Tucked within the famed Cairngorms National Park, Killiecrankie House, a fine-dining restaurant with rooms set in a restored country home, is the work of husband-and-wife duo Tom and Matilda Tsappis, who left behind the bustle of London and corporate life to create a deeply personal retreat rooted in the landscape. Since opening in 2021, they’ve garnered much acclaim for their nuanced and seasonal approach: an 18-course tasting menu that borrows the philosophy of Japanese kaiseki and filters it through a distinctly Scottish lens, all served in a 12-seat dining room just steps from the house’s own kitchen garden.
FOUR sits down with chef Tom Tsappis to find out more…
Let’s start at the beginning—what first drew you to the world of cooking, and how did your journey lead you to opening Killiecrankie House?
First and foremost, I like to eat. Matilda and I travel specifically for that purpose whenever we are able, and in many respects, we were professional eaters long before we were professional restaurateurs. Our passion for eating out led me to cooking, and I have one of those personalities where if I like something, I really like it, so cooking became something all-consuming for me. We were living in Japan, and when we made the decision to move back to the UK, I thought it was time to turn my passion into my profession. I retrained at Leith’s School of Food and Wine in London, and then, when I finished my year there, I set up a supper club in our South London flat. 12 people, twice a week, BYOB, surprise tasting menu only. We were really busy, sold out months in advance, but COVID happened, and that ended the supper club and accelerated our journey to opening our first restaurant proper.
You and Matilda met in Japan, and that influence is beautifully woven throughout your menu. How has your time there shaped your culinary philosophy and techniques?
Japanese food, in particular Kaiseki, is fundamentally about showing off ingredients at the peak of their season, and preparing them in a way that isn’t forced or dependent on over-manipulation, and I think that is what we are trying to do at Killiecrankie House. My style of cooking is also less heavy than a lot of Western fine dining, without over-reliance on butter and cream. The food of Japan, and to a lesser extent that of China and Korea, is the kind of food I like to eat, so of course it influences the flavour profile of what we are serving in the restaurant.
Before Killiecrankie House, you ran a supper club called Elia in London. What lessons or inspirations from that experience made their way into your current work?
Elia was paid testing—guests paid, we tested. Not every dish was a slam dunk (although some were and we still serve versions of them to this day), but the financial barrier to entry for the guest was low, and they came knowing they were going to try some (potentially) unusual things. The way we compose dishes and interact with guests hasn’t changed from those days, when we were able to make mistakes because of our very low overheads, although I like to think now that the offering has been refined considerably.
Killiecrankie House is rooted deeply in its surroundings, from the ingredients to the aesthetics. What was your vision when you first imagined this space? Has this changed at all since then?
The questions we were asking ourselves when we opened were: what does a country house hotel look like today? What would a Scottish ryokan be? How do we tell stories about the food in Scotland that are interesting and not being talked about? Can we do it without haggis? I think at first, this meant a lot of our food was about Scotland as a whole, and we ended up with a reputation for reframing forgotten recipes—Dripping Fried Porridge, our signature snack, is an example of this. Nowadays, our food has moved away from that, as the flavours I like to work with—predominantly from Asia—have crept in. Our food is now less about the food history of Scotland, and more about the personal history and experiences of Matilda and I.
Your tasting menu draws from Japanese Kaiseki and Scottish cuisine—two distinct culinary traditions. How do you strike that balance on the plate without one overshadowing the other?
We are not a Scottish restaurant, nor a Japanese one. We are the crossover point in the Venn diagram. Our food is localised to Killiecrankie—our biggest supplier is our garden and the woodland around the building—but the way we prepare the ingredients available to us is less like other restaurants in our area and draws more heavily from the techniques of the East. We are also a modern restaurant, and whilst we do utilise some modernist techniques, they are in the pursuit of flavour only, not because it is important for us to show off how clever we are.
The menu evolves constantly with the seasons. Can you tell us more about how the landscape, kitchen garden, and local producers shape what ends up on the table?
We can only serve what is available to us. We are not in a major European city; the Scottish highlands have considerably fewer purveyors. Some might think that limiting, but it means we have to be creative with our ingredients and techniques, and I think that makes our cuisine feel unique. We always describe Killiecrankie as being caught between the mountains and the sea, our two hunting grounds for ingredients, if you like, and the fusing of ingredients from those two environments has given us a strong identity. You have to make an effort to come to Killiecrankie, so we have to give you a reason to make that effort.
You work closely with Clive, your kitchen gardener, and use a ‘no-dig’ organic approach. How important is this relationship between chef and gardener to the final dining experience?
Clive is our most important supplier. He grows exactly what we want, and picks it for us at its peak. He shows guests around the garden, talking (often at length) about what he’s growing and the challenges and rewards of the season.
What are some of the most unique or unexpected ingredients you’ve worked with from your garden—and how have they inspired specific dishes?
We grow a whole slew of ingredients that are atypical for this part of the world—wasabi, sansho, burdock, okra, shiso, kabocha pumpkins, to name a few, alongside more usual suspects like berries, rhubarb, peas, beans, tomatoes and herbs. I like to take the more ordinary ingredients and use them in unusual ways, for example, making ‘umeboshi’ from cherry tomatoes, or kimchi from rhubarb. Whereas for the Japanese ingredients, a lot of our guests are less familiar with them, so it’s always nice to introduce people to them. One of my favourite dishes that we serve in the summer is a dish made solely from the peas in the garden—double-peeled peas braised in a stock made from the pea pods, flavoured with a miso we make from the peas, and topped with a pea flour tuile. It’s a beautifully decadent and surprising dish from such a humble ingredient.
