Telephone: 07000 728 824
Address: Westgate Street, Long Melford, Suffolk

Before Scutchers was Scutchers, it was the Scutchers Arms, and a scutcher, in case you didn't know, is someone who dresses flax by beating it, and flax, in case you've forgotten, is the stuff that linen used to be made of. Now you know. It is astonishing what you can find out from having a few words with an amiable proprietress while waiting for the first drinks to arrive. Not that flax has much place these days in the economy of Long Melford, one of the innumerable This England villages that dot this particular corner of Suffolk.

I suspect, too, that any quondam scutchers would be slightly nonplussed by the most recent incarnation of their old watering hole. It has taken on cheerful, Med-evoking colours, Designers Guild cerulean (or flax?) blue and buttercup yellow, with, by way of light relief, the odd splash of tart's toenail vermilion. It's kind of odd to find such very non-English colouring inside such a very English building, but it works on the spirits rather nicely in an airy, opened-up, dual-level space.

I was meeting Mr and Mrs Dalloway for lunch. They are old friends who I had not seen in a while, and who had taken up residence in that part of the world. For some reason, the joys of Scutchers had passed them by. This is slightly mysterious, because Suffolk is not exactly studded with gastronomic landmarks. And there is plenty to be joyful about at Scutchers. I can't help but warm to a menu that has the cheek to include a £40 first course (sevruga caviar with toast, sour cream and iced vodka, if you're in the market). It has wit of a more accessible kind, however, with a lobster and crayfish omelette with thermidor sauce, and sautéed foie gras with mushy peas, haggis, Puy lentils and caramelised shallot sauce. These combinations, and others among the first courses, suggested a chef who likes to put his own imprint on some of the staples of the modern menu. In fact, I went so far at lunch as to suggest that he or she respected the canon of bistro cooking while bringing to it a good deal of original contemporary savoir-faire, but this was greeted with hoots of derision.

The food, on the other hand, was greeted with hums of pleasure. Mr Dalloway and I dealt with the lobster and the foie gras dishes mentioned, while Mrs Dalloway made do with tempura tiger prawns with a chilli dip and crisp lettuce. This was the only disappointing dish we had, and it was only mildly so because it wasn't as interesting as the rest. The omelette, which was served in its own little sauté pan, was less of an omelette and more a glorious goo, generously supplied with shellfish, with the cheese in the sauce giving an subtly sour sharpness. The lentils with the foie gras were presumably there to provide a healthy counterpoint to the other ingredients, for which the sense of hedonistic indulgence was in inverse proportion to its dietary acceptability. It may seem like a curious combination of elements, but when put to the test it proved upliftingly delicious.

Such quirky assurance translated into classical handling of more orthodox foods as well. I had a "traditional" (Scutchers' inverted commas) roast duckling with caramelised orange sauce. Mrs Dalloway perked up with a fried fillet of beef with buttered spinach and girolles, while Mr D had roast loin of lamb on "French-style" peas and roast garlic sauce. I would like to enumerate the many virtues of the meats, but I don't have the space, so I will just say that they had been sourced with discrimination and cooked with appropriate care. More indicative, in a way, of the excellence of the kitchen was the care of the saucing. Each sauce or gravy was beautifully and aptly characterised, and made with due diligence as to structure and intensity.

We finished with a brace of black cherry knickerbocker glories and a clotted cream brûlée with fresh pineapple in kirsch, as indulgent and diverting a set of puddings as any that I've come across recently. So we managed to spend £136.70, from which we should deduct a bottle of light, fresh red Sancerre from Henry Natter, three other glasses of white wine, coffee and a round of kirs, or £49.10. (The wine list was almost alarmingly reasonably priced.) That makes it £87.60 on the food which, considering the right scutching we gave the menu, seems not too bad at all.

· Open Tues-Sat, lunch, 12 noon-2pm; dinner, 7-9.30pm. All major credit cards. Wheelchair access and wheelchair WC.