Simpsons, Birmingham

It's not a restaurant, it's an institution. Simpsons is like the Royal Family, or a First Class seat on the Orient Express, or gold.

It's the acme of good food; the apogee of great service. Its dining room is elegant and refined, its kitchen is spotless and becalmed.

Consistency is at the heart of everything Simpsons does. I've eaten there on more than a dozen occasions and never been served an indifferent course. On each visit, the service has been exemplary and the atmosphere never less than rarefied.

In recent years, Birmingham has become the go-to destination for serious British diners. The Second City has undergone a gastronomic revolution and Simpsons has been at the heart of it.

For sure, Simpsons isn't the only restaurant that commands attention. Birmingham boasts more than its fair share of exceptional talents, with four Michelin-starred chefs and many others serving swoonsome food.

But peel back the layers and most roads lead back to Simpsons and its chef-patron, Andreas Antona. He is the daddy of Birmingham's culinary scene, the capo di tutti capi. If a genealogist were to draw a family tree of Birmingham restaurants, Andreas would sit at its heart. He has a formidable reputation; he's a man who is admired and adored in equal measure.

Some of Birmingham's greatest chefs have passed through Simpsons hallowed kitchens. Great talents have learned their onions under the tutelage of Andreas and his executive chef Luke Tipping.

The restaurant sits just off the Hagley Road, in the leafy and salubrious suburb of Edgbaston. Tennis courts, multi-million-pound homes and Warwickshire County Cricket Club are among its near neighbours.

It was created by Michelin chef-patron, the city's greatest gastronomic mentor, Andreas. He achieved his Michelin rating at Simply Simpsons, in Kenilworth. He was born into a Greek-Cypriot family with a café in London's Westbourne Grove. As a child he was taught the all-important chef's skill – how to use a knife – and went on to slice mushrooms, blanch and skin tomatoes and much more. Like most chefs of their generation his father and grandfather had no formal training, but picked up things along the way.

Andreas opened his Edgbaston restaurant in 2004. The 70-cover dining room was launched in a Grade II listed building and has proved remarkably successful.

The kitchens are overseen by Luke, who has worked for Andreas for many years. He too has shaped the careers of a generation of chefs and his work was recently recognised in the award of a Professorship of Culinary Arts by University College Birmingham.

My friend and I arrived for a midweek dinner. The tasting menu, which featured eight courses and a series of between-course appetisers, was beyond our appetites and we selected from Simpsons' a la carte offering.

Scallops served with Jerusalem artichokes, hazelnut oil and watercress sounded like a divine sweet-salty-savoury combination while the chicken and duck liver parfait with earthy beetroot and buttery toasted brioche also read like a sublime dish.

However, we were swayed by others. My friend opted for a rich, creamy and satisfying duck egg, which was served with a wild mushroom and parsley root risotto. The risotto was a deliciously inventive and wholesome dish, with small dice of assorted root vegetables providing big robust flavours. The egg was honey-gold and oozed decadently over the dish. She lapped up every last drop.

I selected pigeon, which was served with celeriac, pumpkin and muscovado. It was utterly sublime. I'm a huge fan of pigeon, but it can be tricky to cook. Overcook it and you end up with a lump of dry grey protein. Undercook it and you're left with chewy, aubergine-coloured flesh. Get it right, however, and you're greeted by one of autumn's great tastes. Happily, in Luke's skilful hands, I received a stand-out dish.

We struggled to decide our mains. I wanted three: venison served with autumn fruits, salsify, lentils and juniper; duck with five-ways onion, apple, sage and cider vinegar sauce and turbot with chicken wings, chicory, girolles and a brown butter emulsion.

Having opted for meat to start, I went for fish. Turbot is one of nature's great gifts. It's a heavyweight of the oceans, a no-messing piscine pleasure that stands up to the most intense flavour pairings. Luke's version was a treat. The outer had been fried hard in butter, giving it a crisp golden brown crust, before being cooked through. The seasonal mushroom flavour and savoury chicken wings were intelligent accompaniments and the emulsion gave the dish a lustrousness and sophisticated edge.

My friend opted for seabass served with confit cabbage, a potato and pancetta terrine and red wine sauce. The sea bass had been cooked with great skill, so that it had a crisp outer and translucent inner, while the potato and pancetta terrine was a work of real genius.

Thin slices of potato were sandwiched into a savoury, layered cake, which had been sliced and given a golden colouring. It was sublime. More than a forkful made its way across the table to my plate. We enjoyed a small pre-dessert, a vanilla panna cotta with a plum compote and short, sweet biscuit-ey crumb. It was a palate cleanser of the highest order.

And so to dessert. My friend opted for rice pudding, but not before questioning the wisdom of her decision. "It's rice pudding," she noted, winning the evening's prize for stating the blinkin' obvious. "It'll be stodgy," she added. She was wrong. The dish was a heavenly combination of nutty, fruity, herby flavours. It was as light as a mousse, without losing any of its unctuous creaminess.

My cheesecake was masterly. Two small oblongs of creamed cheese were served with delicate slices of apple, blackberries and a number of purees, aside a sweet crumb. It was artful and witty; a cleverly constructed dish that demonstrated the skill of Simpsons' pastry section.

We stayed for petit fours, coffee and a hot chocolate that was so good it might have been made in Hades. It comprised melted chocolate, cream and a little sugar. It ran like liquid vevlet and tasted of ever-so-slightly bitter fruit.

Service was first class. Our waiter, the elegantly coiffeured Yannick, made regular visits to our table and engaged in conversation when appropriate. He was a credit to the restaurant, regularly filling glasses, collecting my friend's coat when the time came to leave and offering thoughtful information during our evening.

Birmingham is in bloom. There's never been a better time to eat in the Second City. Diverse ethnic restaurants, neighbourhood bistros and cafés offering dishes of great provenance all feature in the city's offering. Headline restaurants such as Purnell's and Adams attract visitors from around the UK while the brilliant and exquisite Lasan offers the best of Indian food.

Simpsons is for the purist. It is rooted in classic European favourites and sets the standards to which other restaurants and chefs aspire. It's been a colossus of the region's gastronomic scene since its launch nine years ago and shows no sign of diminution.

Creative, thoroughly modern and daring, it's food scintillates the senses.

ADDRESS

• Simpsons Highfield Road, Birmingham, B15 3DU

• Tel: 0121 454 3434

• Web: www.simpsonsrestaurant.co.uk