Your approach to sustainability seems to go beyond just the plate—it’s integrated into every element of the house. How do you define sustainability as a chef today, and what practices are you most proud of at Killiecrankie House?
There can be a lot of virtue signalling when it comes to sustainability, and I think public perception of what sustainability means can sometimes be a bit skewed. The truth is, as chefs, our sole focus is on producing the best quality food we can. Of course, we try to use the best products that are available to us, especially if they are from suppliers that are close to the restaurant, which helps cut down food miles. We try not to waste anything—good business sense and also good for the environment. We compost, have a garden, and our own bees, with plans for pigs and a trout pond, hopefully to be implemented later this year, all of which are a small way of combating the problems people have with mass farming. Of course, there is always more that can be done, and every year we work on improving and tweaking wherever possible, but we would never implement something that we felt would be at the detriment of the food and drink offering.
Guests begin their journey in the lounge, surrounded by records and cookbooks. How important is storytelling and atmosphere in shaping the overall dining experience for you?
If you are going to sit anywhere for 4 or 5 hours, you want to feel comfortable, and I hope that our guests feel that way about the building and the atmosphere we create. Our lounge is a great way to introduce people to the team, the kind of food we serve and the experience without the formality of sitting at a dining table. I believe quite firmly that people are looking for more personable experiences when dining out these days, and that the days of long, scripted descriptions and robotic conversations are on the way out. Restaurants are places for people to enjoy themselves, places where they can make lasting memories with their friends and loved ones, and it is our job to facilitate that.
Some of your dishes, like the Dripping Fried Porridge or the filled Duck Donut, are full of playful nods to tradition. How do you approach creativity and nostalgia in your cooking?
Dripping fried porridge is an interesting dish. It is a block of porridge cooked with slow-cooked meat (we have used both oxtail and confit duck legs) and a rich stock, which is then sliced and fried in fat. The whole thing is topped with pickled walnuts, or umeboshi, and Isle of Mull Cheddar—a play on a Scottish story that guests may or may not be familiar with about Scots in more frugal times setting slabs of porridge in drawers to slice and eat for lunch. Whether people know the story of the porridge drawer or not, they can relate to the preparation. American guests associate it with cheeseburgers and meatloaf, Scots with haggis and brown sauce, and Europeans with terrines and pâtés. All of these things are comforting and bring back fond memories—just because a thing sounds weird, doesn’t mean it has to be weird. Our food has always been creative, drawing on culinary traditions from all over the globe and mixing and merging them in ways that we find interesting. Sometimes, reframing an old idea through a new viewpoint can deliver something unexpected and memorable.
With just 14 covers a night, you’re creating something incredibly intimate. What are the challenges and rewards of working at this scale?
We serve more courses than customers—it’s not the safest, nor the sanest, business model. The challenges are obvious: money is tight, and we are super reliant on getting bums on seats. That being said, I love the fact that our restaurant is so personable, where you will get to speak to everyone who works here, and hopefully leave feeling like you have made a genuine connection with the team. It also means that with the small team and numerous courses that we serve every night, we are able to control the entire experience very carefully.
What’s your process like when developing a new dish — do you start with an ingredient, a technique, a memory? How does it progress from there?
We spend a lot of time in the kitchen, cooking, eating, tasting, tinkering. When ingredients come in, we play around with them until they are no longer available. We come up with preparations that we like, even if we have nowhere to put them on the menu, and of course, we have great and wild ideas that don’t work. We kiss a few frogs along the way, but in every dud dish that we create, there might be an element, technique, or flavour combination that we set aside for a later date or investigate more deeply. This is the basis, I think, of any creative pursuit. Things do not appear in our heads fully formed and ready to be unleashed on the world. This is why novelists write drafts and artists make sketches.
You’ve received a number of accolades in a relatively short time, including Michelin listings and Chef of the Year awards. How do these recognitions influence or motivate you?
They are very nice for my ego, good for the team’s morale, and give us something to talk about in the press, because keeping ourselves relevant is so important to reminding people to make the effort to come and eat with us. The truth is, however, that whilst they are lovely to receive, we are not cooking for awards, but for our guests, because we want them to enjoy themselves and come back again and again.
With Matilda overseeing a bold drinks programme, including sake pairings and house-made liqueurs, how closely do you collaborate on the food-drink pairing experience?
The whole experience is integrated, as it should be. I work closely with Mollie in our bar, who creates exciting drinks and ingredients for cocktails alongside the chefs in the kitchen. The ideas and flavour profiles of these drinks are driven by the kind of food we serve in the restaurant. Matilda is tasting the dishes and then pairing wines and sakes to match, both flavour-wise and narratively. The whole experience has to feel like a cohesive one.
Finally, what’s next for you? Are there any ingredients, techniques, or experiences you’re itching to explore in future menus?
We have come into spring, so new ingredients like asparagus, flowering currant and wild garlic are easing into the menu, so this is always an exciting time of year. Our plans for pigs and trout are starting to take place, and we should have our first honey harvest in the next few months. We have some fun stuff happening with produce—our next batch of ‘katsuobushi’ made from venison is underway, alongside our oat shoyu and pea misos.
To find out more about Killiecrankie House and book, contact the hotel using the below details:
KILLIECRANKIE HOUSE
Perthshire
Pitlochry
PH16 5LG
Web: killiecrankiehouse.com
Online Bookings: exploretock.com/killiecrankiehouse
Tel: 07828 106673
Email: hello@killiecrankiehouse.com
Instagram: @killiecrankiehouse | @ttsappis | @matildatsappis
Images © Alexander Baxter