White Hart, The

Formerly an Italian joint, The White Hart has reinvented itself as a gastropub with new features like green silk lanterns (quite smart actually) and a solid mahogany bar that would have done ample service in a fashionable London bank, in the days when they existed.

An open kitchen reveals all, a practice about which I have mixed feelings. I simply am not sure whether I want to see my smoked haddock with bubble and squeak, poached egg and mustard cream being knocked about in circumstances over which I have no control.

Paradoxically the preparation of a green peppercorn Welsh black beef fillet with roasted new potatoes would give me a buzz, but I have to confess that it might be because a few weeks ago I failed to connect with one in a Welsh hotel, where I had been cherishing high hopes for the previous 120 miles.

Meanwhile at The White Hart the new look seems to be packing them in, with good value for money, perhaps a reassuring indication that we Brits have not given up on the national fodder to the degree that some might fondly suppose.