The Sun Inn, Marton, Shropshire

Never mind the whisky miniatures, the pool table and 'French' champagne The Sun Inn at Marton keeps its regulars happy, says Richard Johnson

I am a car bore. I rattle on about mpg and bhp, and my sump-oil small-talk has people reaching for the door. While the car's still moving. But at least I'm a safe driver. Neris, however, isn't. To be honest, I don't think she should be in charge of anything more powerful than a hairdryer, and I told her as much, on the way to The Sun Inn in Marton.

It should have been a pleasant drive. After all, this part of Shropshire is where the highlands of Wales meet the lowlands of England. But we were late. And Neris took her foot off the accelerator just the once – that was only because she was so close to the car in front that she could smell their Feu Orange. By the time we reached Marton, I needed a good stiff drink.

From a distance, The Sun Inn looked full of character. But, close-to, it wasn't. The room with Bar Blu-tacked to its door was given over to an unwieldy pool table and a wall-mounted collection of whisky miniatures. Which only intrigued me all the more – how on earth could the restaurant, in the room with Restaurant Blu-tacked to its door, get away with charging London prices?

The restaurant had the feel of a front room kept for best – all doilies and anti-macassars. There was a pub-like banquette running round the room, and a carpet that was definitely bought with beer spillage in mind. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure that the plate collection deserved to be mounted on the wall, but that could be me.

I wasn't expecting a sommelier, but our wine could have arrived with more ceremony than just "One bottle of wine". The waiter didn't show me that it was the wine I'd ordered. Or suggest I try it. I sense I was lucky he opened it for me at all. These days, I'm coming to see the point of a good sommelier, trained to follow the customer's finger up (and down) the prices on the wine list. Make it plain you're on a budget and you'll get the best wine for your money. What other free service can guarantee a vastly upgraded fine dining experience? Still, anything or nobody is better than a sniffy sommelier – the sort that imagines his job is a rite of godhood, and gets condescending if you spend less than £50 a bottle.

The seared scallops with an avocado salad suffered from too many textures on the one plate (£6.50). Whereas the roast wood pigeon with a wild mushroom risotto and truffle butter (£6.50) worked. I haven't had pigeon since I cooked it on a camp-fire for survivalist Ray Mears. Mears set the fire himself, using only the oily bark from a silver birch. The Sun Inn's pigeon was more tender – and served without the twigs.

By the main course, my father-in-law had just about recovered from the car journey. He was telling us how, as a boy in south Wales, he would eat cockles once a week. They were a treat from the fish cart. So he was ready for grit when he ordered loin of monkfish with buttered baby gems, cockles and a laverbread sauce (£15.50). Heck, if it hadn't had grit in it, he would have sent it back.

There wasn't enough laverbread – called, by the Welsh at least, Welsh caviar – to flavour the sauce properly but it was a nice idea. Truthfully, the best I can say about laverbread is that this seaweed is the richest natural source of iodine. I'm not a fan. I've seen it fried, and served to good effect with Welsh cured bacon, but I like it best when added to the juice of Seville oranges, and served with lamb.

The chef at The Sun Inn used to run the kitchen at Airds Hotel in Argyll, where he retained a Michelin star. So he knows his way round fancy food. But there's no evidence of flounce or frippery on his menu at The Sun Inn. He has been running the kitchen on his own for nearly a year now, and concentrating on making simple food sing. It might be time to strike out a little.

Marton is farming country – and farming country near Wales. So the reputation of The Sun Inn will rise and fall on its lamb. To judge by the car park full of Range Rovers and Land Rovers, and the ruddy-faced clientele, I would say the farmers look well pleased. The herb-crusted rack of lamb with mashed swede and carrot, potato gratin and rosemary sauce was exemplary. Fattier than I'm used to – but nicer for it.

I was surprised to see pears poached in French champagne with shortcake and caramel sauce (£4.50) on the dessert menu – for two reasons. First, there's no point in poaching a pear in French champagne if you're going to douse it in caramel sauce. It still tasted lovely.

But I was surprised for another reason. Ever since they stopped serving French fries and French toast in the cafeterias of the House of Representatives, it has become a political statement to serve "French" anything. It's an echo of the propaganda frenzy during the First World War, when Americans renamed Sauerkraut "liberty cabbage" and banned Beethoven altogether.

Just a thought – we're not fighting the French. Yet. Although some of the local farmers might like to. As we left, both "Bar" and "Restaurant" were heaving. And the 50p pieces were stacked up on the pool table. They know their market at The Sun Inn. The Sun Inn, Marton, Shropshire (01938 561211)