Yes, it’s been a long time coming! And yes, it’s still very much a work in progress, so there’ll be lots of tweaking to digest as the days, weeks and months roll along. But I firmly uphold the opinion that diamonds in the rough have much more value than even the most highly-polished fakes… so here I am, in my ramshackle, unpolished state.
It’s my aim to use this website to promote all that’s good about Bath’s independent food scene at a time when our hospitality industry need it the most, free of the kind of ‘advertorial’ and ‘sponsored’ commercial copy that increasingly dominates food-related sites, and instead laden with honest, genuine reviews, news and opinions about the food scene in the city I know and love. Coming soon: a brand new review of much-loved fave rave The Scallop Shell, a Moorfields revisit, fresh takes on both Yak Yeti Yak and Chez Dominique, a catch up on all the exciting pipeline plans from The Grapes/Budō Bā’s imminent unveiling on Argyle Street and my thoughts on the brand new branch of Pieminister (Westgate Street). Phew!
But where does the ‘… and Beyond’ part of the new name fit in to that remit? Well, have words, have thoughts, have opinions – will travel! Liverpool (my second home) is a regular pit-stop, and I’m eagerly anticipating making reservations to finally meet superchef Porky Askew at his fabulous Art School, plus dinners at both Antonio’s in Knowsley Village and Lu Ban in the not-too-distant future. Who knows where else my travels may take me? You will, when I get there!
For now, thank you for reading my very first PP post. Got something to say? Tweet me @ThePigGuide (ah, I couldn’t let the name go completely, could I?) or drop me a line; after all, I’m all yours!
I’m often asked where I like to eat when I’m not working. Not that, in my professional life, I go and eat in restaurants that I don’t want to visit; far from it. And if, by the way, I end up finding fault with a restaurant that I’ve been formally commissioned to share my published opinion on, I tell the restaurant, not the readers of any given publication I work for; I believe that’s a far more constructive, honest approach to my job than trying to make a name for myself as a nasty, know-it-all snark. Anyway!
The weather was doing its traditional British early July thing (as in, pleasantly warm with a soft breeze), the restaurant I had earmarked for a commissioned review had gone all T&C weird on me (a lucky escape in more ways than one, from what I now know) and Mike and I were in the mood for a celebratory date night.
The city centre was crowded, but Bath’s elegant north-west environs always provide a genteel, far-from-the-madding-crowd escape plan. And so it came to pass that we headed for The Crescent Restaurant and Bar on Margaret’s Buildings, the pretty, pedestrianised, independent business-lined thoroughfare that grounds the iconic landmarks around it (that’ll be the Royal Crescent and The Circus, then) with a down-to-earth upmarket neighbourhood vibe.
2 Margarets Buildings has a long-standing foodie history. When I first moved to Bath it was Papillon (“the home of the perfect steak-frites!”). When Papillon flew away, Rustico thrived at the same address until circa 2021… and both remain to be much-missed.
But life moves on, and I’ve had the Crescent on my radar since Leanne and Simon – a couple with a long, impressive history in hospitality – opened the doors to their sweet little watering hole not long after Rustico closed theirs (Rustico owners Franco and Darix, by the way, continue to vibe le dolce vita at Pane e Vino on St James Street.)
The Crescent isn’t French, or Italian, or purporting to be “European”. It’s just (but definitely not ‘only’) a classic British bistro that offers a thoughtfully-balanced, broad-appeal menu from breakfast through to suppertime with a couple of daily specials keeping things lively for regulars.
Can you book a pavement table here? Yes indeed you can! And so we did, and turned up at the appointed hour more than ready to catch up on lost time.
Gosh, one could while away many hours here, appointed or otherwise; it’s a friendly, stylish little oasis of cool, calm shade clearly popular with locals, regulars and tourists alike, all of whom made me feel embarrassed for coming so late to the Crescent party.
