Chat’s Cafe Bar

I’ve always been a bit wary of hotel bars and restaurants. For a start, there’s the undeniable fact that they always look like they’re built to house people several hundred pay grades above my wildest dreams; their swinging chandeliers and pristine tablecloths just scream «unworthy» at me, and the lighting is always so sumptuously dimmed that it feels like I owe them money just for using it to see. And we can’t leave out the whole «Shining» factor, either. Those bartenders never seem to leave their posts…
So let us clap our hands together and be thankful for Chat’s then; instead of being greeted by a pair of discerning nostrils and two beady, judgemental eyes, Chat’s favours a more «come seat yourself down and we’ll sort you out» approach to service. Sure, it may lower the perceived standard of service in the place, but then anyone who thinks you need a maitre d’ at 3pm in order to «keep out the ruffians» should be sent right back to the Dickens’ novel from whence they came.
The outdoor area is especially lovely, but unfortunately suffers from opening onto one of the major bus routes onto the city and the back end of the library. The charming views of city smog and service entrances do not do this place justice.
In short, if you’re looking for a slightly classier lunch but can’t be bothered with all the pretension that normally comes with that desire, Chat’s is the place.

Chat’s is located in the Marriott Hotel in Cardiff. Luxuriously furnished inside, it also has a large balcony area which overlooks the café quarter in Mill Lane, but does not get as busy as this area. For this reason it is perfect for relaxing on a warm summers day. Large range of typical bar food, reasonably priced, tasty and well presented.

Chats bar is the a place inside the Marriott hotel that I accidentally went to twice for absolutely no reason at all. My ex and I were looking for somewhere low key to have some wine and talk about serious things and somehow ended up there. It was his fault really, he just sort of gravitated towards it.
It’s pretty much your standard hotel bar with burgundy sofas, generic dark wood tables and strange and familiar prints on the walls.
Both bottles of red wine we drank were corked and the woman behind the bar looked at us like she despised us and everyone in there.
When we asked if we could open a tab, she gave us a look that would have been appropriate if we’d have asked her to hand over her first born. After which, my companion called her a «stroppy cow» a bit too loudly so that might have explained the corked wine.
At the end of the night, whilst the Mr was settling the bill, she yawned loudly, checked her watch and muttered something about wanting to go home. Needless to say, we did not tip.