My telephone booking for dinner at The Chequers in Cassington had successfully been made. The charming young lady with whom I had been dealing – she was boss Sally Westmacott, though I didn’t then know it – suddenly remembered something she thought she ought to mention. “There will be musicians in the bar. There will also be Irish stew on the menu. It’s St Patrick’s Day.”

Sally clearly intended the information as a possible warning; for me, though, the prospects of Paddy’s Night high jinks was more enticing than off-putting. Only thing was, an urgent alteration to the transport arrangements would be necessary. Clearly, this would not be an outing on which any of us ought to be driving.

In the event, the three of us – Rosemarie and I, along with our neighbour Paul – took the S1 bus service to Eynsham. This permitted an enjoyable sharpener in the Jolly Sportsman (and reacquaintance with the landlady and a favourite labrador) before taking a taxi on the short run to Cassington.

Pulp’s Common People was playing as we entered The Chequers, signalling the fact that the Irish music had yet to begin. But we hadn’t long to wait; after a bit of preliminary tuning up, George Buchanan and Steven Witcombe were soon into the first in their series of rousing numbers.

I suppose we should have been drinking Guinness, but I don’t do beer and my companions had a fancy for something else, so it was a glass of the French Sauvignon Blanc and a couple of pints of Young’s Bitter as we made our selections at the bar from the menu and the specials on a blackboard just above our heads. That done, we were soon summoned to our candelit table in a corner of the pleasantly rustic bar.

The pub, I should say, has an air of some antiquity about it, so it is rather surprising to realise, as some of the friendly locals explained, that it is less than ten years old. The old pub of the same name was rebuilt entirely in a project put together by developer Steve Ibbitson (with whom I enjoyed many a pint of Brakspear’s 30-odd years ago when he lived in Henley). It was a super job, and it is great to see a new pub, at a time when so many are being lost.

The property is owned by Young’s brewery, and the aforementioned Sally and her partner Alex Davenport-Jones are its tenants. They also have charge of The Seven Tuns at Chedworth, Gloucestershire, which is run on somewhat similar lines, except that food is more in the style of pub grub.

At The Chequers, there is a distinctly up-market feel to things. You might find starters like braised calves’ tongue, confit duck leg, and asparagus and pea risotto, such main courses as braised rabbit, smoked haddock fishcakes, and pan-fried cod and smoked pork belly and bean cassoulet (that’s all one dish – cod included), and baked figs, crème brulée and chocolate cake among puds.

So what did we have? I started (or continued if you count the lemon and garlic marinated olives scoffed at the bar), with a couple of slices of a hand-dived scallop terrine, packed with flavour and served with sauce vierge (butter and lemon).

Next came a pan-fried fillet of sea bass, with a delicious artichoke and vanilla purée, roasted shallots and purple sprouting, that great harbinger of spring.

All was splendid, my one niggle being that I would have liked potatoes of some sort. Starch was supplied in a couple of the hand-cut chips that came with Rosemarie’s Dexter burger, one of the blackboard specials. The name meant it was made with meat supplied by Dexter cattle, a once-rare Irish breed now making significant inroads into the beef (and milk) market. Rosemarie praised its flavour but disapproved of the slightly gelatinous texture achieved in the cooking here.

She had started her meal with a bowl of excellent carrot and coriander soup, and completed it with winter pudding similar in all respects to summer pudding, being made of various soft fruits encased in bread. The latter was shared with Paul, who had by then been highly delighted with an attractively presented starter of poached egg, with pancetta lardons, accompanied by chicory, spinach and shallots. His main course was the Irish stew, in classic style but with one big piece of lamb rather than separate chunks.

I finished with a fine selection of English cheeses – including Oxford blue, Oxford Isis, wild garlic Yarg and Golden Cross goat’s – served with hand-baked biscuits and quince jelly. I would have liked to followed up with a glass of Irish whiskey, but none was available, which struck me as a curious omission on such a night.