To start, for me, a fully-loaded kilner jar packed with chunks of poached (I think?) salmon, smoked salmon and chubby prawns bound with a creamy dill dressing, topped with ribbons of pickled cucumber and accompanied by shards of baguette. For him, a chunky, funky ham hock terrine, tickled with parsley and teamed with piquant onion and tomato chutney, served with his own little tumble of bread. My starter was elegant, his was robust, and both were generous in flavour and proportion.
For the main event, I couldn’t move past the salmon burger… and I’m glad I didn’t: a sweet, tender salmon patty sharpened by ginger and chilli, topped with rocket and red onion and supported by sweet potato fries and a zinging lime mayonnaise. His hake Special, meanwhile, made its own splash: a whopping great fillet indeed, resting on a lake of smooth pea purée with sautéed potatoes adding a ‘posh chips’ vibe and samphire bringing briny, surf-evocative bling to the party.
The conversation flowed; a parade of beautiful dogs strolled past on the heels of their friendly owners; the New Zealanders at the next table to ours, picking at antipasti while waiting for their washing to dry in the launderette next door, said that if they lived in Bath they’d pretty much live at the Crescent Restaurant – again, I felt embarrassed for living up the road and only just making my own discovery.
Nicely woozy after so much grub and a surfeit of thoroughly decent rosé, I barely even touched the Milk Chocolate Mousse that he’d ordered “to share” (hah!), but I had enough of it to know that it was as good as chocolate mousse gets, as were the boozy cherries that adorned it.
Where do restaurant critics go and eat when they’re not working? The Crescent Restaurant, at long last – and, from here on in, definitely more than once every five years.
Towards the end of last year, I reviewed Colonnade: the sparkly, spacious all-day brasserie that compliments the vibrant live music hub that is the Bristol Beacon.
Within that review you’ll find the whole kit and kaboodle background of a restaurant I firmly believe should dominate the Best in Bristol charts for multiple reasons from history (there’s definitely lots of history here) and vibe (there’s certainly lots of vibe) to, of course, Executive Head Chef Noah Chasteau and Head Chef Darlene’s glorious food (inspired; innovative; self-assured).
I urge you to read my original review before you read on here; after all, what’s an update without all the necessary context including why the recent Sparks gig at the Beacon was an anniversary of sorts for my partner and I? But if you’re only and solely here for the food, here we go:
Colonnade is, ostensibly, a small plate, mix’n’match affair. Unlike many similarly-styled menus, however, I reckon you could stick a pin in the array (circa 14 on the new summer menu array, not including nibbles) and none of the dishes would clash.
Sipping fizz while perusing that menu at our centre-stage table surrounded by Bristol’s history both ancient (well, Victorian) and modern and offering direct views into Noah’s open kitchen, I honestly could have opted for any and all of the entire assemblage.
Goat’s Cheese Mousse? Bring it on! Fried brioche with pea, dill, anchovy, chilli crisp, lemon and ginger; confit cherry tomatoes with hung yoghurt and balsamic; pappardelle with nori butter and bottarga? Oh, please, yes (especially the bottarga, which I’ve never come across before and now, having Googled what it is, wouldn’t mind shacking up with). Eventually, however, we took the seemingly more grounded Sparks’ brother’s reserved but astutely idiosyncratic approach to our selection, confident in the knowledge that lashings of charismatic, witty flamboyance would come as standard in whichever dishes we ordered.
It has to be said that lamb belly has a bad reputation for what I believe to be very good reason; to say it can be fatty is an understatement, and to use it wisely takes more skill than most home cooks can only dream of. Noah and Darlene turn those dreams into reality with his slow cooked, pressed lamb belly dish, opulently rich and almost ridiculously tender with (to my mind, at least) a much bolder, more satisfying flavour profile than pork belly, offset here with an earthy carrot and ginger purée and a vibrant salsa verde; please, I urge you, go there. And if you can take two robustly carnivorous plates in one sitting, do the Beef Shin Croquettes too, if only for the complex fruity/earthy Birria Dipping Sauce that accompanies the chubby little morsels of beefy delight.
