The Highfield – Edgbaston, Birmingham

As The Lighthouse family once sang, “when you’re close to tears remember, someday this will all be over, one Sunday we went to the HIGHfield.”

That’s right, against my better judgement we went out for a Sunday roast a couple of weeks back.

“What could be nicer than spending a Sunday in a pub, eating a roast?” you naively ask.

I’ll tell you what could be nicer – saving your money, or spending £50 on amazing ingredients and cooking it for the pair of you yourself.

Let’s do some maths. I’m 33, that means I’ve been around for roughly 1,716 Sundays. Impressive huh? Not very helpful though.

52 Sundays a year, let’s assume every three months I go for a Sunday lunch… this isn’t getting us anywhere, the point I’m trying to make is that 95% of pub Sunday lunches are absolute shit.

I’ve written about one other roast I had in Edgbaston.

This time it was the turn of The Highfield, also in Edgbaston. Surely the sophisticates of this leafy Birmingham suburb wouldn’t have two pubs serving up crap roasts? Read on reader.

To start we shared a deli platter of chicken wings, salmon and something else I can’t remember – an absolutely horrid affair it was too.

I fucking LOVE chicken wings. Love them, they are delicious. That doesn’t mean you can just put them in an oven, with nothing on them, take them out and put them on a platter. Would you do the same with chicken breast? No, you wouldn’t, so don’t do it with chicken wings. Because it’s a ‘wing’ doesn’t make it interesting enough that you don’t have to bother making them tasty.

The platter also consisted of massive chunks of salmon coated in breadcrumbs with a ‘ponzu’ dipping sauce.

They were fine, in a ‘they are better than the chicken wings, but I’d definitely rather never eat them again’ kind of way.

BREXIT

On to the main event, the big one, the ROAST BEEF SUNDAY LUNCH.

Yum! Roast beef, bit of English mustard, potatoes, gravy – just typing it almost makes me think Brexit is a good idea. Done right, there can’t be many nicer things in the world.

“How would you like your beef? Pink or well done?” asked the waiter.

Honourable intentions, but the question really should have been:

“You are getting your beef grey, whatever happens, OK?”

£15.95 gets you two slices of the saddest, grey cow since your mum, three slabs of rock-hard roast potato, a couple of carrots, a Yorkshire pudding and some piss weak gravy.

You can add to the fun with £3.50 each for red cabbage, stuffing and cauliflower cheese. THANK YOU! Thank you so much.

“Oh, I’ve put some star anise on red cabbage aren’t I clever.”

No, no you’re not.

Frankly, the whole thing was a shit show.

FULL DISCLAIMER: I would have sent the whole thing back, but a relative was paying and I didn’t want to make a scene.

I did however send back the Creme Brûlée that hadn’t seen a fridge so was totally unset.

All in all, at the end of the day, it is what it is – and what it is is another shite pub Sunday roast to add to my spreadsheet.

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