Joya Italian Steakhouse, Bath

Pulteney Bridge was completed in 1774. The former Empire Hotel in Orange Grove was built in 1901. The Bath branch of Browns, also on Orange Grove, made a home for itself in the city’s former cop shop almost 30 years ago. The restaurant now known as Solina Pasta on Grand Parade used to be Frampton’s Bar and Kitchen, and before that a tapas restaurant, and before that a short-lived French brasserie affair. 

All this and more (who remembers Marmaris? Gosh, I used to love that place!) I know about Orange Grove/Newmarket Row/Grand Parade (Bath’s “Weir Quarter”? Probably!) without consulting Google, or ChatGPT, or a bot who knows less than I do. But I can’t remember a time when Joya Italian Steakhouse wasn’t on the corner of the Newmarket Row/back of the Guildhall Market snicket, all warm lights and bustling Italian trattoria action beyond its pretty little windows and cool grey façade.

Joya used to be a pub called the Rummer until 2009 (there I go again) and before that it was probably, I dunno (wow! Really, Melissa?) a townhouse, or a lace shop… or a brothel? Whatever it was, it is today one of Bath’s most characterful, elegantly higgledy-piggledy independent restaurant hotspots. But I wonder if, in amongst all the brouhaha around the city’s new kids on the (restaurant) block and the ongoing battles for hippest menu supremacy, we’re guilty of taking Joya for granted?

Okay, so Joya certainly wasn’t being taken for granted at peak time on a Tuesday evening. Any space for a table for two? For sure — as long as we didn’t mind killing time for half an hour first (we didn’t mind at all — and, as it turns out, Browns does an excellent Spicy Marg). 

The pace hadn’t dropped when we returned for our impromptu reservation either. The two lovely guys running the floor cheerfully juggled plates, drinks orders, big groups, little groups, card payments and all the general hustle and bustle that keeps a busy service flowing smoothly while still offering us a relaxed, “old friend” welcome… and straight away, we were definitely on sul territorio italiano in Joya’s charming dining room, the decor (chunky wooden tables; soft-shade neutral paintwork) consummating a convivial, smooth operation that fully lives up to the restaurant’s name.

On the menu, a classic antipasti/prima piatto selection gives way to pasta for all, risotto for some, decent fish, good old faithful chicken. But the Hotstone Steak Experience dominates the array: locally-sourced, well-hung steaks flash-seared on the chargrill and served alongside a searingly hot volcanic stone for you to play chef with. Choose your cut, choose your salt, choose your butter, choose your sauce; it’s the steak dinner version of an interactive DIY store.

After our thoroughly decent incarnations of Calamari and shimmering, jacketed king prawns in the garlic/white wine/chilli/parsley/butter combo that should never disappoint (and it certainly didn’t disappoint here), we went for a ribeye and a sirloin with rosemary salt, truffle/red wine and garlic butters and Béarnaise/mushroom and brandy sauces. Sides? Fries (of course), roast vegetables, creamed spinach.

Wow, those hot stones live up to their name! White heat, intense temperatures, campfire aromas, one (tiny) part terrifying, all parts drama, drama, drama. But the novelty is tethered by an intelligent USP based on innovation rather than flash in the pan (pardon the pun) faddishness. Just stop yourself thinking about what could happen if you pressed your hand onto the hotstone, or stressing about what the heat might be doing to your hairspray and you’ll be okay.

Personally, I’m happy to eat any steak vampire-style (aka blue). But who can resist a live, tabletop fidget? As it turned out, even my almost-charred nuggets of beautiful beef (mea culpa — you can’t blame the chef for any wrongdoings in this instance) tasted divine, while he declared that his hot stone “worked magic” on his ribeye. As for the creamed spinach, those sauces and even our little pot of rosemary salt: no stone (again, pardon the pun) has been left unturned when it comes to making sure that the angels have kicked the devil to the kerb in the attention to detail here.

Given the long-established pedigree of Joya’s proprietor (also in the same family: The Herd; The Real Italian Pizza Co; Casa de Tapas), it’s easy to see why this smooth operation works, works and works again, for long-term fans and fleeting Bath visitors alike. 

I can’t remember a time when Joya wasn’t Joya  — but I’m never going to let myself forget that it’s there.