A dish of creamy polenta, smoky chorizo, playful sweetcorn salsa and buttery/nutty manchego teased and nudged the sight/smell/taste triumvirate in ongoing waves from start to finish. Several gleaming bullions of cured trout came with a sparklingly fresh cucumber gazpacho, nudges of pickled (I think?) ginger, lashings of lime (if lime isn’t ginger’s best friend, I don’t know what is) and elegant dollops of sweetly briny trout roe that bought yet more flavour-pop to the party and looked like the kind of golden-orange pearls that Grace Dent wears when she means business. We had focaccia too: four huge slices of airy, salty, crusty heaven.
But potatoes, cabbage – when and how do they fit into a menu like this? As I said in my first Colonnade review, “Chasteau’s chips are definitely not just chips, and his cabbage isn’t just cabbage either” (oh please read that review; I put my heart and soul into the potato/cabbage section alone).
For summer 2026, Head Chef Darlene has blessed those divine, super-crispy, outrageously buttery Pommes Anna chips with a luxuriously smooth, deeply umami parmesan custard partnership that could, in less capable hands, detract from the presence of truffle but instead encourages it – clever indeed. Her griddled hispi cabbage, meanwhile, arrived resplendent on a pool of mellow leek cream that contrasted beautifully with an uber-piquant walnut ketchup (think, barbecue sauce without the cloying sweetness), puddles of charred leek ash oil dotted hither and thither around the plate taking the dish to the edge of a campfire supper.
But so it came to pass that eventually, we had to relinquish our Colonnade table, finish our spectacular wine (a Fabula de Paniza Cariñena Tinto, if you’re interested, which turned out to be the house wine, so you should be), say goodbye to the genuinely utterly lovely Front of House team and beat the clock to our seats in time for the Mael brothers to take their turn in the spotlight.
Sparks were good; they were great, in fact – even better than I remembered them to be 20 years ago. But for me, there was only one partnership headline act at the Bristol Beacon that night: Noah and Darlene, this town ain’t big enough for your talents.
Situated on the beautiful thoroughfare that links two of Bath’s most Iconic architectural landmarks (that’ll be The Circus and The Royal Crescent, then), The Circus has, for some 15+ years, maintained an upper-eschelon foothold on the Best Independent Restaurants in Bath charts for multiple reasons.
Some might call it a bistro, others may liken it to a classic brasserie and, when the sun comes out to play, alfresco tables on the wide, historic pavement offer a distinctly Parisian street cafe vibe. It’s subtly glamorous and effortlessly chic, but whether you choose to rock up in your comfort zone jeans or slide into a little black dress, you’ll feel right at home here from the moment you walk through the door.
The restaurant’s head chef/proprietor Matthew Lisanti menus work sheer, joyful magic with locally-sourced ingredients that are more right here, right now bang on this season’s trends than Cara Delevingne’s latest red carpet outfit, the resulting dishes rooted in classic technique rather than flash-in-the-pan fads and each and every element beautifully presented without pretension, conceit or charade. The uniquely characterful wine list, meanwhile, is a joy to behold in its own right,
A starter of baked red mullet came escorted by earthy nduja and herbaceous olive gremolata crumb, both of which were fascinating but neither detracting from the magnificent fish in the spotlight. A second starter of Cheese Choux Bun — actually, three little sacks of crisp, savoury profiteroles — came with velvety fondue leeks infused with a clean uplift of distinctively aromatic tarragon that gave an intrinsically playful dish a polished, grown-up edge.
For mains, the accompaniments to my moist, sweet Chicken Suprême were satisfying superstars in their own right: a chorizo and pea succotash (a corn-based medley with Native American origins, nudged and tweaked in this instance to create Matthew’s own distinctive take on the combo), an elegant sweetcorn velouté and smoky charred corn ribs all combining to create a fresh, modern take on a winning chicken dinner indeed. But if you, like my partner, find it hard to move past ribeye steak on any menu you won’t miss out on Matthew’s magic, evident as clearly in the perfectly-cooked steak as it is in the generous slab of rich, glossy, deeply umami Café de Paris butter that melted into it. A massive grilled mushroom? The fat chips of your dreams? Tick, tick, tickety-boo.
