Cylla, Birmingham

There is something slightly ridiculous about a restaurant wanting Michelin gravitas and Jason Momoa glamour at the same time. One is looking for immaculate technique, consistency and a sauce reduced to within an inch of its life; the other is six foot whatever of Hollywood muscle and hair. Cylla wants both. It wants Grace Dent to tell us the cooking is serious so that the solo men in suits pay attention while also being delighted that Jason Momoa has been through the door. It is the restaurant equivalent of wearing a dinner jacket with a vest underneath. And why not? Michelin may confer prestige, but Jason Momoa confers something rather more immediately useful: people. There is a limit to the number of diners who can be persuaded to care about a perfectly clarified consommé, but there are considerably more who would like to know where Aquaman had dinner. Serious enough to impress a critic, but not so serious that it doesn’t enjoy having a very large man from Game of Thrones in the…