I featured in Gray Matter a month or so back the memorably enjoyable lunch hosted by Marco Pierre White to mark his takeover of the Black Boy pub, in Milton, near Banbury. The mercurial chef, I noted, was in mellow form that day and as generous of his time as he was of the excellent food and drink the place supplies.

Marco explained on that occasion that the pub had been acquired by his Wheeler’s of St James’s operation almost by accident. They had been after the Carnarvon Arms in the Berkshire village of Highclere, the real-life setting for TV’s comically crappy Downton Abbey, but were obliged by its owners to include the Black Boy in the deal as well.

Seeking to make a virtue out of necessity Marco expended considerable personal effort in creating a pub to be proud of. He was off to a good start with the building itself, a sturdy 17th-century construction in the local Hornton stone which was also quarried in much greater quantity for the handsome William Butterfield church of 1856 next door. At night, bathed in gentle light, the ochre ironstone of St John the Evangelist looks glorious through a window at the west end of the pub. This was discovered and reopened by Marco.

His eye for tasteful decor is evident in the beguiling mixture of antique furnishings, vintage toy trains and iconic David Bailey photographs. See who you can identify in this catalogue of ’60s chic? I claimed full points for recognising the pant-splitting PJ Proby in the ‘crucified’ figure on the wall opposite the loo doors.

Similar sartorial indelicacy could befall any gentleman tempted to indulge too extensively in the Black Boy’s food. It is, in simple terms, rich, tasty and plentiful. That it is proving a popular draw was evident in the packed tables around us when Rosemarie and I enjoyed a midweek dinner with friends a couple of weeks back.

The size of the party meant we were able to have a pretty good ‘hit’ of the menu. This features the bright ideas of Marco – who famously hung up his chef’s whites (TV appearances apart) when he was 33 – interpreted by head chef Chris Warwick.

As my photographs aim to show, perhaps not with unqualified success, dishes please the eye as well as the tastebuds. This applied particularly to Sara’s starter in which slices of beetroot were topped by a patterned arrangement of goat’s cheese cubes topped with crispy walnuts. There was no need for the camera for her husband Ian’s brandade of smoked mackerel, since this was hidden in a lidded glass dish.

I chose as a starter the dish I’d been eyeing enviously in front of Marco during our lunch – a whopping portion of shredded boiled ham on toasted sourdough bread, with a tangy homemade piccalilli and parsley. There was so much I couldn’t finish it.

Rosemarie chose what I had ordered at the lunch. She’d heard from me how good it was, and agreed that the classic prawn cocktail was notable for the excellence of the prawns (if a tad over-supplied with Marie Rose sauce). Her main course, too, had been my October lunch choice. Well, who could resist the Wheeler’s of St James fish pie, featuring smoked haddock, salmon, prawns and boiled egg, beneath a cheesy topped mash?

I could, because my taste tonight was for the juicy slices of rump of lamb, with dauphinoise potatoes and jus gras (a fancy name for the thin sauce made from juices in the baking tray). For Sara, there was belly of pork – sticky and full – flavoured with butter beans and apple sauce, while Ian confirmed the overall impression of tip-top meat here with a succulent 10oz rib-eye steak with triple-cooked chips. Our various side orders included swede purée, buttered garden peas and braised red cabbage.

Puds became a glorious ‘dip-in’ affair, with Cambridge burnt cream and fresh raspberries, bitter chocolate mousse and biscuit glace aux noisettes, all very much admired. There were also farmhouse cheeses; Cornish Yarg, Keen’s Cheddar and vintage Stilton – with oatcakes and Branston pickle (as the public face of Knorr cubes, Marco does not baulk at branded products).

We drank Sancerre and a no less food-friendly Côtes-du-Rhône.