Aria Restaurant * * *
2 Bridge Street, Birmingham Tel: 0121 643 1234
The last time I was at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Birmingham I was led into a dimly-lit room, stripped off to my birthday suit and had my body caressed by a complete stranger.
I'm a massage bitch and can't resist a "full body". I tried out the hotel's Amala spa, and very nice it was, too. I was offered the option of disposal knickers but as I chafe easily I decided to go commando, with my therapist's consent, naturally.
I found myself back inside the Hyatt's cavernous reception - part metro chic, part Airbus hanger - to meet up with Jerry for lunch. I duly told him about my invigorating rub down only to see the colour drain from his tanned cheeks. Jerry has got naturally ruddy cheeks - not one of those cheap-as-chips Tango-orange glows, but a proper fading tan that speaks of short-breaks in Padstow. He only turns pale when it's bad. I'd forgotten massage was off limits. Jerry had a traumatic time at his first, and last, massage. He was asked to strip off - in the presence of a chap! - and asked to don plastic pants to hide his modesty. Worse was to follow.
It turned out that the knickers man was also his masseur. Oils and all. No one, with the exception of his wife, Astrid, had been that close to Jerry since his old house master. "It was awful, just bloody awful," recalled Jerry, looking faint. He could do with some of this talking therapy that Labour is supposed to be splashing around the NHS in a bid to combat our mental health deficit. Jerry's in denial, but I know he's got PMT - Post Massage Trauma. Fortunately, the Hyatt's main restaurant, called Aria, is at lobby level so we didn't have far to walk and soon found ourselves ensconced at a comfortable table for two. The colour scheme of browns and whites lends itself to relaxation, while the engorged sexual organs of the blood-red anthurium flowers provided a lively visual counterpoint. It's lovely to see fresh flowers on dining tables, and it escapes me why more restaurants don't do it.
The Aria's balcony-style tables provide a good vantage point for people-watching. The Hyatt is the sort of place you might spot international stars... from Meatloaf to Daniel O'Donnell. The Hyatt is also the essence of corporate entertaining, which means it is Expense-Account Central. The Aria offers a menu rapide but we opted for the à la carte to get a feel for the place. Jerry had the lobster cocktail (£8.50), arguing that he would have a "cheap" main course if he could have a posh starter. He said the dish was all right, a pimped-up prawn cocktail. A 6/10 job, he said. I had the scallops and black pudding which was good, the seafood beautifully fresh and gold-sizzled on top. But the dish stretched the limits of financial credibility when charged at almost £11. There were just two scallops. Visually, an odd number looks better on the plate, and three would have offered better value for money. Congratulations to the chef for salting the scallops well. This modern paranoia about salt consumption has prompted some restaurants to be over-cautious, perhaps fearing litigation. Under-salting has led to an awful lot of bland food coming out of an awful lot of kitchens.
 Jerry's economy main course of belly of pork (£13) was workman-like and tasty, which is a plus point as far as I am concerned. My main course of halibut with garlic mash and parsley puree could have been sensational, but suffered from being over-cooked. The fish, like the scallops, was in tip-top condition and I was gutted, just like the halibut, that it had been left for a little too long on the heat. The pretty mushrooms, parachuted onto the fish, were oddly cold. The crisp, fruity Chilean sauvignon blanc (£18) demonstrated why you don't need to run like a headless chicken to the opulent end of a wine list. But then again, if you're eating at the Hyatt there is a good chance the bill is being underwritten by the profits of accountancy, commercial law or a sell-out run at the National Indoor Arena. Jerry bailed at pudding level - I suspect recalling the massage had left him queasy - but I manfully took a stroll around the Aria's "exciting" (that's what it calls it) dessert buffet. I had a mini crème brûlée with raspberries and incurred Jerry's displeasure by making a return trip for a slice of lemony/orangey tart. He said it was "chav behaviour," but surely that is who buffets were invented for. Two espressos and a bottle of still mineral water (£3.50) brought the total to £85.20. Having checked the tips actually go to the waiting staff - who were excellent - I rounded the bill up to £97. So that's almost £50-ahead, with low-end wine, one "economy" main course and one pud. The coffee was extra and there were no complimentary petit fours to sugar-coat the financial blow. The meal was good, but for that money diners should get excellence. I'd go back, but only if Daniel O'Donnell is paying. More restaurant reviews >
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