A creamy Crème Brulée topped with the kind of caramelised lid you’d imagine a fairy to take great delight in skating on before I smashed it with my spoon and a zesty/floral Lemon and Elderflower Posset offered a memorable finale for our trip to the Circus, albeit with a little bit of clowning around thrown in when both of us tried to claim a neat slab of super-frangible Blondie as their own (it was definitely mine; it came with the Crème Brulée).
But The Circus is about even more than ‘just’ that food: it’s a timely reminder that, despite ongoing challenges, bold, tasty, tasteful independence continues to thrive in the heart of Bath; roll up and support it at your earliest opportunity.
You want something really good to eat without the pressure of a big menu to navigate. You want to stay in Bath but you’re not in the mood for city centre thrum. You want a neighbourhood vibe that doesn’t make you feel like you’re an outsider, a traditional pub environment that doesn’t feel fusty and a great beer garden to chill out in if the sun comes out to play. In short, you want The Claremont: the history-laden hostelry at the epicentre of characterful, higgledy-piggledy Camden, high up on Bath’s northern slopes.
It’s clear that many of the residents of the charming byways leading from, off and to Claremont Terrace treat their local as a second home. It’s a Thursday evening and the pub is gently buzzing with a mixture of date night couples, pint-clinking regulars and a group of friends reunited with teenagers in tow all supporting the neighbourhood vibe that I’d hoped for. A pianist tinkling away on the upright Joanna in the corner adds to the mellow merriment, and chalkboards dotted hither and thither promote forthcoming events (regular quiz and live music nights; community sing-a-longs; big screen sporting action).
What with The Claremont being this much of a properly good boozer, you really don’t need to be hungry to find an excuse to drop by. If, however, your drink proves to be too wet without a ‘little something’ for soakage, grazing options along the lines of hummus and pitta bread, chicken wings, veggie nuggets and skin-on chips are on hand to pick at while you sup. But the real stars of the Claremont food menu show make their presence felt before you’ve even hit the bar: is that proper pizza you can smell? Yes indeed! And the massive, fully-laden beauties here (also, by the way, available in takeaway format) prove that pub pizzas don’t have to be prosaic.
All hail the Somerset Meat: salami, pepperone, mozzarella and cheddar combining to create the ultimate carnivore/cheese dream with a flourish of rocket adding a fresh texture uplift (and, perhaps, a nebulous sense of righteousness regarding your five-a-day quota). Want to turn the heat up? Head straight for the aptly-named Firecracker, replete with Roquito drop peppers with a fiery personality that belies their dinky dimensions, soft, smoky ‘nduja and liberal drizzles of sweet/savoury hot honey bringing heated complexity to the mozzarella/smoked cheddar party.
The sourcing of all those ingredients, meanwhile, represents an exceedingly well-considered tour of produce from some of Bath’s best doorstep artisans: Westcombe cheese, Somerset Charcuterie and Fior di Latte Mozzarella from Brue Valley, a Glastonbury-based dairy I’ve never come across before but would go out of my way to make a date with again… a sentiment which brings us back full circle to the start of this review.
If you’re in the mood for eating properly good pizza in a proper neighbourhood pub far (but not too far) away from the city centre’s madding crowds, you’re in the mood for The Claremont.
“Wow, this is exactly how I want our new kitchen diner to look!”
Okay, so that’s not a typical start to a restaurant review. But perhaps it should be; after all, loving the environment you’re in before you even settle down to eat is surely a Very Good Thing, while going out-out for your dinner while feeling right at (plans for a new-look) home makes it an even nicer experience.
It may be relatively new to the Bath independent hospitality scene, but William’s Table Pub and Kitchen — which magpied into the space recently vacated by Town+House, which itself made a home in the iconic London Road/Thomas Street corner pub formerly known as the King William back in 2019 — is a very out-out but at home kinda place, seamlessly blending proper pub/bar personality with dining spaces both upstairs and down that offer broad appeal to gastropub denizens and folk who simply want to extend a night down the local with a coupla plates of upmarket, affordable but beyond thoroughly decent grub.
