I played snooker on a dartboard on my first visit to Broadwell's 16th-century pub 18 years ago. No, I wasn't tight the game was a curious hybrid called Dartoball, which was being marketed by a company owned by the Five Bells' landlord Paul Sutton. A bit of a darts ace in those days, I found it great fun, throwing first for a red, then for a nominated colour on the balls picked out in wire on the traditional 18-inch bristle dartboard. Paul was hoping the pastime would be all the rage in pubs across the country. He was destined for disappointment.

Such had been its dismal impact that when I returned to the Five Bells in 1995 to review its restaurant, the new landlord hadn't even heard of it. But in the years since, we've been given that invaluable reference aid, the Internet. So now that I have been back to the pub again in its new guise, as the Chilli Pepper I am able to add a postscript to the Dartoball story in the form of an exchange gleaned from the web.

Having mentioned Dartoball on his Internet forum, Swiss darts expert Big Ben had the following message (sics all the way) from someone called Wouter: "Hi i speak englisch ecause its better than my deutsch, can you say to me where i exacly a dartoball snooker baord can buy? I hope you can. I dart a lot but i really want this board." Ben replied: "Hi Wouter. Every year you will be a bit luckier to get a Dartoball Snooker board, because they didn't make them for years now. You can see pictures of my boards on my homepage. I hope you will find one some day good luck. Ben."

You can see Big Ben's board on the right. The one I played on all those years ago was in the room pictured next to it now drastically altered during tasteful renovations carried out last year by the pub's new owners, cousins Susan Barrow and Leila Rezazad, who previously ran restaurants in London. It was in this room at a table in the foreground, just out of the shot that Rosemarie and I ate a most enjoyable dinner last Friday night. But this was only after determined efforts by the waiter (manager? at any rate, the main man there) to place us in the large dining area at the other side of the wood-burning stove.

I firmly resisted this because there was no-one else there, though there was an animated crowd in the pretty room overlooking the garden. I told the waiter I had no wish to sit in solitary splendour. This was not a phrase he seemed familiar with, though he understood what I was getting at. He assured me that other people would soon be seated there too. But when he saw I was clearly having none of it, he offered the alternative.

In fact, as the evening wore on, nobody else did sit through there. Only two other diners arrived, and they had called 'on spec'. I know this because I overheard their conversation with the waiter, in which the lady customer revealed they had learned about the place from an advertisement in The Oxford Times (other restaurateurs please note). They had tried to come the previous Monday but had found the place shut. "A Bank Holiday Monday is not a day to close," she advised a sentiment with which I agree entirely.

They seemed to think their meal had been worth waiting for, however, and we were very happy but for one hiccough too. Expert hands are clearly at work in the kitchen.

d=3,3,1My starter, though simple, was absolutely delicious a salad of warm potatoes, with small pieces of good-quality bacon, a couple of marinated artichoke hearts, slightly crunchy green beans and assorted leaves, with lemon and honey vinaigrette (£5.95). Rosemarie was equally delighted with her juicy grilled king prawns (£7.95) five of them, served partly peeled for ease of eating and (one presumed) for the better absorption of the marinade of lime juice, sweet chilli and olive oil.

Other starters included coriander and chick pea soup, grilled goat's cheese and chicken parfait. For the main course there were various steaks (fillet, sirloin and rib-eye) with one of two sauces (peppercorn or wild mushroom), cod steak with herb cream sauce, honey roast duck breast, penne with tomato cream sauce and the two dishes I am going to tell you about.

I chose and chose very wisely pan-fried fillet of venison (£16.95). It came in three chunky pieces, beautifully tender and full-flavoured, seared to a dark brown on the outside and dark red within, and served with excellent mashed potato (not the Mr Whippy variety) and a creamy redcurrant and brandy sauce. I was allowed to have the sauce in a little pot on the side because I was worried by the mention of cream in it. In the event there was little of this to worry about though brandy was well to the fore. The accompanying courgettes, carrots, and broccoli were all properly cooked.

A glass of Chilean merlot (£4.25) teamed with the dish very well. My choice left Rosemarie the remains of our bottle of unoaked Sicilian chardonnay (Mandra Rossa, 2004, £15.50) to drink with her generous portion of grilled sea bass with lemon butter (£15.95).

To finish I had a dish of chopped sweet melon (£4.95), which was not as sweet as it would have been had it been fully ripe, though the port poured over it helped to make up for this. But there was no saving Rosemarie's cherry and almond tart (£4.95) whose nasty soggy base meant that she left most of it. Its deficiencies were pointed out to the waiter when he saw it in front of her, and he offered something else (though this was not wanted). One might have hoped to have seen its cost struck from the bill, but that was probably a matter on which only the owners could have ruled and neither of them appeared to be on the premises.

This, it has to be said, robbed our evening of the personal touch that is so important to the success of an enterprise such as this.