The Mole and Chicken, Easington, near Thame

3:10pm Wednesday 26th November 2008

Acouple of the pictures on this page give a good impression of the delights to be enjoyed at the Mole and Chicken on one of those sunny days that now seem as far as can be from our present situation.

I can scarcely think of a better place for al fresco eating. Tables command a wonderful view over miles of Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire countryside spread beneath the ridge on which this splendid pub stands. But this cheerily rustic establishment, near Long Crendon, has special appeal, too, in the winter: its antique furnishings, mellow lighting and – above all – huge open fire make for country comfort at its best.

I have known the place for more than 30 years, first in its old guise as an Ind Coope boozer called the Rising Sun; later, after its makeover as a foodie freehouse, which I was surprised (indeed, rather alarmed) to discover occurred as long ago as 1992. The name was based on those of its two owners, Alan Heather (aka Moley) and Johnny Chick. The pair have long since gone their own ways in business terms, leaving Alan as sole boss (as he is of the Mole, another fine dining pub, closer to Oxford at Toot Baldon).

We chose Tuesday of last week — a chilly, windy night — to reacquaint ourselves with the Mole and Chicken, my last review of the place having been penned (I see from our files) about a Sunday lunch there a month into the 21st century. We invited our friends Gerald and Clico Kingsbury, who live nearby, to join us in the appraisal.

Rosemarie and I having arrived five minutes or so ahead of the appointed time, we made at once for the pair of leather sofas beside the fire to await our companions. A bottle of French sauvignon blanc was broached as we took a first glance at the menu. This was brought by a chatty young waitress who appeared to be particularly well informed on matters to do with weather. Turned out she was a geography student at Oxford Brookes University.

After a couple of sips of our wine, we had expanded to a quartet, each staking a claim to his or her favourite on the shortish but well-judged menu. Besides the things I am going to tell you about, it included starters of ham hock and parsley terrine, crab and coriander cakes and flaked duck salad, and main courses of monk fish and tiger prawn satay, mushroom risotto, and smoked haddock with poached egg.

Orders taken, we were offered a choice of where to seat in the near-empty series of inter-connecting rooms (a contrast to weekends when the place is generally packed). We eventually settled on a long table facing the bar, with a settle along one side and solid chairs opposite.

Starters arrived promptly. Mine was devilled kidneys on toast, a rare treat for one who generally eschews high cholesterol food. Actually, not such a treat, since the halved kidneys were underdone to my taste (chewy, rather than melt-in-the-mouth) and had, moreover, not had all their white stringy bits removed. The creamy sauce was good, however, with an interesting afterburn. Rosemarie’s herring roes (another British classic) were judged to be perfect. Clico (in her own words) had “goat’s cheese with beetroot and orange, which despite my usual reservations about beetroot, was in fact v. delicious, mostly because the goat’s cheese was meltingly fresh”. Gerald made short work of fried baby squid with chilli, garlic, lemon and olive oil.

My main course was the evening’s one special, a whole plaice cooked with parsley, rosemary and lots of butter. The fish was gloriously fresh and came with a sizeable chuck of firm pink roe. I had a side order of al dente green beans (£3) and almonds but was surprised that I could not have boiled new potatoes (only roast, creamy mash or chips, none of which I fancied). Rosemarie had slow-cooked blade of 28-day dry aged Aberdeenshire beef with creamed cabbage and bacon, gratin potatoes and roast garlic. The richness of the meat was in telling contrast to the thin, almost watery, flavour of Gerald’s shoulder of Cornish lamb. He though it had lost some of its flavour either from over-zealous boiling in the kitchen or perhaps on a long walk from the West Country. He (and I) enjoyed the wilted buttered spinach side order (another £3). Clico had sea bass fillets with Thai spices and coconut rice and reported: “The fish was a tad cremated round the edges,but the flavour of the Thai spices was divine, hot and spicy, crunchy and interesting.”

To finish, we shared a portion of banana crème brûlée, which Rosemarie and I liked but Clico thought “boring”, and an extremely more-ish puff pastry pear tart with ice cream.