The Flowing Well in Sunningwell looks a very old pub but actually isn't. At busy times - and especially when a lot of the locals are in - you are quite likely to find yourself at the bar alongside somebody who used the place when its very first pints were pulled. He or she could be as 'young' as 72 to have been at the opening night legally, for the date was as recent as 1950. Before then, the building was offering spiritual comfort of an entirely different kind, as the village parsonage.

It was not until the late-1980s that its then owners, Morland, satisfactorily completed the transformation. Up till then, the cellar, stairs and kitchen were at the front of the building, depriving customers of a pretty view over the garden. The renovation turned the place back to front. "The job should have been done years ago," one regular told me when I called to inspect the changes. He, as it happened, had been one of the first-day customers. In his childhood, he had known the parsonage well, often calling there to hand over clothing club money to the parson. This was returned at Christmas to be spent at Cape's store, in St Ebbe's.

The journey, I dare say, was very likely made on foot, for the pretty former Berkshire village - remote and rural as it seems - is only five miles from the centre of Oxford. We chose to drive there last Saturday for a delightful lunch in the long-awaited summer sunshine, in a three-strong party which also included Rosemarie's mum Olive. I discovered while we were there, however, that we could almost as easily have travelled by bus. A Stagecoach No 44 number leaves Oxford at the distinctly lunch-friendly hour of 11.55am, returning from Sunningwell at around 2pm. We shall try the service next time, I think.

I feel certain there will be a next time, for the qualities of the Flowing Well are such as to invite a further sampling. The service supplied by a young and enthusiastic team is courteous and warm; the food is fine - though at present somewhat limited in scope at lunchtime; and the decor is appealing, in a minimalist sort of way.

It was thanks to my colleague Helen Peacocke that I was introduced to the place. She discovered the new regime in operation there during a lunchtime jaunt from the office and suggested I might like to try it too some time. Her words of praise (and, indeed, her pictures) led me to think this would be a good idea.

We settled on a lunchtime, since this would provide an opportunity for al fresco eating that has been largely denied us during this sodden summer. In making the choice, I realised we would miss the chance of sampling the more extensive menu available in the evening. At present, this includes such starters as risotto with sweet potato, spinach and parmesan; black pudding and scallops; and mussels in white wine, garlic and chilli. Pan-fried barramundi, lamb loin chops and a larger version of that risotto are among the mains. To finish there is sticky toffee pudding, creme brulee with berry compote or a cheese platter.

Arriving shortly after noon, without having previously made a booking, we had no trouble finding a table in the garden. We placed ourselves between two groups who were taking advantage of the pub's loudly proclaimed friendliness towards dogs - one with a splendid black Labrador called, I think, Bruce; the others with an intelligent-looking collie.

Orders were placed at the bar and delivered to us outside. There was some business which I didn't understand involving numbered spoons - a table-identifying measure (wisely jettisoned recently at the Trout in Godstow) of which I do not approve. For some reason, we ended up with two spoons, and therefore two accounts, but the matter was sorted out well before paying time.

With no official starters listed, we could I suppose have kicked off with one of the ciabattas, perhaps the one topped with mozzarella, tomato and basil. Instead, we asked if we could divvy up a dish of the wild mushroom parpadelle. We could - and it was absolutely delicious. The flat ribbons of pasta were combined with various types of mushroom, including chanterelles, in a creamy sauce. There was plenty for all of us, especially since I had also had a generous bowl of olives, including some particularly fine large green specimens.

My main course of a salmon salad was listed on the blackboard menu in the bar as one of the previous evening's dinner specials, a description rapidly altered to lunch when I expressed interest in it. The dish proved a felicitous combination of a large chunk of succulent salmon (oven cooked, I supposed) on a bed of lightly dressed blanched chopped fennel and chargrilled baby courgettes.

Rosemarie greatly enjoyed her beef and mushroom pie. Crust and filling had clearly been baked together, once the latter had been thoroughly cooked. It came with broccoli and very buttery mash. The only black mark arose with the presentation of the salt, in an open dish with someone else's finger marks already in it. This is a disgusting practice which should cease forthwith, here and elsewhere. Olive had a big plate of cod and chips. The chips were obviously home made, and the excellent fresh fish was encased in a crispy beer batter which was spoiled only by being rather greasy.

Since there was but one pud - raspberries, strawberries and cream, which I had - Olive asked permission to try the scones with gooseberry and raspberry jam and thick cream, which are on offer here during the afternoon. After some discussion in the kitchen, this was permitted. Of the two scones, one was fine but the other was showing distinct signs of old age in its biscuit-like hardness. Since puds are a major draw for lunch trade, I would suggest that the Flowing Well ought really to try a little harder in this area.