Chef Radek Ostrowski is no stranger to serving thoroughly decent grub; having served his time at the hob in several Bath neighbourhood hotspots including The Scallop Shell and The Moorfields, he knows what he’s doing. Radek’s business partner Justyna, meanwhile, runs front of house with the kind of smooth, welcoming efficiency that gives the overall venture a calm, confident, long-established vibe.
Having taken personal inspiration notes about the environment around our gorgeous little rear-of-ground-floor table for two (silky, grey-tone paintwork: tick! A little vase of fresh flowers on the table: tick! Cool artwork; sturdy wooden furniture; comfy, colourful cushions: tick, tick, tick!), we started our kitchen supper with super-moist, subtly spicy Tandoori Chicken Bites accompanied by a velvety, herbaceous, garlicky dip, and intensely flavoursome Larkhall [note to selves: local sourcing goes large here] Pork Rillettes, the decadent richness of this classic French-inspired treat offset by lively pickled shallots and sweet mustard. Yum!
For mains, for me, Herby Lamb Goulash: slow-cooked, supremely tender lamb melting into a thick, herb-infused sauce/gravy, uplifted by pickled red cabbage and levelled out again by perfect mash. For him, super-fresh seabass fillets teamed with aromatic red lentil dhal, crispy potatoes and an invigorating cucumber salsa — an unexpected combination that, as it turns out, works exceptionally well.
As I suspected, Radek knows his stuff… and he further proved that point with the deeply satisfying, beautifully-balanced Sticky Toffee Pudding that went straight to the top of our very carefully considered, well-researched STP charts at first bite.
Quiz nights, live music nights, board game nights and beer deals: there’s a lot in the pipeline for this stylishly lively neighbourhood merrymaking zone that’s already setting tasteful tongues wagging in Bath. But really, you don’t need any bonus excuses to cosy up at William’s Table — just turn up for lunch or supper (prices are, by the way, are reassuringly down-to-earth) and your out-out/at home needs are beyond met… and new kitchen inspiration interest piqued to boot.
It takes a tonnellata of brave entrepreneurial chutzpah to open a new Italian restaurant in a city that’s already home to around 40 ventures that lay claim to serving the pizza/pasta/risotto/gnocchi/tiramisu/etc in the South West.
From glitzy high street attention-grabbers to a fair few elegantly flamboyant, contempo-trad trattorias by way of a handful of promising pasta purveyors with cult followings and a solid array of pizza pitstops good enough to give Naples, New York or even a Nonna a run for their money, the restaurant world version of a modern Roman invasion continues to dominate eating out options in the Heritage City.
But not all of those options are equal in either style or standards… and this is where the story of PrimaVista not only begins, but is already creating its own legend.
If the Bath restaurant scene was in need of a bit of a shake-up, PrimaVista has triggered a little earthquake: shiny and vibrant from the get-go, with a subtly exciting vibe. But despite the restaurant’s novelty factor its charms are timeless, with cross-generational appeal; it isn’t hard to imagine Sophia Loren and Pierfrancesco Favino enjoying a long, lazy late lunch here, both of them finding both the environment and the menu molto gradevole.
While you’re certainly not required to do so, you too might want to use your PrimaVista booking as an excuse to dress up nice and party on. It’s glamorous in a distinctly modish way, with several subsections adding intimacy to the overall spacious environment and thoughtfully smart décor flourishes (sparkly bar; chic wall art; iconic Italian moped parked up in the centre of the big picture window) adding interest throughout, and a range of gorgeous cakes/desserts/dolci given the beautifully-lit spotlight they deserve behind a shining glass counter.
