The Lough Pool Inn, Sellack

He used to own a chain of cool, minimalist London eateries. Now Stephen Bull runs a remote country inn, decorated with horse brasses. Richard Johnson paid a visit

I once had breakfast with Pocahontas. I was at Walt Disney World in Florida, but – even allowing for the hallucinogens of jet lag – it was a truly surreal experience. There was I, a fully grown man, talking to a cartoon character. Words failed me. All I could think of to say was "Nice ponytail." The daughter of Powhatan made um heap big excuse and left.

I tell you this because later that same day I found myself in the Rose & Crown Pub in "England" – well, the Disney version of England. It felt authentic – until I met the staff. They'd been pixie-dusted by the corporation to the point where all they knew was "everybody understands a smile", and insisted we all have a nice day. When has that ever happened to you in a British pub?

Our pubs are finally changing, though – and so is the food. Take The Lough Pool Inn. It's definitely a pub rather than a "country restaurant". There are regulars who choose not to eat (I later pointed and laughed at their folly), and the tables aren't all reserved for diners. This half-timbered Jerusalem, deep among the apple orchards of Herefordshire, is proud to call itself a pub.

The vicar of Sellack once delayed the Roundheads with good food and wine. I doubt it was a political act – more likely that he just had some Les Pins de Tirecul la Graviere that needed drinking up. It's that kind of place. The M50 isn't far away – but just far enough. That lack of metropolitan influence means there are too many horse brasses for my taste. And is a mirror in the gents still an effeminate frippery?

The place is owned by restaurateur Stephen Bull. A native of Abergavenny, Bull made his name in London before he returned to the Marches. Because it's not London, he doesn't have to worry about filling his tables twice in an evening. And there are no difficult neighbours. In fact, there are no neighbours at all. Bull's only worry is a septic tank with a complicated pumping system. Not so bad.

As a London resident I felt slighted by Bull's departure from the capital. I wanted to take one look at his menu and say: "Actually, Mr Bull, things have moved on a bit." But I just couldn't. This was good, solid food. But then Bull is turning himself into a good, solid brand. Which makes sense. Before getting into cooking he was something big in advertising.

When I asked our "waiter" a restaurant-type question ("What can you tell me about the spring lamb?"), he replied "It's spring lamb." Which is a pub-type answer. He was also wearing a novelty tie, depicting a forkful of spaghetti in a truly radical three-dimensional way. In Sellack, I guess you can't tell a man what type of tie he can – or can't – wear. In London that tie would have been a sackable offence.

Neris and I ate at the bar because the formal restaurant was fully booked. But it was way too yellow anyway. I looked in later and saw that one couple had failed to turn up. I do hate no-shows – but not as much as restaurateurs do. I like the story of one angry chef who rang up a no-show at 3am. He asked if they minded if he let his staff go home. And politely put down the phone. Now that is style.

I liked how adaptable Bull's kitchen was. He was happy to do Neris' seared smoked salmon, crushed peas, mint and crème fraîche without the crème fraîche. But the crushed peas then turned up a little salty. Who was to blame? I can guarantee you one thing – it won't be Neris. The delicate walnut sauce trimmed my rich unmoulded goat's cheese soufflé perfectly. Like Bull at his best: simple and well executed.

I was looking forward to my meat. Especially some Hereford or Welsh Black. Butchers in these parts hang their beef for a month as a matter of course. But I decided on the roast rump of spring lamb with garlic flageolets and pesto – at £13.50 the most expensive main course. The classic combination left a pool of extra virgin olive oil shimmering on my plate. I was only too happy to ask for more bread.

Neris ordered roast pigeon with Puy lentils. I have partaken of brown lentils – and beluga lentils. Good, but no cigar. Even if they do cook a bit slower, I would rather wait for Puy. In the hands of Bull, they are certainly worth the wait. He knows they must be marinated when still hot – then they soak up all of the flavours of a mustard and garlic or balsamic vinaigrette, or a good quality extra virgin olive oil.

In his cookbook, Bull talks about leaving the pigeon slightly undercooked, to rest before serving. The idea is that the fibres will lengthen again, allowing the moisture to spread more evenly. So it was a shame that Neris found her pigeon unrested. It was lean and muscular. Pigeons that lead a dissolute life are much better for eating, but so hard to track down. I suggest the personal ads.

The orange and almond cake reminded me of a forgotten pilgrimage to Galicia. But the sticky date pudding with butterscotch sauce touched me every bit as deeply. I think they were both based on Bull's Never-A-Failure cake – a recipe he borrowed from his mother-in-law. Anyway, I just kept on eating. Who was to blame? Maybe I should think of suing. Or maybe I've just lived in London too long. The Lough Pool Inn, Sellack, Herefordshire (01989 730236). To contact Richard Johnson, visit www.rjsj.demon.co.uk.