I was pleased to see a group of obvious regulars enjoying their pints of hand-pulled Young's bitter - and their cigarettes - as I ate dinner at the Trout, beside Tadpole Bridge, last Thursday night. While they sipped, puffed and chatted at the bar, I performed surgery on my first partridge of the year. My pleasure in eating here was in no whit diminished - rather, it was enhanced - by the convivial scene a few feet from our table. But what about the smoke? I can truthfully say I got no whiff of it, thanks presumably to an efficient extraction system.

By this time next year, such a scene will be a thing of the past. Though I understand why it must be, I nevertheless regret the disappearance of a long-cherished part of the British social scene - one in which I eagerly participated as a smoker for more than 20 years. Men and women pursuing their innocent pleasure over a drink will soon become as dim a memory at the Trout as the gas mantles that once provided the only source of lighting there.

The pub was without electricity when I first knew it as recently as the early 1970s - a curious circumstance, perhaps, for at that time a huge power pylon loomed over the premises. A request for ice with a drink would be met with the suggestion that one should return in the winter. In the decades since, the pub has moved steadily 'up-market' while remaining - in a phrase borrowed from a 1970 article by my estimable one-time colleague John Owen - "a comfortable, homely place".

The quality of its food improved dramatically under owner Chris Green, who arrived in 1996. Eventually, this was acknowledged by a listing in the Good Food Guide - an honour now passed on to Chris's successors, Helen and Gareth Pugh, who took over this summer. Consistency in the kitchen has been assured by the continued employment of chef Robbie Ellis - formerly of the Waterside in Bray - who has been in charge for seven years.

The Pughs arrived at the Trout with a distinguished background in the hotel business, which included spells at the Royal Crescent in Bath and later ownership of the Painswick Hotel, in the Gloucestershire village of the same name. Among the accolades they gained there was the award of Country House Hotel of the Year from the Good Hotel Guide.

An important member of the Painswick staff, Cyril Grell, has also made the move to Oxfordshire. Having observed, during our dinner, the courtesy and charm he brought to his role as restaurant manager, I was not surprised to discover he had previously practised these skills in his native France at Paris's celebrated Hotel George V.

The Trout's six guest rooms have already been refurbished. In the quiet(ish) period after Christmas there will be a general spruce-up throughout the pub. Helen tells me: "This is our first venture into pubs, but we hope we can bring our high standards and high level of service to the Trout and make it into Oxfordshire's most successful inn."

According to tradition, the pub doorway was once adorned with the legend: "The Trout kept by A. Herring." The shade of Mr Herring - if he existed - would surely approve the fare offered at the Trout today, with its strong emphasis on things piscatorial. Besides a printed menu, listing half a dozen first courses (how about sauted king scallops with veal sweetbreads and black pudding?) and as many mains, including veal loin, calf's liver and duck breast, there is a daily-changing specials board on which are listed the fresh fish delivered each day from Lizard Point in Cornwall (or Fowey, Devon, in the case of seafood).

On the night of our visit, the choice included skate wing (served with capers and nut brown butter), crevettes with garlic, grilled sole and pan-fried plaice. Rosemarie opted for the plaice and was given a specimen so large that she was able to offer me a fish course from it to precede my partridge (the edge having already been taken off her appetite by a first course of salmon and prawn terrine with dill creme fraiche - another of the day's specials). The plaice was simply presented with lemon and butter, its flesh moist and milky white.

This proved a total contrast in colour to the deep red of my carpaccio of seared tuna that had been my first course. These thin slices of uncooked (save at the edges) fish were offered with a salad of rocket leaves, balsamic dressing and Parmesan in such quantity that it almost cobstituted a cheese course.

The partridge was exactly as I like it - plump, pinkish in the middle, and with a slightly high flavour that showed it had been properly hung. So often these days, I find, game is served too fresh, lest ignorant customers (yes, these do exist) complain that it is 'off'. The result is that it is both tough and tasteless. Here, game birds are delivered in the feather, and only prepared for the oven when they are judged to be ready. A rich sweet gravy and crisp rashers of bacon from Middle White pigs reared in Kelmscott added to the delight of the bird, which was presented with a side dish of cauliflower, broccoli, green beans, carrots and new potatoes.

Unable tonight to run to the cost of Burgundy, I found a very acceptable substitute in the 2003 Pinot Noir from Domaine de Regusse, in the foothills of the Alps.

The choice of puddings included lemon posset, cappuccino creme brulee and passion fruit tart. I felt I had already eaten quite enough, but Rosemarie ordered a rich dark chocolate tart, with which she reported herself well pleased.

The Trout is recommended highly.