Diversions digested, the cocktail list opens with a heady range of proper Italian muddle-ups before smoothly gliding us through classics both ancient and modern. But having brought that fascinating flag-up to your attention, you definitely don’t need a stiff drink before perusing the rest of a menu that at once excites, soothes and tempts at all bases. As a result, PrimaVista’s promising-looking pizzas were kicked to the kerb in favour of new (to me, at least) dishes that demanded discovery.
Starter one, Polpette and Pecorino: distinctively beefy meatballs resting on an intensely tomatoey bed of San Marzano sauce and topped with a glossy lake of indulgent Pecorino Romano cream. Starter two, Sauté di Mare: an opulent melange of fat mussels, tender clams and plump prawns in a classy version of a classic tomato, garlic and parsley combo served on a slice of fragrantly nutty Altamura bread that I’ve never met before but want to forge a lifelong partnership with from here on in.
For my main course, I couldn’t move past the intriguing ‘Chef’s Favourite 5P’ — and I’m very glad I didn’t: five elements, one dish and multiple flavour hit variations in every forkful, with sweet, vibrant Piselli (basically a pea sauce), buttery, deeply umami Prosciutto Crudo Essiccato, smoky, crisp Pancetta, salty/fruity Parmigiano and nutty, beautifully-textured rigatoni all playing their own part in a perfect partnership. It takes an intelligent chef with a great palate to create a dish like this; Jack is clearly that chef.
Meanwhile, if you think you know Spaghetti Bolognese… you don’t, but Jack does, and he calls it Una Bolognese in Calabria: velvety, slow-cooked beef and pork ragú fired with a subtle blast of fennel-, paprika- and chilli-infused Calabrian sausage, hit with a nudge of smoky, spicy ‘nduja and tangled up in the kind of smooth but still robust tagliatelle that, if you were a Bolognese sauce this special, you’d want to wrap yourself up in too.
Leave without a Dolci? You definitely can’t. Return? You will, for sure.
Chef Jack and his business partner Kelvin’s tonnellata of brave entrepreneurial chutzpah was neither conceived nor built on unstable foundations. They opened their first branch of their modern trattoria concept in Bury St Edmunds to great acclaim less than a year ago, and are clearly already so confident in their mission to “celebrate the authentic flavors of Italy reinterpreted with a contemporary twist where tradition and innovation come together in every dish” that introducing a second branch to a city that shares similar personality traits with Suffolk’s historic tourism/cultural/foodie hotspot was a natural way forward… for them and for Bath.
If French actor, cultural icon and all-round cool guy Alain Delon was still with us and visited Bath today, I reckon he’d land at Chez Dominique for a late lunch and refuse to move until he’d drunk the last drop of Fleurie from behind the bar; it is, quite simply, “that” kind of place.
This quintessentially French/European bistro experience has, since 2016, played a major role in turning Argyle Street into a distinctive modern Bath arrondissement all of its own, made for modern-day flaneurs.
Off the street, the Chez Dom environment exudes a calmly confident vibe, intimate enough to be described as cosy yet decorously spacious. The walls are painted in 50 shades of sage/duck egg blue, the understatedly striking modern chandelier demands attention without dominating the space and an atmosphere of easy-going conviviality dictates the overall pace. Head chef Sam Lewis’s menus, meanwhile, thrum along to a self-assured, confident rhythm, weaving seasonal ingredients into a classic contemporary bistro array with flair and imagination.
From the get-go, our starters exemplified Sam’s modus operandi: a beautifully seasoned, super-savoury, distinctly non-dry Pork Terrine rich in textured contrast, with fruity/tart golden raisins adding spritzy points of interest along the way; plump Brixham scallops paired with a sublimely smooth cauliflower puree, chubby little morsels of bacon, smoky hispi cabbage and creamy new potatoes.
