Lucky the chef who makes his name; lucky the chef with a name that can be made an important selling point for his restaurant. Jones, Bloggs, Blenkinsop, Humphreys — they wouldn’t really do the trick. But Luscombe on the other hand . . .

Besides possessing a comfortable, feelgood sort of name (you could imagine a Luscombe manufacturing ice cream), Stephen Luscombe moved to the Golden Ball, in Lower Assenden, near Henley, with that name already garnished with glory. His pedigree includes periods working with both Marco Pierre White and Raymond Blanc. In between two stints at Le Manoir with Raymond, he had charge of the kitchens at Henley’s Leander Club. There, as he boasts on his website (and why not!), he helped fuel the British Olympic rowing teams to success at the Athens Olympics.

Chatting to Rosemarie and me after cooking our first-class dinner last week, Stephen said it was his connection with the club that gave him the confidence to go it alone at the Golden Ball when he was offered it by Brakspear’s in 2007. Friends made there were the backbone of business at Luscombes, as it became, in the early days.

Now the place is hugely popular with a broad cross-section of people. It seemed pretty busy to me on our Thursday visit; Stephen said I ought to see it on Sunday lunchtime when there are usually more than a hundred at the ground-floor tables and in the attractive rooms above.

That everything cracks along with great despatch in the kitchen was evident in our dinner, served with charm and no longueurs whatsoever. Ditto that of our neighbours who shortly after 8pm (service does not begin till 7) polished off their puds and headed home. One was eager to be back at her book. “Wolf Hall?” she was asked. No a Joyce Carol Oates, suggesting years of pleasure ahead since the prolific American has so far written more than 50 novels (not one of which I have managed to finish).

Efficiency in the kitchen doubtless arises in part from the sensibly modest size of the menu. Tonight there are five starters (including carpaccio of tuna and crispy duck leg with orange and grapefruit) and as many main courses (fillet of venison with haggis, home-made pasta with asparagus), plus two specials (lemon sole and squab). Puds are a speciality (that name!) and this evening include banana meringue, raspberry soufflé and pistachio crème brûlée).

To start, I went for the Cornish squid. I was surprised but not displeased by the sheer quantity of what was offered, a huge bowl containing a couple of dozen or more tender rings of squid, lightly fried in flour and served with a honey and mustard dressing and lots of coriander, incomparable for the fresh zing of its flavour.

Regular readers (including one jocular soul who often questions my appetite for fish — diet old boy) will probably guess I followed this with the lemon sole. It was splendidly fresh, served head-off bones-in, with buttered Savoy cabbage (odd but good) and a dollop of parsnip purée. Perfect!

Rosemarie began with the cheese soufflé, which was light in texture (egg whites) but rather heavy on flavour since the cheese was of a strong-ish variety. With it came apple and celery salad with walnut dressing. She continued with undyed smoked haddock served in puff pastry with creamed leeks, a couple of lightly boiled quail’s eggs and English mustard sauce. All very good.

Stephen’s skill with pastry was demonstrated again in the classic tarte Tatin, with its fan of caramelised apple, that followed. We ordered this for one, but it arrived divided on to separate plates, with plenty, indeed too much, for each of us, plus a hefty dollop of home-made vanilla ice cream. In view of the quantity and price (£10) it was as well we hadn’t asked for two!