The Warrington
93 Warrington Crescent, London W9 (020 7592 7960)
Meal for two, including wine and service, £90

It was a pose on my part. I told myself I was going early to the Warrington, a fancy old gin palace in London's Maida Vale not long taken over by Gordon Ramsay's people, so I could check out how much of a pub it still really is. In truth I went early because I fancied a bag of pork scratchings: deep fried pig skin, a little fat, a lot of salt and the image in your head of that flaky old witch Gillian McKeith having an aneurysm with every mouthful. What's not to like?

And OK, as a signifier of pubdom they aren't bad; there are no pork scratchings on the menu at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay in Chelsea. But, as I've said before, I have no romantic or sentimental attachment to the old boozer. I just like a nice place to have a pint, especially one with really good food. From my table in the extraordinary lounge bar, all mirrors and art nouveau murals of bare naked ladies, I couldn't deny that this remains the real deal. There is even a lengthy beer list and, according to my pal, who knows much more about boy things, it's impressive. Lots of micro-brewery stuff, bottled continental beers and ales with a high enough alcohol content to fell a horse.

Down in the bar there is a short menu of pies and ploughmans. Up above is the high-ceilinged dining room which makes no effort to pretend it is anything other than a restaurant. For the most part it is a rather good one. The pub side of Ramsay's business, which is three strong, with a fourth soon to come, is overseen by Mark Sergeant, a big mouthed, intense and bright man who used to head up the kitchen for Ramsay at Claridge's. Here he proves he is not simply slumming it by working with British classics and butch bistro food. He is embracing it for what it is.

What is most striking about this Ramsay pub, however, is just how little is made of the Ramsay connection. I may, increasingly, have my concerns about the staid, retro nature of his high-end offering, but there is no doubting the sheer professionalism of his company. Of course the branding can feel relentless. All celebrity chefs are essentially whores but, at times, Ramsay has shown more thigh than is strictly necessary. Thank God I don't have to be stared down by him every time I buy a bottle of wine at Thresher's any more. It was putting me off my Sauvignon Blanc. Still, the brand is strong and I would have expected them to trade on it here at the pubs. There is nothing save the Gordon Ramsay website address in tiny print on the menu.

I cannot but like a place which, for a special, offers a terrine of Gloucester Old Spot pig's tongue: lots of dense, smoky pieces of piggy meat, with carrots set in a fine jelly, alongside a bowl of their own piccalilli. To get this right you need a paysanne sensibility combined with bourgeois cooking skills, which is rare. The liquor in a bowl of clams with lardons may have been too salty and intense, but the shellfish were spot on.

Roast baby chicken with 'all the trimmings' was exactly that, the crisp-skinned bird accompanied by good sausages, braised onions and a smooth bread sauce. Personally, while I can see that baby chicken looks pretty, I think quarters of a bigger, more flavoursome creature would have served their purposes better. The one letdown, and it was major, is the steak and kidney pie. The bronzed dome of pastry looked great, but underneath the filling was insipid, the gravy not thick or rich enough and far too much of the beef came with a freight of fat. In a pub environment it's enough to get you barred.

Honour was restored by an impeccable treacle tart, with a nice lift of acidity, and a lemon thyme and yogurt cream, which was a slightly citrusy panna cotta by any other name. Pricing is keen, with starters at around £7 and mains about double that, and the service is, like the whole operation, exceptionally slick. What's more, back in the bar, the pork scratchings they are selling are not some insipid mass-produced version. They are the real thing, straight out of the Black Country, the true home of this heart-stopping snack. Like everything else here - bar the steak and kidney pie - it shows admirable attention to detail.

· Jay Rayner's book, The Man Who Ate The World: In Search of the Perfect Dinner, is published by Headline at £16.99. To order a copy for £15.99 with free UK p&p go to observer.co.uk/bookshop or call 0870 836 0885