The last time I dined in affluent Moseley, south Birmingham, a few years back and in quite a fancy establishment, a fight broke out mid-meal. It was more drunken argy-bargy than fisticuffs, but enough to count as floor entertainment. Sadly, no spats occurred on my recent visit to Satori, an enlightening Japanese restaurant in the same postcode, though that’s probably because it’s so dark in there – black walls, black floors, black tables – that its customers wisely choose to remain safely seated.
But this is not a Dans Le Noir-style themed restaurant where you eat in a blackout; no, it has instead merely been designed by someone who clearly really loves shiny, black surfaces with blood-red trimmings and busts of dragons. It’s giving, as the kids say, 1980s MFI showroom doing international playboy lair. Or the time Adrian Mole painted over his Noddy wallpaper with black paint, but the gold hat bells kept gleaming through.
Satori is inspired, the website says, by the Japanese concept of satori, a moment of “awakening”, and offers a dining experience “that transcends the ordinary and becomes a journey of discovery, flavour, and connection”. That’s a slightly pompous claim for somewhere that serves tuna and avocado maki, chicken wings, miso cod fillet and duck breast with honey and soy, but then pomposity chimed loudly in the air as we were led brusquely to our shiny table.
We had ordered drinks from the small bar by the front door, a shiso fine made with Afsana Lion non-alcoholic spirit, red shiso and rhubarb and hibiscus tonic, plus a kendo made with Afsana Warrior, toasted rice tea, coconut water and sesame. Both sounded delicious, but they remained a dream because they never showed up. Did I maybe get off on the wrong foot with the front of house? Admittedly, there was a certain fractiousness from the moment I began ordering. “We’ll start with some sushi,” I said confidently.
“The sushi platter?” our server replied, guiding us to the £30 option.
“Well, how many pieces are on it?” I asked.
“Twelve,” he said, tapping his pad. “And what then for starters?”
“Do we need starters?” I asked, having already seen several platters of rather cumbersome-looking maki and nigiri pass by.
“Yes, you’ll need starters,” he said, curling a lip.
“Tea-smoked miso aubergine?” I said, hoping to placate him. “Karaage?”
“And?” he said.
“Can we order mains now?” I said, ignoring his rolling eyes. My request for the black cod at £35 and the £30 lamb cutlets seemed to persuade him that we weren’t just cluttering a table.
A weird, dry, wilted cracker with spring onion and goat’s curd appeared as an amuse-bouche. Then a plate – black slate, naturally – topped with salmon and tuna nigiri dressed with rather thickly sliced okra and some caviar, and a slightly stodgy dragon prawn tempura maki topped with pea shoots. This wasn’t sushi worth making a special trip for, and pretty indistinguishable from the freshly rolled options at Waitrose.
Next up came two thick slices of that tea-soaked aubergine, which was sweet, mushy and pleasant enough. Four small, thumbnail-sized pieces of karaage followed, which we’d been told had a layer of bonito under the drab, dry batter. Chopsticks were whisked away for our mains, which is when Satori ceased to push the boundaries of Japanese cuisine, ahem, and landed firmly in a 1990s UK pastiche of “sophisticated Japanese”, with a chunk of rather nice fish in a buttery miso sauce on a couple of pak choi leaves, and three deliciously plump, pink pepper-seasoned lamb chops with a few smears of yoghurt and some spindly heritage carrots, which owed more to Bengal than to Tokyo.
This was the sort of dinner where you order dessert mainly out of sheer curiosity. “The baked Mount Fuji!” I declared triumphantly. Within a matter of minutes, and certainly not within time actually to bake anything, a chunk of matcha ice-cream ensconced in sticky meringue was on our table, a shot of whisky was hurled over the top and the whole thing was then set ablaze. At this point, semi-hysteria set in, although that might have been the whisky fumes. After the flames abated, the plate – black, of course – was a mound of singed, still moist meringue mix sitting on some melted ice-cream and a puddle of whisky. You really can’t put a price on that kind of excitement, although in this case it came to £12.
Dinner was £168.77 including the warm service, but without the cocktails that, to date, are still being made in a very black room in Moseley. There wasn’t a fight in the restaurant, but my purse took a battering.
Satori 2c St Mary Row, Wake Green Road, Birmingham B13, 0121-537 4166. Open Tues-Thurs, dinner only, 5-10pm; Fri 1pm-10pm; Sat noon-11pm. From about £50 a head à la carte; tasting menu £75; “signature” tasting menu £120, all plus drinks and service.
The next episode of Grace’s Comfort Eating podcast is out on Tuesday 11 March – listen to it here
