard balti is still prepared with ‘Adil’s Original Balti Flavours,’ so that’s one half of tradition sorted. But I want it properly authentic; I want it in the dish it’s cooked in. “No problem,” says the waiter, “that’s still how we do it here.”
These days, I rarely order a balti, given it’s pretty much just become a by-word for random curries decanted into stainless steel serving bowls. Its legacy has been further muddied to include ‘standard curry styles’, such as balti Madras, balti pathia, balti bhuna etc. In fairness, such aberrations are also on the menu at Adil’s “to suit the different tastes of our ever increasing clientele.” Each to their own, but not for me.
We’re here because we’ve two returning Brummies, up from that London, for the Carabao Cup semi-final at the Villa this evening. Cam wants a proper balti and has specifically requested Adil’s. We’re meeting a couple of hours before kick off and with traffic likely to be a nightmare, we pass on starters; ordering popadoms, a balti each, a mushroom pilau rice, two chapattis, a peshwari and, keeping with tradition, a large table naan too. With the order taken, reminiscing begins about the good old days; mostly misty-eyed tales of balti-related drunken night adventures.
The popadoms land with the royal flush of condiments; chopped onions, hot red chilli sauce, mint sauce, a sweet chutney and raita. Within a couple of minutes we’re ordering another round of popadoms and attention turns to taking an order for a beer run. Despite some provocation for being a dry January bore, whilst completely guilty of that charge, I’m happy on the moral high ground, so bat away the peer pressure and stick with water.
Back in the old days, the original pioneers of baltis—Shabab (my personal favourite back then), Saleems and Adil’s etc.—were more in the style of greasy spoon café; but these days, Adil’s is very much restaurant. It’s a comfortable space, with the air of interior design, features and fittings exclusively from Debenhams.
Adil’s interior - main room (with rival Leicester City fans)
The baltis arrive causing the chat across the table to peter out. Mine’s a lamb tikka and chana balti, totally looking the part in its fire-blackened steel dish that’s hot to the touch, but not quite enough to burn. The lamb has a lightly charred crust from the tandoor and whilst on the chewy side, it adds a quiet spicy heat to the thick, medium-hot sauce. The chick peas provide some extra bite but I’m not getting any of my expected flood of taste memories.
Lamb tikka and chana balti with peshwari naan
Cam’s paneer tikka and mushroom balti
There’s something almost buttery amongst the flavours I can’t work out and not really the dominant flavour I was after. I ask the waiter if they use ghee but I’m told it’ll probably be the yoghurt from the tikka marinade as they only use vegetable oil. Fair enough, but there’s not enough oil; I want it to gather into spice-infused puddles for the joy of the mopping up climax. I appreciate this would have been a major contributor to my twenty-something lardiness, so maybe I should just be grateful for the way it is. Besides, I’ve still got some Christmas excess to shift.
The peshwari naan is on the doughy side, but laced with enough sultanas to tick off one of my five-a-day and there’s desiccated coconut in there too. But, there’s no lightly crispy top under a honey glaze, as is my preference. At least the double duvet-like table naan is perfectly billowed, crispy topped and charred.
Table naan
My balti hasn’t been the taste sensation I expected—but the tricks of nostalgia and time have probably played their part in that. Across the table everyone else is perfectly content and it’s hard to grumble at £12 each. We head off to Villa Park with bellies full and hope in our hearts.
The Villa win, so, there’s a Wembley trip to look forward to, flooding back more memories of happy days. But I will go there with no expectations whatsoever.
WORTH A TRY
148-150 Stoney Lane, Sparkbrook, Birmingham B12 8AJ
