By an odd coincidence, the chefs at the Peach Pub Company's two Oxfordshire operations find themselves staring at each other today from opposite pages of The Oxford Times. Alistair Barlow takes a bow as commander of the kitchens at this week's restaurant under review, The Fleece, in Witney, while the facing page features the award-winning Corin Earland of The Fishes, in North Hinksey.

Actually, we would need to have included a third headshot to complete Peach's complement of pubs in the county as it now stands. The abrupt departure a couple of months ago of BBC TV's The Restaurant winners Jeremy and Jane Hooper resulted in The Thatch, in Thame, coming under the company's control. Before long, I must find out how things are shaping up there, when we shall no doubt persuade chef Ross Whitmill to smile for the camera.

The Fleece has been a Peach pub for the past five years, and been a firm favourite in the town through all that time. A favourite of mine, too. Whenever I set off to Witney - for shopping, dentist, a review of another restaurant - I generally begin or end the visit with a glass of wine in the Fleece's bustling bar.

I like the place for its own sake and for its incomparable setting. Church Green has to be one of the county's most appealing urban spaces. I love looking out on it from the bay windows of the pub, peopling it in my imagination with bonneted Victorian ladies bustling Cranford-like about their business. I was delighted, then, when booking my table for dinner, to be asked whether I would "mind" being placed in a window table. Mind! I could think of nothing better.

Having arrived in town half an hour ahead of time, we enjoyed a quick glass of Cava at another fine pub, the Hollybush in Corn Street. While there, we picked up the news that the Three Horseshoes, just along the street, is set within days to become another serious foodie operation. Things just get better in Witney - I'll have to move there . . .

The Fleece, when we arrived, proved to be every bit as full as the Hollybush had been - and again, I noticed, with a preponderance of female groups of diners. Ladies don't only do lunch in Witney . . .

More than ready for dinner, I was pleased by the speedy arrival of a basket of seeded bread and butter. I also ordered a bowl of mixed black and green olives and a bottle of citrussy Picpoul de Pinet from France's olive capital, Languedoc. Both offered a delicious taste of the sun.

Normally at a Peach pub I would fashion a starter from their trademark 'deli boards', which offer a rich assortment of charcuterie, fish, cheese and anti-pasti modestly priced at £1.60 an item. This time, however, I was attracted by the crab, lime and chilli risotto, which was among the category of dishes that could be selected either as a starter or main course. This turned out to be a risotto exactly as I like it, with large grains of rice, slippery smooth on the outside but with a touch of hardness in the centre. The chilli was obvious without being overdone; the white crab meat generously supplied. Judging that it might prove nicely complementary - it did - I ordered a portion of Bradon Rost hot-smoked salmon as well.

Rosemarie was also delighted with her nicely gooey twice-baked soufflé, made with Kirkham's toothsome Lancashire cheese, and accompanied by lamb's lettuce dressed with walnut vinaigrette, in which were half a dozen chunks of the nuts themselves.

Her main course, however, was much less satisfactory. This was an individual fish pie - one of the night's blackboard specials - served in a bowl with a spoon supplied, suggesting a high liquid content was in store. This turned out to be the case; but before this became apparent, Rosemarie was dismayed to discover that the dish had been insufficiently cooked or rather, I should say, reheated. After a first lukewarm forkful, she pointed out the problem to manager Aimee Moore. The bowl was borne away to the kitchen, from which it returned five minutes later. Though now piping hot, it turned out to be, as fish pies go, rather boring - lots and lots of creamy liquid beneath a mashed potato topping, with chunks of white fish, salmon and oddly dry-tasting prawns.

Mine was another special, a T-bone pork steak, with which I was much happier. The chargrilled meat was tender and juicy, and offered with a sweet basil dressing and a generous quantity of buttery spring mash. (Actually, like the pie topping, it wasn't mash at all but that smooth modern style of potato properly called puréed or liquidised.) d=3,3,1In the curious absence of a green vegetable, either offered with the dish or available as a side, I ordered a "mixed leaf" salad. This wasn't mixed at all, consisting entirely of one type of frizzy-leafed lettuce. The first forkful revealed it had been imperfectly dressed (more vinaigrette was supplied); the second that it has been imperfectly washed, there being rather a lot of grit still clinging to the leaves.

Both of us finished the meal very happily. Rosemarie had a perfectly constructed plum tarte Tatin. Some of its sharp-flavoured fruit proved a happy addition, when it was offered, to my plate of cheese (Lancashire, Stilton and brie). Accompaniments already included grapes, slices of apple and lots of Carr's water biscuits, so this proved almost a meal in itself.