The Kingswell, Harwell

Principally, it has about it a quaintly old-fashioned air which, when you think about it, is partly a function of the aforementioned qualities, which are sometimes considered a blast from the past elsewhere. It is a matter, too, of the decor, whose traditional style may be judged from the picture on the right, and consistency of ownership. Bosses Terry and Erica Chevis had been in charge for some 15 years the last time I reviewed; they still run the place with pride today.

They have many loyal customers. I recall Terry telling me back in 1999 how often first-time customers quickly became regulars. It remains the same now, as I gathered from a pleasant chap I met out on the terrace where I had popped for a breath of air towards the end of our dinner. My chat with Frankie began when he mentioned he had just seen a leveret in the car park; this led to an animated conversation in which his partner Amanda and Rosemarie soon joined. Once our new friends had told us how highly they rated the place, and how often they were there, I fessed up to what I was doing, and promised them a little input into this article, which pledge I have now fulfilled.

By the time of our meeting, we had already gained our own highly favourable impression of the place. Mind you, it was touch and go at the start. We had taken our seats in the restaurant to the accompaniment of strident rock music being blasted from a loudspeaker (if such a thing still exists) above us. This led to a routine very familiar to Rosemarie in which, Goldilocks like, I move from table to table in search of the one that is just right. (I hardly need add that this is the sole respect – a shared liking for porridge apart – in which I do resemble that winsome heroine.) Happily, the music reduced in volume, and I stayed put.

The Kingswell’s menu is large enough to offer diners a good choice of dishes, many of which use locally sourced ingredients, flagged up as such in the listings. Presumably the wild rabbit used in my terrine starter was from the neighbourhood (if I were that leveret I think I’d watch out!). The generous slice of rough-textured meat was moist and delicious, and the tangy chutney (spiced apple and walnut) served with it proved an ideal accompaniment. There were also plenty of good warm bread rolls and excellent butter.

Ever a traditionalist, Rosemarie was delighted to find herring roes – something of a restaurant rarity – among the choices. These were of the soft variety, lightly sautéed and teamed with parsley and capers (rather too many for some tastes) on fried ciabatta. Other starters included crab mayonnaise, goat’s cheese soufflé, roast scallops and black pudding, and grilled tiger prawns with chilli, lime and ginger (which Frankie and Amanda had greatly enjoyed in their larger main-course guise).

Liver and bacon, baked ham and fish and chips (with mushy peas) also cater for the traditionalist in the main courses. So does cheesy-topped cottage pie, which Rosemarie went for like a shot, finding it admirable in all respects, except perhaps for slight over-saltiness to the meat.

More unusual offerings include ‘sticky beef’ with Indonesian-style salad, home-made white chicken sausage, duckling with ginger, lime and pineapple jus, and the dish I ordered. True, tenderloin of Oxfordshire pork is no great novelty, but as served here – baked in Serrano ham, and presented with a flageolet bean and spinach ragout with blue cheese mousse – it proved just the thing to liven a jaded appetite (in which process the grapefruit and lime tinged New Zealand sauvignon blanc also played a valuable part).

Rosemarie finished with a gooey, cream-stuffed meringue with sweetened strawberries, some of which ended in my mouth.

This was excellent, satisfying food. It was good to be back.