On from those soothingly gratifying openers, the subtly gamey aspect of my sweet, tender Creedy Carver duck breast came perfectly complimented by earthy beetroot and delicate wild garlic that welcomed the arrival of spring to the dish, a light but complex red wine sauce bringing the whole ensemble together. But would Sam mind if I ordered a side of black pudding mash with that, nicked from the chicken dish elsewhere on the menu? If he breathed a sigh of exasperation at a diner disrupting his carefully considered combinations, I didn’t hear it – and oh, that mash can only be described as deeply umami bliss. Meanwhile, across the table…
Chez Dom’s steak frites have earned a reputation that seriously challenges the legendary incarnation served at long-established Parisian brasserie Le Relais de l’Entrecôte. If you’re craving the enduringly popular partnership that is superb, high-grade steak (from a selection of carnivorous options that ranges from the humble onglet to the grand Chateaubriand, all flaunting heritage and the benefits of maturity) served with the kind of fries that can only be described as addictive, book a table here today.
After all that, we were comfortably, satisfyingly sated. But why battle with a sudden downpour when the dessert menu offered a rich, warm, oozy Chocolate Fondant harmonised by a toasted toffee-esque salted caramel ice cream? And regardless of the weather, why deny yourself a neat slab of silky Basque Cheesecake (no base – all delicate, custard treble), the aromatic roasted apple compote and soft tumble of crumble that came with it good enough to create a third, stand-alone dessert in its own right?
Heart, charm, integrity, personality, authenticity of purpose: are we talking about Alain Delon again? Nope; they’re the well-deserved superlatives that combine to create the Chez Dominique je ne sais quoi.
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.
Friday evening, and Bath’s George Street “strip” is buzzing. The pleasure-seekers are out to play in force. Uber drivers, reluctant to stray too far from the peak fare action, are idling on every available kerb, and girls in too-high heels are doing a grand job of pretending to ignore the boys in too-tight jeans. And in the midst of all the big bar/little bar action, the fast-fix/linger-long food refuelling pitstops and the general brouhaha, there sits se7en.
se7en is cool in a way that feels more downtown NoHo than uptown Bath. Beyond the chilled-out pavement terrace, there’s an instantly seductive bar with lighting bright enough to lift patrons out of a demi monde deadzone but soft enough to flatter. The aural backdrop is an elegantly modish mix of chilled-out toons; the artwork on the walls stylishly sassy.
Jewel-coloured velvet armchairs and banquettes invite you to allow yourself time to peruse the very grown-up cocktail menu or a wine list that focuses on the best examples of tried-and-trusted classics and fascinating discoveries, while a range of upmarket beers maintain an uptempo pace for bar flies. And if all that’s not enough to capture your attention from the get-go, a tantalising strip-lit corridor leads to an understatedly chic dining room that looks straight into an exciting open kitchen, beyond which there’s another urban merrymaking zone outback.
Dropping food into such an artfully vivacious yet serene environment could, in less competent hands than the proprietors at the helm here, bring the whole affair tumbling down; too many complicated menu options and the stress factor starts to kick the X-factor to the kerb; too few, and punters move along too quickly in search of solid satiation.
But the se7en team are clearly masters of the art of “we’ve got this”. They’ve ignited the flames beneath a live indoor charcoal grill/barbecue and complemented a selection of magnificent meats with a range of super-seasonal small plates packed with big promises: seared fresh fish, lively slaws, vegetables fresh from the season’s allotment catwalk. There’s whipped ricotta over here; fennel, cucumber and wasabi over there, and even a mac + cheese that you just know will arrive at your table elevated to something far removed from nursery food in the ‘Crispy’ section. Quietly, subtly and without grand fanfare, there really is something for all tastes and appetites here.
You could, for example, sit at the bar and accompany your Patience 15 cocktail (from a unique range of muddle-ups based on the Seven Deadly Sins) with a plate of Pork Puffs. Or maybe you’d care to opt for a dish of tiger prawns to make your glass of fizz feel less lonely? Perhaps, though, you’re in the mood to sit (comfortably) tight and hole up for an evening of haute excess — and okay, you know which direction we headed in.
If Miles isn’t in the Do Not Disturb chef-zone in the heat and intensity beyond the pass, catch his eye and ask him to double-up as a tour guide for your journey. He’s friendly, approachable, and as enthusiastic about his menus as his menus led me to believe he would be. He’s fluent in the language of good taste, and confident his dishes will captivate — and my goodness, his dishes captivate.
