Desi Yew Tree, 44 Pool Street, Wolverhampton, WV2 4HN. Desiyewtree.com. No reservations. Starters £4.50 – £11; Sharing grill platters £12 – £22; Main dishes £8.50 – £13. Beer from £4 a pint

I am but a man; as easily suggestible as any rampant digestive system attached to an equally rampant mouth. Show me a picture of a steaming bowl of ramen, the burnished rings of chashu pork peeking shyly from the cloudy broth, and I will immediately know that this is the only thing I wish to eat. Forever. Or at least for lunch. The hanging Cantonese roasted ducks, pressing their red and gold breasts to the windows of Chinatown restaurants, aren’t just a serving suggestion to me. They are benign sirens, calling me irresistibly to the table. I know how sophisticated food photography has become. That doesn’t stop the baser animal part of me, the bit throbbing away in some rudely undeveloped fold of my brain, demanding that I find a way to get my mouth around whatever I’m looking at. I like to think of myself as discerning and sophisticated; in truth, I am merely an advertiser’s dream.

Which explains why, a few weeks ago in Wolverhampton, after interviewing the director of a new documentary about Britain’s Desi pubs in front of an audience for a recording of Radio 4’s Kitchen Cabinet, I immediately jumped in a cab and directed it to one just over the ring road. Zaki Solosho, who was born and raised in London’s Southall, had done such a good job of describing the allure in these brilliant places of the mixed grill, sizzling with seekh kebabs and lamb chops, chicken tikka and the rest, that I needed to be eating one. It was as simple as that.

The film, Desi: A Pub Story, commissioned by the Campaign for Real Ale (Camra), is an intriguingly subversive piece of work. It introduces itself as a food story about pubs which house kitchens serving up dishes from across the Indian-subcontinent (to which the word “Desi” refers). Cue lingering shots of those smoky kebabs, and deep-sauced curries, and bubbled and blistered naan breads the size of satellite dishes.

But the highly stimulating food porn is actually a way into an incisive piece of anthropology. It digs deep into the racism experienced by early immigrants to the UK from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, the primacy of the National Front in Southall in the 1970s, and how enterprising members of the community took over a classic institution of the very culture, which had done its best to exclude them – the pub – and made it their own. In doing so, they created places that have been so successful they have now become symbols not of exclusion, but of inclusion. The heart of the clientele is always the local Desi community. These are their places. But now they attract a very mixed crowd.

That’s what I find when I arrive at the Desi Yew Tree, a blocky building in the city’s light industrial Graiseley district, which started serving food 15 years ago. It’s a 20-minute walk from Wolverhampton Wanderers’ Molineux Stadium. On match days, supporters park up here for a drink before, and then come back for dinner after. Immediately inside is the bar, lined with Carling, Cobra and Madrí Excepcional on draught. To the right is the long, narrow, main dining room. To one side, behind a huge picture window so you can watch flames leap and naans being slapped into tandoors, is the kitchen. There are also multiple TV screens, some large for general viewing, some smaller and set into the wall by the booths. Tonight, all of them are screening a Liverpool v Leverkusen Uefa Champions League game. I say this as if I understand the significance of these words. I do not. I know only that men are chasing a ball across a green field and that others are shouting at them.

A key part of Solosho’s film challenges the presumption of homogeneity with Desi pubs; that they are all basically the same thing. A community drawing on immigration from Bangladesh, Pakistan and the vastness of India is not homogeneous. It also changes with social mobility. Yes, they are always going to serve those grills and kebabs, but the menu here is not, for example, the same as at the Sportsman Club in West Bromwich, which I visited early last year. Here, the kitchen is a separate business to the pub and is run by the Nepalese Gaire family, which explains a few dishes described as “Himalayan” among the chef’s specials.

There’s the dense Himalayan fish curry, of white fillets in a thick, lightly sour gravy full of whole roasted spices, crushed curry leaves and fresh coriander. There’s also Potato 65, which here has a distinct Indo-Chinese sweetness. The dry-fried potatoes are still crisp through the mustard-seed rich coating. (If you want to disappear down an internet rabbit hole, go look for the origins of the “65” thing, originally applied to a fried chicken dish from Chennai. It may be because it was the 65th dish on the menu. Or that it was first made in 1965. Or that the first recipe used 65 ingredients, which seems unlikely.)

Then there is the “medium sizzler” for £18, a tottering platter of chicken wings and tikka, of seekh kebabs, lamb chops and brilliant, turmeric-yellow fish pakora. Note the price. Note the Devil’s Tower scale. Do not focus too much on the exuberant use of vibrant red food colouring, or even whether these are the finest examples of their kind. They probably aren’t, but for the price they are extremely solid. Apply splodges of thick tamarind sauce and mint raita from the plastic squeezy bottles on the table, to send these grills on their way.

For us tonight the star dish is the rara gosht, the brownest of brown stews made with both minced lamb and whole braised pieces of meat, so that texturally it is falling apart in multiple directions. It is sweet with clove, cinnamon and bay and comforting on a night when a cold autumn mist hangs over Wolverhampton. We dredge away with the buttered naans that we had watched being made only a few minutes before. It is a matter of deep dismay and sadness to me that tonight I am staying nearby in a hotel room without a fridge, so I can’t take what is left away with me. With one glass of wine each we have run up a bill of £48, but seem to have enough food for four. It’s just part of the brilliance of Desi pub culture. Do follow @zakisolosho on Instagram to find out where you can see his terrific film.

News bites

Proof that London is quickly becoming a sandwich hotspot: De Santis, which first opened in 1964 and which is regarded as the best sandwich shop in Milan, has launched its first outpost outside Italy. It is located in the crypt of the building occupied by Mercato Metropolitano on North Audley Street in Mayfair. Their range includes the Bologna made with gorgonzola, mortadella and pepper jam, and the Angel, filled with anchovies, stracciatella and green tomatoes. It also serves charcuterie and cheese boards alongside cocktails (paninidesantis.it).

The Japanese-inspired Maneki Ramen, which launched in Worcester in 2021, is crowdfunding to launch its second outpost in Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter. They are looking to raise £95,000 and have a range of rewards available in returns for funds, including credits in either of the restaurants, plus the chance to be cooked for by Maneki head chef Pete Dovaston at film director Guy Ritchie’s Wild Kitchen. Find out more here.

Meanwhile the Savoy Hotel on London’s Strand has launched two new dining options. The Thames Foyer space has become the Gallery Restaurant, with menu items that will include sole tacos, Cornish tuna tataki and a charcoal grilled chicken tikka pie, all apparently taking cues from the classics created by famed Savoy chef Auguste Escoffier. Elsewhere in the building they have opened a dedicated scone shop called Scoff, selling scones filled with the likes of tiramisu, fruit punch and, of course, strawberries and cream (thesavoylondon.com).

Join Jay Rayner and Grace Dent on Monday 16 December as they discuss his new cookbook Nights Out At Home, live at Kings Place and livestreamed globally. Book tickets here or at guardian.live

Email Jay at jay.rayner@observer.co.uk or follow him on Instagram @jayrayner1