EATING OUT : A far cry from shepherd's pie chips

HAVING inadvertently spent £66.50 on drinks at the Dorchester last time (the sort of thing that could happen to anyone), I was in disgrace this week and sent to a pub. Unfortunately, when we got to The George and Dragon in Rowde, a rustic haunt with wooden floors and tables and a general air of inglenook and jollity, the cloud of telling-off seemed to have followed us.

"You didn't call me back, you naughty man," the lady behind the bar was lecturing a customer. He had left a booking message on the answer phone and not followed it up with a call, the outrageous rogue.

"I've got a booking under Fletcher," I mumbled sheepishly when it got to my turn, knowing what was going to happen. "YES, you see? You didn't call back either," she started up loudly. It wasn't my fault. I'd booked with a live person days beforehand, and simply rung up from the station at six and left an answer phone message saying, sorry, we were going to be four instead of three and could we bring a toddler? Honestly. You'd have thought it was the Manoir aux Quat' Saisons the way they were carrying on.

Still , a cartoon on the wall cheered us up a bit: one version showed two wine waiters saying "an excellent choice, sir" and the other had them sticking their fingers down their throats. The wine list really cheered us up, being excellent value, with house wine at £7.50 and satanically tempting treats at value prices. We plumped modestly for a 1992 Pinot Blanc d' Alsace at £9.45 which was delicious.

We had been put into one room to make our selections before being taken through into the main room to eat, an arrangement that makes you suspect they are trying to cover up some calumny by disguising the waiting time: as if one of the guests has caught fire or the chef is having a breakdown and refusing to come out of the oven. The choice-making kept us busy enough, though. There is scarcely a pub in the country left untouched by exotic influence these days, with beef satays , prawn creoles and chicken tikka pizzas leaving shepherd's pie, Cornish pasties and scampi and chips in plastic baskets trampled in their wake. In The George and Dragon, no culinary barrier was deemed too challenging. There was fish pt with pesto, sweetbreads with salsa, smoked chicken with strawberries, marmalade ice-cream and even salmon with rhubarb. "They sound just like your recipes, dear ," said my friend to his wife.

The prices brought on an involuntary weird noise which had to be turned into a gay little cough. Starters ranged from £3 to £6 and main courses from £8 to £14. The latter, though top whack, is the sort of main-course price you pay in a posh London restaurant. You imagine that sum allows for things like W1 rents, tablecloths and cloakroom attendants, and that gourmet food in a pub with bare table tops and nothing fancy to eat with might be - how to put this? - somewhat cheaper. But The George and Dragon is in the Good Food Guide, so we reserved judgement.

In due course we were taken through to the restaurant, which was full, woody and relaxed. They had thoughtfully placed us in a corner where there was a little cushioned alcove for two-year-old Sam to play in, and a even a selection of antique glassware for him to play with. To their credit, the staff could not have been more friendly and helpful with Sam.

One friend ordered cheese souffl for his starter as a sort of test, the mark of a good chef lying, they do say, in his eggs. There were two souffls, and he declared them both fluffy and well executed. Warm salad of scallops and bacon was less of a hit. We all had a taste of the dressing and while the others declared it too vinegary, to me it was too oily, which suggested a failure on the mixing front. Mussel and oyster soup was deemed a triumph: "best stick to the basic things" was the comment - absobloodylootely darlings, stick to oysters.

I started with two asparagus and prosciutto pancakes with quails eggs. The quails eggs were cold and too runny but the pancakes were scrumptious and the sauce, though tangy rather than precise, was just the thing. I followed with salmon fishcakes which were delightfully non-perfectly- formed with big chunks of salmon and a hollandaise sauce so buoyant it was practically puffy. My friend's baked Sandridge Farm ham (wherever that is) came with an onion sauce in an unattractive shade of beige that looked like baby food. It tasted fine, though. Thai fish curry had "well- cooked fish with a sauce which was distinctive without being painful", and the salmon was perfectly cooked though the rhubarb accompaniment was "ludicrously superfluous".

My bread-and-butter pudding, and I make no bones about this, was a disgrace. Picture the scene: three slices of French bread, a few currants, and not very nice custard on top - £4. If that is a bread-and-butter pudding then I am a meat-and-potato pie.The ice- creams, particularly the marmalade, were superb.

Leaving aside the bread-and-butter pudding, to find such delicious food in a country pub is an absolute delight. But I think the place's reputation has gone to its head. The bossiness at the start was uncalled for. The prices for fancily conceived but essentially good homely food are more smug than reasonable. Our bill, with service, coffee, water and three lime juice and sodas came to £100 for four - £25 a head for dinner in a pub with one modest bottle of wine - and we didn't even order the most expensive things. I think next time I might be reviewing McDonald's.