Neil Sowerby
From the food fantasies of Michelin-starred Juniper to the belly pork and rhubarb pud basics of a moorland pub... chef Michael Riemenschneider has made a huge leap. heâs even rearing his own pigs for the pork. Neil Sowerby trekked into the hills to see how heâs getting on at The Highwayman.
Michael Riemenschneider is an imposing, swashbuckling figure. In palmier days I recall him dividing his time hyper-actively between his Michelin-starred place in Penzance and the equally-starred Juniper he inherited from Paul Kitching in Altrincham. If it werenât for the tab he built up with Air South West, you could almost imagine him galloping through the night between both on his trusty steed.
When financial backers apparently caught cold feet and Juniper crashed, he decamped to the rich gastronomic pickings of the Wirral at a boutique hotel called Hillbark. It looked like we had seen the last over this way of one of our outstanding kitchen talents. But now, with one swirl of his cloak and cock of his hat, heâs back from the cut-throat world of foams and froths, truffles and foie gras to run a moorland pub, of all things.
At the Highwayman, on the old packhorse route from Macc to Chapel, itâs time for Riemenschneider to stand and deliver. My lovely companion and I drove over the hills to put ourselves at his mercy. With certain self-styled gastropubs in that direction it has sometimes seemed a case of highway robbery. But that wasnât the case with the 15th century Highwayman. Folk did come for the locally sourced food as well as the panoramic views perhaps unmatched in Cheshire. The Stevenson family farmed at Harrop Fold on the vertiginous hillside below and must have spent time up there, but it wasnât until the Stevensonâs daughter, Leah, fell in love with the a certain ruggedly handsome Swiss German chef and he came to stay that the connection deepened. They took over the pub on the hill.
Michael Riemenschneider (for it is he) is unbelievably still just 27. After the peripatetic life of a top chef, he seems to have settled for the Good Life, even rearing and butchering his own pigs. They are apparently a Welsh variant of Gloucester Old Spot, with large ears. âPerfect for scratchingsâ? - how very pubby. His name means belt cutter in German and certainly for his new venture heâs had to tighten his belt. Gone are the days of a seven-strong batterie of sous-chefs. He now works in a tiny kitchen with a couple of local lads to help.
Leah took time off her day job as a cookery demonstrator (cupcakes her speciality) to help him whip the low-slung stone multi-roomed pub into shape. From getting the keys, it took just three weeks before they were open for business. A tranche of old Juniper customers, beguiled as I was by his talents, have beaten a path to his door already and word of mouth is now kicking in. So what are they getting for their money these days? The bar food costs £10 for two courses, £15 for three and, if you stick to the Thwaites Wainwright bitter (not my favourite, but the couple inherited the brewery tie-in, so their hands are tied), itâs no wallet-breaker.
Still, I hadnât made the epic drive from Yorkshire not to sample the a la carte. Itâs an understandably brief menu, given the circumstances of the kitchen, starters hovering around the £7-£8 mark, mains £16-17, so not cheap. On Fridays and Saturdays he gallops into top gear with a market-based Menu Surprise. Itâs fully inclusive ranging from three courses at £35 to seven courses (with matching wines) for £89. The magnificent seven on a recent weekend ran: red mullet, scallops, pigeon, veal, cheese, apple, chocolate. Simple, classic, but I expect there was more to each dish than that!
In truth, it is quite an incongruous setting for such culinary ostentation. A (small) maze of four rustic pubby rooms with just two completely given over to dining, though settings are a cut above. There are other surprises. While scanning the menu we drank Moet at £8 a glass. The champagne dynasty love Michael enough to make him the only pub they sponsor, which allows him a good supply of the legendary Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc. With the meal my lovely companion stuck (mostly) to a Chilean chardonnay at £4.50 a glass, while I was bowled over by a Faustino red rioja reserva from 1999, a snip at £6.50.
Out starters were both stars, too. I envied the pea soup (£8) across the table, a dense moss-green essence of chlorophyll, swaddling little ravioli pillows of black pudding and fried sage. So difficult to share soup without mess but I managed a delectable slurp. Ham hock terrine is one of those gastropub staples, making use of a cheaper pig part and often dry and salty as gammon. Then Highwaymanâs hock (£7.50), in contrast, was a tender, melting few mouthfuls among its obligatory leaves and the accompanying capers more than compensated for the piccalilli I craved with it.
Crab rillette and steak tartar were the starters we didnât try. Belly pork (though our neighbourâs looked a picture) and sirloin steak were the mains we passed on.
My companionâs portion of salmon was sizeable and came with a scattering of early broad beans and a trendy beetroot and pearl barley risotto (£16). Very summery.
Less so, my vension pie, which the chef had confessed was a dish he had never attempted before. He needs to refine it. Or perhaps unrefine it. The admittedly flavourful pieces of haunch had been seared and then cooked over 12 hours to a dryness unbecoming in a pie. The pastry was a biscuit-like disc. A mirepoix of carrots and parsley soaked up much of the jus. Mash came in little swirls, like those posh butter pats of yore. Asparagus and, especially, the celery were lovely greenery, but the overall feeling was this was too elaborate.
Rhubarb done several ways (£7) was a conceit, too, but weâll forgive that because it was a gorgeous pud. I still donât understand what the ârhubarb cracklingâ was (no Old Spots were involved!), but the rest was lovely, particularly the tart sorbet.
Cheese (£8 for three, £10 for five) was immaculate, just ripe Cashel Blue, Hereford Hop, beery as youâd expect, and a fresh Celtic goat that went particularly well with some charcoal biscuits.
Itâs a trek out to the Highwayman, particularly if you live north of Manchester, but itâs worth it. Iâd suggest going for a Menu Surprise and shacking up at a nearby B&B. You might have to book well in advance, though. I have a good feeling about this place.
Riemenschneiderâs at The Highwayman, Macclesfield Road, Rainow, SK10 5UU
T:01625 573 245
W:www.highwayman-rainow.co.uk