Sometimes, after a long day spent stuffing one's face in the MasterChef studio, the very last thing you want to do is eat. But duty calls, and so Trillium it is, smack bang in Birmingham's city centre, all gleaming picture windows, baroque chandeliers and lush, tropical foliage. As we approach, the whole place glows like gold bullion, the happy hubbub spilling out from beneath the door.
The first person I spot, upon walking in, is that hirsute Brummie hero Glynn Purnell, sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Now, it's always a joy to see this particular master chef, and I assume he's here to try out the competition. I've come to Trillium blind, having not even glanced at the website. It's only when I go to greet him that I realise this is his new restaurant. So much for meticulous research... But this is very good news indeed, and right from the start - a vast 'XXL' gougère the size of my fist, all crisply delicate choux pastry, stuffed with Montgomery cheddar cream, and topped with an excess of grated Gruyère - I know we're in for a blast.
There's a waffle, crisp and light, piped with an old-school punchy chicken liver parfait and blobs of Sauternes gel, sweetly sharp. Then a potato 'scallop', based on the chip-shop classic: crisp, battered potato slices, drenched in a mass of chive-flecked sour cream, like a Pringle with a PhD. This is fun food, managing to be at once cheffy and deeply satisfying. Monkfish cheeks, coated in the most burnished and brittle of tempura batters, arrive sitting on a splodge of ragù bolognese. More gel blobs here, this time citrus, but they have a job to do, cutting a dashing swathe through all that surf and turf.
Trillium's menu: 'at once cheffy and deeply satisfying'
An exceptional Tamworth pork chop comes covered in what initially seems like a mess of, well, orange and white sputum. But with smoked almonds and charred red peppers, it's a clever take on romesco sauce, with added bacon for yet more piggy depth. Looks a mess, tastes divine. Vegetable dishes are equally inspired. Leeks, smothered in microherbs and toasted hazelnuts, in what looks like a haphazard tangle. But there’s nothing disorganised about the balance, of both acidity and texture. Charred hispi cabbage comes slathered in creamy ranch dressing, with added sourdough crumb crunch.
Not every dish shines. The cured trout is a little too soft and subdued and needs more bite. Not bad, just comparatively dull. But we finish with a rhubarb trifle that could make even the most pudding averse let slip an involuntary gasp. Jelly! Sponge! Custard! Meringue! Because Trillium is Purnell at his playful best, in a room seemingly macerated in delight. Exalted, thoroughly modern cooking, with a great dollop of old-fashioned fun.
About £40 per person. Trillium, 1 Snow Hill Queensway, Birmingham B4; trilliumrestaurant.co.uk