Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic who reckons Thatcher would have sorted out these striking nurses in a heartbeat.
CHURCHILL would be turning in his grave. We sent the Krauts packing and for what? To let them take over our city centres like Operation Overlord never happened?
But ‘tis the season for goodwill and all that, and they’ve said they’re sorry for the Third Reich so I’ll give it a cautious once-over as it’s only Birmingham. Baffles me as to why Britain’s second city feels the need to morph into fucking Dusseldorf every December but still.
Besides it’s the only bit of ‘festivity’ I’ll have to put up with this year. The ex-wife’s not one of those who invites me round and the son swerves me at Christmas because I’m a miserable sod. Fine with me, I hate buying presents.
First impressions? It’s heaving and I’m keeping one hand on my wallet. You have to be streetwise with this many non-indigenous about. Ideally put it down your pants next to your tackle. See them try to grab that.
I had a look around the stalls before trying the food, soak up the atmosphere. It’s a load of tat. Funny-flavoured fudge, wooden dolls we wouldn’t have gone near in the fucking 1950s, gaudy scarves and hats. If this is a German Christmas no wonder they were so keen to invade the rest of the world.
To drink there’s glühwein, a palatable Lidl red they’ve seen fit to throw fruit and a cinnamon stick in then heated until the alcohol evaporates. I’m glad the Yanks captured the Eagle’s Nest and drank Hitler’s personal vintages if this is how much respect they have for wine.
Food? Truly hideous hot dogs with frankfurters that look like camels’ cocks in mustard. Bratwurst which is gristly, chewy and only fit for dogs. How do they think they can improve on the British breakfast banger?
It doesn’t get better. Schnitzels – who takes a lovely steak, batters it flat and rolls it in breadcrumbs? Even McDonald’s aren’t that fucking stupid. The pretzels are the bastard offspring of a bag of crisps and burnt toast. They went in the bin.
But I’ll say this for Fritz, he can brew beer. So I washed down their unpalatable shit with six or seven flagons until I couldn’t taste it anymore, and next thing I know I’m chucking the lot up behind someone’s puppet stall.
The lad starts shouting at me in German, I cordially reply that I don’t speak his language because we won the fucking war, and I’m thrown out. A true born Englishman in my own country. Disgraceful.