This Piccalilli Nottingham review covers a softly lit dining room tucked off the city centre, plates of treacle-baked ham, bright, sharp fish and a chocolate, coffee and whisky sponge that almost finished me off. Warm service, understated elegance and food I’d happily eat again.
At-a-Glance
- Vibe: Hidden townhouse energy; candlelit, intimate, quietly buzzy
- Spend: Small plates from ~£6–£15; expect £40–£60 per head with drinks
- Book?: Yes, especially weekends and later services
- Best seat: Along the wall by the old brick and candle drips, facing the mezzanine kitchen
- Good for: Date nights, food-obsessed catch-ups, slow winter evenings
Piccalilli Nottingham Review. First Impressions
Hurts Yard feels like a secret even when the city centre is buzzing a few streets away. However, Piccalilli Nottingham glows as soon as you turn into the little courtyard. This Piccalilli Nottingham review really begins with that first glimpse. The building feels old in the best way. Exposed beams run overhead and an even older brick wall lines one side. An almost reckless amount of candle wax softens every edge. Dried seasonal florals trail from shelves and ledges.
The room itself isn’t huge. One space, maybe 35–40 covers at most, a well-stocked bar and an open kitchen perched on a kind of mezzanine level. As a result, you really feel the room breathe as plates leave the pass. It’s a bit like walking into someone’s house, if that someone had great glassware, good wine and a serious thing for pickles.
I hadn’t even ordered yet and already knew I’d be back.
Small Plates, Big Intent
We started in the snacks section, which is always my happiest place. At Piccalilli, the treacle baked ham with house piccalilli landed first. Two generous, rosy slices, edges darkened where the treacle had caught. The ham tasted tender and properly seasoned, with just enough fat to feel indulgent. Chunky carrot, cauliflower, cucumber and onion sit in a generous, mustardy sauce. It cuts cleanly through the richness and clings to every slice. It pairs so beautifully with the ham that I instantly wished I’d ordered the sourdough too, but eyes, belly and all that.
Alongside came the Welsh rarebit croquettes with pickled walnut ketchup. These looked like textbook golden orbs. Inside, the filling was molten, all tangy cheese warmth, while the coating stayed audibly crisp. The pickled walnut ketchup underneath brought this deep, slightly bitter sweetness that stopped things from tipping into bland comfort. Because we all know brown food can be beautiful; Piccalilli clearly got the memo.
I can’t resist a potato, so the ratte potatoes with shallots, buttermilk, dill and mustard seeds were non-negotiable. They arrived still hot, skins just wrinkled, dressed in a tangy buttermilk dressing. The dill and plump mustard seeds gave little bursts of freshness and gentle heat. They were everything a ratte potato should be, and the whole plate disappeared in a couple of minutes flat. I briefly wondered if we should have ordered two, but for two people I think we pitched it about right. For this Piccalilli Nottingham review, though, these potatoes absolutely deserve their own mention!
Fish, Butter and Bright Greens
The fish section is where things really took off. First, the cured chalk stream trout with quail egg, salad cream and pickled cucumber. Cubes of gleaming orange trout sat under a fine tangle of micro-herbs, with soft-yolked quail eggs and slices of pickled cucumber scattered through. The salad cream tasted knowingly nostalgic but arrived in neat little dollops. Every forkful landed sharp, creamy and cool.
Then the scallops with parsley velouté and fried soda bread. Two scallops sat in a vivid green pool, just bronzed on top and still soft inside. The parsley sauce was silky and fresh, almost grassy, while the crumbled fried soda bread brought nutty crunch and a hint of toastiness. Moreover, the portion felt just right for sharing; thescallopes were of a decent size, enough for a proper taste, not just a polite bite.
Finally, the halibut with Cornish potatoes, samphire and hollandaise. The fish arrived with a well-seared edge, flakes pulling apart but still juicy. The hollandaise tasted lemony and rich. Meanwhile, the samphire added that essential salty snap, and the potatoes quietly did the Lord’s work of soaking everything up. It was simple on paper, yet every element had been cooked with care.
And very well too I may add.
Sweet Finish
Dessert was the chocolate, coffee and whisky sponge, and at first it threw me a bit. I took a first bite and wasn’t entirely sure I was sold. A dark, almost ganache-like chocolate quenelle sat beside a soft, boozy sponge and a lighter coffee cream, with crumbs scattered over everything. There were notes of whisky, bitter coffee and almost burnt toast, and the temperatures and textures felt slightly at odds. Yet it was exactly the sort of plate I kept going back to, spoonful after spoonful. By the end, I had to admit I’d rather enjoyed it.
Final Thoughts
Piccalilli is exactly the sort of place I want tucked away in a city centre. It feels warm and quietly confident, all candlelight, old brick and that low hum of conversation. Even the tea towel napkins add to the mix, somehow both classy and rustic.
The food exceeded expectations across the board, and the staff were polite, helpful and never once made the evening feel rushed. The menu reads like a list of things you actually want to eat, and I could quite happily have worked my way through every single dish.
What I’m eyeing up next time at Piccalilli, Nottingham.
The roast wild mushrooms with Jerusalem artichokes and tarragon egg, the lamb scrumpet with braised red cabbage and mustard, and absolutely their Sunday lunch, which already sounds like my perfect slow afternoon.
If you liked this Piccalilli Nottingham review, you can check out my other restaurant visits here.
