‘Stolen the hot pot crown’: Pip, Treehouse Hotel, reviewed

When Mary-Ellen McTague joined up with Treehouse Hotels to head up Pip, it seemed like she’d taken the money and run and who could blame her? Disappointing all the same.

After all, she was the Manchester chef who went humble not hardball on the Great British Menu and was known for being a good egg, and a free-range one at that. Co-founding Eat Well MCR and a passion for sustainability doesn’t necessarily mix with corporate cooking. Many a chef has embraced the lure of working for the big brands and not all have managed to retain the creative flair that draws diners to them in the first place.

The organic-sounding Pip is a relief in that sense. It is Mary-Ellen all over.

There’s a cutesy element to the Treehouse brand that manages to stay the right side of twee. The friendly staff seemed to love the place and were only too happy to chat about eco-conscious workwear and natural materials.

Pip is an appealing space with a mish-mash of fabrics and garden colours. The homespun textures and plants meant that even on a very un-busy Monday lunch service, the restaurant felt warm and welcoming. Even more so with a seasonal cobbler (£11), a light but autumnal cocktail of sherry and quince that’s a good daytime tipple.

Mary-Ellen’s cooking is not caveman carnivorous but not vegetarian either. There’s a place for meat but it’s not the be-all-and-end-all. Dairy and vegetables are more front and centre on the menu than anything else.

Bearing this in mind, we started with ferments and pickles (£4) and a ramekin of cheese gougères (£5), in memory of some great cheesy dishes at The Creameries (still sad it’s gone, sob). The gougères were rich and oozy with Old Winchester but the cloud-like choux meant you could just keep on scoffing in turophile bliss. 

It was the perfect match for all that fermented veg - an unbeatable DIY cheese and pickle combo. There was a slight nuttiness to the carrot and a subtle salinity to the celeriac (although this was the weakest of the trio) but the cauliflower was the brassica big-hitter with a punch of sweetness and sharpness.

The main courses, or large plates if you must, were a more casual affair than the evening menu but even the cheese toastie was posh enough to be accompanied by a glass of San Michele Soave Classico (£12).

We ordered a Pip seasonal salad (£14), a grilled killeen cheese sandwich (£14) and a stunning Lancashire hot pot (£26).

Actually, the killeen, a gouda-like goat’s milk cheese, has the perfect melt for a toastie but without the greasiness of other grilled cheeses. The overall effect is deeply satisfying rather than stodgy.

It was delicious but I’ve never had a cheese sandwich with mushrooms before. Perhaps there’s a reason; the mushroom is too much of a slippery customer. The texture doesn’t feel right nor does it cut through the richness enough. In an entirely above-board way, lay off the mushrooms and try some acid. More pickle perhaps? However, this is a little quibble - there’s a word count to consider after all - and it doesn’t stop me from planning a return visit for more of the same.

Manchester is no longer part of Lancashire, Not technically, anyway. However, it has stolen the hot pot crown. This was a perfect iteration. I say that as a famously fussy someone who has blacklisted restaurants for nothing more than serving a grilled tomato with a fibrous core.

The dish managed to hold on to its homeliness whilst also being light and elegant, or relatively so. This is a Lancashire hot pot after all. The lamb was unctuous, the potatoes were crisp giving way to yielding softness and the red cabbage showed why it’s the traditional partner of this classic comforter.

The clever seasoning took the hot pot to the next level. Traditionally oysters were used to bulk out a Lancashire hot pot - they didn’t have quite the cachet they do now. Pip’s version is a sublime oyster ketchup presented in the shell used to give that same salty tang. We were advised to add it according to taste so naturally we stirred it all in. Who doesn’t love an oyster, whether it’s with Champagne or gravy?

We stayed traditional with one pudding and went a bit wild with the other: a classic treacle tart on the one hand and a - get this - flourless chocolate cake on the other. I know that marks me out as regrettably old-school, or just old, but cakes contain gluten and dairy when I’m in the kitchen.

I needn’t have worried. The cake was like a delicate wodge of ganache with a fennel cream adding a much-needed savoury note.

Treacle tart was equally good with fine pastry and squidgy filling enlivened with a citrussy bergamot zing. The elliptical mention of Earl Grey in the description turned out to be a sort of warm milkshake accompaniment which I was reliably informed from across the table was a smart flavour pairing. Must be the bergamot. It all went, anyway. I stuck with a glass of Late Harvest Sauvignon Blanc (£9.50) with mellow golden sweetness complementing both desserts.

Pip is an unassuming name for a restaurant this good but, with the wholesome simplicity of the food, it suits it down to the ground.

Pip is on Confidential Guides