Abingdon has a down-at-heel look about it at present. Shops stand empty and so, alas, do some well-loved pubs. How sad it is to see boards across the windows of the Grapes in High Street, for instance; worse, still, to turn the corner into East St Helen's Street and find the town's oldest hostelry, the King's Head and Bell, bereft of life. One fervently hopes that this lovely old building, with its Civil War connections and higgledy-piggledy assortment of rooms, will not be out of business for long.

Kitsons restaurant, the subject of today's review, occupies part of what was once a notable building in the town - the Lion Hotel. I confess I know nothing of its history and, for once, our library at Newspaper House is not able to assist me. Quite clearly, to judge from its timber-framed rooms, this is a building of considerable antiquity. Its attractions, once one has climbed to the first-floor restaurant, help compensate for the meanness of its entrance, through a narrow door from the High Street.

The test visit was our first visit. Though Kitsons has been open for some months, I became aware of it only a couple of weeks ago through an advertisement. Shortly afterwards my colleague Reg Little, who lives in the town, told me of an enjoyable family dinner he had eaten there.

Its standards are high enough to have attracted many members of the local business community. It is the venue for regular meetings of the 41 Club, the senior division of the Round Table, which was once open only to those under 40. A gay version of the organisation might, I suppose, appropriately be called the Roaring Forties. The club motto is "May the hinges of friendship never rust", which suggests to me that its members would do well to steer clear of water - not always easy at Kitsons where (commendably) chilled jugs of it are supplied without one needing to ask.

Our visit coincided with the club dinner; indeed, I was warned about it when I booked, the speechmaking having been a source of irritation to other Thursday night diners. For our part, we were pleased at the added buzz supplied by the jolly group. They looked to be enjoying their evening even more than we were.

True, our dinner did not begin entirely happily. I was surprised and disappointed to find cheap-tasting margarine rather than butter supplied with the bread - a tight-fisted touch that does not become a place clearly aiming to be upmarket. Rosemarie, meanwhile, was pulling faces of disapproval at the amount of salt in her watercress soup (and this from someone who herself chucks the stuff around with what Milton called "a full and unwithdrawing hand"). Plenty of crème fraîche, however, helped to deaden its effect.

I began with Kitsons quail, half a bird in a jacket of baked Parma ham served with caramelised apples and salad. This was an unusual offering, and very well received. Even more so was my main course of red mullet risotto, another very attractively prepared dish. The juicy pan-fried fillets of this most flavoursome fish were served with baked baby fennel, chorizo oil and a red pepper stuffed with spinach risotto.

Rosemarie chose the slow-cooked belly pork - a surprise to me, because I felt sure she would go for the smoked haddock with a soft poached egg and hollandaise sauce. While the meat was remarkably tasty and tender, the crackling appeared not to be present. Then Rosemarie realised it was the spear-like decoration sticking out of the meat. A novel touch - and it tasted good too. The accompanying pork rillette was also enjoyed, and so, too, were the mashed potatoes and fresh vegetables.

Other main course dishes included seafood lasagne, shalott and goat's cheese tart, shellfish mariniere and chateaubriand (£42.50 for two).

To complete the meal, we shared a fine lemon tarte before stepping once more into Abingdon's increasingly depressing streets.