Telephone: 01225 446327
Address: Albion Buildings, Upper Bristol Road, Bath, Avon
Rating: 16/20

We all know that this is the age of the gastropub. Britain's answer to the bistro and brasserie has, at last, taken its place in the vanguard of public eating places. All over the country, previously blameless boozers have been stripped down, cleaned up, made over and made up. Gone are the carpets the colours of Joseph's coat. Gone are the grimy curtains and the patina of aeons of cigarette smoke on ceiling and walls. No more the surly pump-handler or tap-presser behind the bar. No more (well, almost no more) lasagnechipsshepherdspieandpeas with iridescent skin congealing under hot lights. Instead, gastropub walls are white. Gastropub floorboards are stripped and polished. Gastropubs have snappy waiters and waitresses who call you "sir" and "madam", and menus that play out the chef's tropes of contemporary classics, with a bill to match any metropolitan eatery.

The Hop Pole, in elegant, soigné, 18th-century Bath is not exactly one of the new breed of elegant, soigné gastropubs. Nor is it exactly the unreconstructed, grungy boozer of old. It occupies a happy place between the two. Uniquely, in my experience, it works as a boozer and as an eatery. True, there is no carpet, but there are tables dark with old varnish in the dark corners of a jumble of dark rooms with dark panelling, and there are the regulars nattering away over their pints of Bath Ales's very fine beers. There is Elaine, the quick- witted, quick-tongued, bustling bar host (and co-proprietor); and there is the menu that Barry Wallace, Elaine's husband (and also co-proprietor), cooks.

And what he cooks, or cooked for us, was, to start: smoked salmon with lavender dressing; deep-fried whitebait and aïoli; piquillo pepper stuffed with tomato, red onion and feta with balsamic dressing; duck liver mousse with horseradish and beetroot relish. And as main courses: smoked pigeon breasts, haggis, creamed potatoes and red wine sauce with pancetta; fried mackerel on warm potato salad with pickled samphire and rhubarb sauce; breast of chicken with herb-roasted potatoes, buttered cabbage with wild mushroom sauce. And, for pudding, crème brûlée and vanilla panna cotta with marinated blood oranges and rosemary syrup.

Let me pick some of the goodies out of that lot: real, fresh whitebait, crisp and crunchy, with delightfully blobby aïoli sharpened with lemon juice; not too fiery horseradish and fruity beetroot to cut creamy duck liver mousse; delicious, light and fresh piquillo pepper business; acidity of pickled samphire and rhubarb to offset richness of mackerel - an outstanding plateful; megalithic pigeon; beautifully cooked chicken with strong, well-defined flavours; sovereign crème brûlée; heir apparent panna cotta; generous portion control; generous price.

This was full-frontal cooking, with a firm grip on the technical essentials - crisp mackerel, succulent chicken, monster mash, wobbly panna cotta, fragile caramel layer atop creamy crème brûlée - and with no fear of big, juicy flavours, albeit with surprising touches of delicacy and individuality. This combination of characteristics was less surprising when I discovered that Wallace spent three years working with the incomparable Richard Corrigan.

Not all the ideas were inspired. Lavender did not seem to us to have much affinity with smoked salmon or salad, and the oiliness of the dressing compounded the oily richness of the fish. Nor was I convinced that smoking pigeon breasts enhanced their natural flavour, although their curious, silky texture was very much to my liking - the result, I was told, of brining them lightly before smoking. But, all things considered, this is the nit-picking of the critical brain, rather than the reflections of the pleasure-filled tummy.

With no dish costing more than £10, and a bottle or two of an excellent £13.50 Argentine barbera off a minimalist wine list, Tucker, Tina and my daughter racked up a bill of £113.50. That is a more than fair price, in my view, for cooking with real swagger, and for portions designed for the serious eater.

By the time we got to puddings, we were having a vivacious conversation with the table next door. We'd already taken the advice of some earlier diners on the qualities of certain dishes. The Hop Pole had that cheery buzz that you find in the best pubs. It seemed to bring out the warmer, more sociable sensibility of the British. It certainly brought it out in us.

· Open All week, lunch, 12 noon-2.30pm; dinner, 6-9pm. Wheelchair access (no WC).