Birmingham: It's Not Shit

Damn right its London Centric crap. I usually read the Guardian, and know despite its Manchester heritage that its London centric. No doubt the author never visited Jibbering Records, any of the bars or cafes that abound in Kings Heath and Moseley, the cafes stuck behind jewellers in Jewellery Quarter, the great round-the-back spaces in Selly Oak and Northfield and of course, Mr Egg. If there ever was such a thing as 'cafe culture' then Mr Egg is surely it: Food you want to eat, slap bang in the centre, and no chance of mistaking a piece of fruit for a spud. In fact, the only 'cafe culture' as he would understand it is the fantastic array of Chinese restaurants/takeaways in the Arcadian. Much better, cheaper and filling than anything from the chains upstairs.

I've Just got back from Berlin, which had some 'cafe culture' much the same as the manufactured bonhomie seen at Chez Jules in New Street or virtually anything alongside the canal. In fact, I'll bet the 'cafe culture' that the plank writing that article desires was set up purely for people like him to make pretend in. I'll bet he had to force himself to like it, and secretly longs for a proper, reasonably priced meal and then a pint at a decent pub where he can sit and talk to his friends.

He could have bought a great book from that green shop at the bottom of the Ring, started it in Mr Egg and eaten a huge plateful of food, walked the meal off as he heads to the Tap and Spile, or Wellington, and finished it over a few glasses of the excellent ale that they offer. Did he? Of course not. Replace the book with a laptop, the beer with a pompous Leffe or such, and the meal with overdescribed, undercooked potato skins.

If I'd have known that he was visiting I would have driven him back home myself.

Patronising under researched London-centric crap, I'm afraid. If Moss wanted to see the local version of cafe culture - those slightly different owner-operated places where you can spend time working, talking, reading and meeting colleagues, he could have done worse than to head for Digbeth. But does he? No, he doesn't. Instead, he hangs around the BullRing, the Mailbox and Broad Street and grumbles about chains. Cafe society works at all levels, but its emergence was strictly functional - it met a need. Upscale cafes in South Kensington or continental town squares filled with tourists pricing out the locals aren't what cafe society is about.