Beef Tartare: a neat tumble of glistening, tender beef, the supporting cast of creamy egg yolk, truffle mayo, briny pickles and sharp pecorino all doing their supporting cast thing in rich, punchy, deeply umami harmony. A second dish of lesser-spotted gurnard in all its sweet, delicate, super-fresh glory, meanwhile, balanced the intensity of the tartare, the lively kick and tease of pickled ginger uplifting the senses with verve and sparkle.
And then…
All hail the arrival of the showstopping sharer that is the Tomahawk steak: massive, buttery, intensely flavoursome; robust, smoky, powerfully characterful — cor! We drenched ours in kickin’ Cowboy Butters and vibrant Chimichurri and snaffled perfect fries on the side. We picked our way through a beetroot and butternut squash duo too, the earthiness of the roots luxuriated by whipped ricotta. But oh, Miles’ wild garlic gnocchi! Puffy pillows of bliss, featherlight but satisfyingly bitey and basking in the uniquely aromatic aura of the most heavenly “blink and you’ll miss it” taste of British springtime. By the time you read this review, this dish might have disappeared from Miles’ menu… but it’ll remain deeply embedded in my foodie memory bank for a very long time to come.
Fortunately, se7en isn’t as transitory as many of Miles’ super-seasonal ingredients are. It may have only opened its doors around a year ago, but it already feels mature, confident and established enough to be a dynamic, vital key player in Bath’s independent restaurant and bar scene… and cool in a way that only a place that isn’t trying desperately hard to be cool can be.
Occupying prime leafy neighbourhood position just past the Royal Crescent on the edge of Royal Victoria Park, the Marlborough Tavern effortlessly brings proper pub and upmarket contemporary bistro together in perfect harmony, an appealing blend of friendly familiarity and a fresh, smart outlook in both decor and menus giving both locals and visitors alike good reason to keep on keeping on here.
And there we were the other night, nestled into a cosy, candlelit nook table for two just on the edge (but still very much a part of) of typical Tavern Time proceedings: a birthday celebration, a family get-together, a reunion party and several other romantic twosomes all happily going about their merrymaking business without anybody impinging on anybody else’s personal space.
Calamari, from the starter array? There was no decision-making struggle there, what with the frangible little fishy fritters being one of our MT must-have choices since one of our earliest visits almost 20 years ago, and still as sprightly and appealing today — just like the pub itself. But as reliably good as the calamari is, it came up against stiff competition on this visit. If you’ve never thought that creamed mushrooms on toast could be described as sensational, prepare to have your preconceptions challenged; it’s a substantial portion, to say the least… but you’ll never want the dish to end.
For mains, soft, slow braised pork belly, satisfyingly fatty but not overwhelmingly so, served with an earthy, perfectly balanced black pudding mash, mineral-rich cavolo nero, a complex red wine and apple jus and shards of perfect crackling. I, meanwhile, swooned into my dish of super-tender chicken breast that itself swooned into a pool of creamy polenta, a nutty walnut dressing tethering the sweetness of a tumble of honey-roasted butternut squash to a deeply umami foundation.
All our dishes were cleanly confident in execution, and the pairings exceedingly well-considered; this is really, really good grown-up food that exudes the flair of a highly-skilled chef (good work Filip Tencer and team) without attempts to be flashy, or snooty, or jarringly on-trend. Service was as personable and effortlessly efficient as personable and effortlessly efficient gets throughout and prices comfortingly accessible, while the overall vibe lulled us into a “do we really have to go home when we feel so at-home here?” state of contentment.
So what’s the best way to tear yourself away from the Marlborough Tavern when you really don’t want to leave? Book again for dinner next week, of course! Which is exactly what we did. Will I go for those mushrooms again, if they’re still on the menu? Definitely; as long as somebody else orders the calamari, I know I’ll be right at home at the Tav.
The Prandial Playground, Bath and Beyond... 