Telephone: 01223 833 128
Address: North Road, Whittlesford, Cambridgeshire
Meal for two, including wine and service, £65 to £100

It is hard not to like a pub called the Tickell, and a lot of people have over the years. For a long time, this chunky, blue-painted house in the village of Whittlesford, with its oversized water garden, was famous as a haunt of the more rowdy, queeny portions of the academic fraternity up the road in Cambridge. They used to come here to get drunk, shout at each other and throw the occasional punch while quoting Plato. There was, I suspect, quite a lot of slap and tickle at the Tickell. It was on the map, but not for the food.

These days, it is short on fisticuffs and long on aromatic olive oils, for it has been taken over by the chef Spencer Patrick. During his many years in London, Patrick was one of what is known as 'Marco's boys', part of that large crew of exceptionally skilled but often quite anonymous chefs who worked alongside Marco Pierre White when he was at the stoves and, later, when he opened his various restaurant ventures. Patrick was at the Mirabelle, sharp on the pass at the Cafe Royale and then at Quo Vadis.

Patrick's presence in Whittlesford confirms what I see as a mini-trend: the march of Marco's boys across the country pubs of the land in search of a place to call their own.

Already there's Darren Bunn at the Greyhound in Stockbridge, Hampshire. Soon, another ex-Marco chef will be opening Bunn's second venture, the Plough in Beaconsfield. And then there's Patrick. What these chefs share is a light but haute-bourgeois French sensibility, exemplified by the Tickell's lunchtime menu, which is a fair price at £19.50 for three courses.

My starter of velouté of celeriac with poached hen's egg and truffle oil was the kind of thing you could find in any ambitious modern French restaurant in this country.

I might even call it a cliché, if that didn't say more about my excessive restaurant-going habits than the dish. What made this one stand out was the execution: it was done very, very well: the milk solids in the light soup foamed to within an inch of their life, the ubiquitous truffle oil pointing up the earthiness of the celeriac, the egg breaking on the spoon to release its yolk.I was sitting outside on the terrace in the sunshine and, when it was placed before me on the crisp, white linen tablecloth, it looked exactly like a colour plate from one of those cookbooks whose recipes you will never attempt.

My main course, roast Loch Dort salmon with mussels l'Indienne, was equally pretty. The salmon skin, beneath three discs of scallop, was crisp, the mussels were plump, and surrounding them was a rich spiced sauce the colour of amber, dribbled with olive oil so virgin it had probably never had an indecent thought.

There was a choice of vanilla crème with champagne-poached strawberries or tarte tatin for pudding, but I chose the cheese and it was a fine and generous selection, though it probably didn't need the further slick of olive oil round the plate.

The wine list is short, leans towards the French, and has an entry point of £15, which is steep for what is still a pub. Perhaps they will drop it when the cellar expands, as it shortly shall. Service is relaxed and efficient.

So, a great-value place for a classy lunch, but I'm not so sure whether it adds up for dinner, where the menu - half of which is simply the lunch menu - comes in at £34.50. Remember, dinner at London's Savoy Grill, with all the flounce and service and property costs, is £35, and though the food here is good, the menu is shorter than at the Savoy and it lacks the bells and whistles.

I can understand why these chaps are seeking out country pubs. It's a cheap way to set up a 50-cover restaurant. But they mustn't forget that it is still a pub and that, at a pub, you can't charge a premium for your training, even if it was with Marco Pierre White.