They seem fond of their sausages at the Ashmolean Museum restaurant.

Not only were bangers on the menu when I strolled in last weekend, but the venue was offering 'Ludlow sausage and wholegrain mustard flavoured' kettle crisps, which struck me as just a smidgin pretentious.

I have no grudge against the quaint Shropshire town, where I spent a happy couple of years in the 1990s, and I'm glad that it's done well in styling itself as some sort of cute gastro-capital.

But the decision by Digby Trout, the rumbustiously-named firm that runs the Ashmolean Museum's catering facilities, to lay on such a snack - and ask more than a quid for a 50g packet - is a sign that the Ashmolean is determined to see itself as some kind of gourmet lunching point, rather than the type of glorified canteen consigned to the basements of similarly prestigious establishments.

The menu has been limited each time I've visited the Ashmolean. On Saturday, lunch consisted principally of either sausages with fried onions (£6.95), free range chicken breast in a bacon and tarragon sauce (£7.25), or spinach and mushroom lasagne (£6.50).

There were a few smaller items too, such as coriander and ginger chicken with celery and apple, or goat's cheese with yellow pepper salad. These were arranged ornately on smart rectangular dishes, but priced at a teeth-sucking £6.50 and £6.25 respectively.

SO WHAT DID YOU CHOOSE?

Despite the balmy sunshine enveloping the old building, I'd been feeling the autumn chill begin to gnaw at my bones of late. So I ended up carring away a tray of three plump bangers, covered in onion shreds, to which were added a few scoops of sauted potatoes and a mixed salad.

I picked up a bottle of Peroni lager from the chiller cabinet, pausing to shake my head at the restaurant's sheer ballsiness in charging £4.10 for 187ml bottles of rather plonky-looking wine.

The cakes and puds looked tempting, and on a previous occasion I'd enjoyed a coffee and walnut cake portion of such dimensions that it deserved to be described as a 'slab' rather than a slice - perhaps aimed at the many diet-defying Americans who are drawn to the famous museum's varied curiosities.

Not only was the cake slice a generous size when I last tucked in to one, but it was pleasantly moist. On this occasion, I refrained, stopping only to grab a double espresso and wandering to a bright corner, to browse a newspaper plucked from a nearby stand. There was no background music.

AND WHAT DID YOU THINK?

Tasty, and nothing merited an awful pun likening the food to the elderliness of the museum's exhibits. But the sausages could have been hotter, and it would have been better with mashed spuds. My beer was served agreeably cold and the coffee was a smoky, dark brew that hit the spot. The service was friendly and efficient, and the restaurant neat and tidy.

VERDICT: My main niggle was the price. I watched a couple stroll up to the menu posted by the entrance, before exclaiming: "It's expensive: a sausage roll from the market it is" - and stalking out.