The elephant in the room is a tree. A tree. There is a faffing huge tree growing right in the middle of the room.
Hello? Waiter there’s a tree in my soup.
Nobody seems alarmed. Maybe it’s because the food in this lovely place is so good. Indeed, my partner in crime declared it was the best she’d ever had in her entire 87, err, 27 years of life.
“But there’s a tree in the room!” I exclaimed. “A tree.”
She slapped me a few times to quell my hysteria. I then had it explained to me that it was like getting back to nature and I should stop being so reactionary and finish my Belly Pork. I did. It was gorgeous.
But there was a branch of the tree right over my head. The leaves and some additional ivy were hanging down above me. What if the tree was carnivore, or worse, had the mentality of an old radio anorak and hated me?
I was slapped again.
To be fair, the warning about the tree is on the outside of this excellent Crosby based eatery, they’ve called the place ‘The Treehouse‘. Somehow I missed the connection.
So, the place isn’t really about the tree. It’s about the food. Ok, they also sell a lot of alcohol and that sort of stuff, but the chef certainly knows how to cook a brilliant and tasty range of gourmet meals, and to present them perfectly.
My partner in crime was so impressed that she rugby tackled the waiter and waitress in order to force her way into the kitchen so that she could hug the chef and tell him the effect he’d had on her. The police escorted us both off the premises.
Myself, I blame the tree in the room.
More about The Treehouse here
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