THE classic tale has the boy from the sticks heading for the big city, whose streets are paved with gold. For Francis Carroll, in his middle age, it is a reverse story.

The larger-than-life character who put the gilt into Gilt House, speckled glitter on the tart's boudoir décor of Lounge Ten, and lavished leopard skin on Reform, has quit Manchester and turned country gent.

He may even have struck gold in them thar Cheshire plains, judging by the droves of folk flocking to his roadside gastropub with pleasant garden one July evening.

It seemed quite incongruous to discover the old pirate beached up among all the greenery. A bandana and a grubby sweatshirt (he's doing the cooking again) added to the impression of one of Capt Jack Sparrow's motley crew press-ganged out of Tortuga.

A49

How apt that I had brought along on my epic voyage down the A49, one Miss Purity Pinker, who ran a tight ship as landlady of the Cask And Anchor tavern (no one in prosthetic squid make-up allowed over the threshold).

Purity remembered Cabbage Hall is a basic drinker's roadhouse and, despite the interior refurb, its yellow pebble-dashed exterior still screams British Gas Social Club, Batley. Which is a shame because the undoubted - if extravagant - design skills Francis shares with his brother Bernard are immediately apparent inside.

The pub's name has nowt to do with brassicas, lad. It's a reference to the scraps of cloth known as cabbages sold on by the clothier who built the inn.

There's little historical now about the mostly open-plan, light-filled interior with its Osborne and Little wallpaper, bead-string dividers and Picasso prints.Avast behind, though! Miss Pinker paused to admire her burgeoning embonpoint in a great, gilt (what else) mirror in the low-slung foyer.

Despite the extant bar with some draught beer choice, it immediately felt more restaurant than pub - with prices to match for a proffered menu that trumpeted 'comfort food'. I especially liked the flourish of tables in the annexe fronting on to the garden. We were stuck on a wobbly one in an odd little corner that was, however, perfect for people watching - especially a gaggle of young waitresses obviously still unsure of their calling.

Front-of-house was indeed a little edgy and we both objected to paying é1.50 for mini French breadsticks with butter as we made our choices.

Belgian-Irish Mr Carroll has no truck with modish foams and the like. This was hearty food for me hearties, noted my companion.

The one bizarre note in a safe ground food list was the lobster mash to accompany Cheshire veal chop - turf, surf and spuds - which I, of course, chose on curiosity grounds.

Purity

"I'm partial to a poached egg,'' remonstrated Purity, when I pointed out both her starter and main came with such an accompaniment. Whatever, her smoked haddock with new potatoes, spinach, poached egg and chive sauce, weighed in at a hefty é14 but hit the Pinker spot. I though I got the better deal with the veal chop (é16), a chewy, flavoursome hunk of locally-sourced meat, matched earthily by wild mushrooms.

The lobster mash was a lumpy mistake, best consigned to Davy Jones's locker forthwith.

A much better use of shellfish came in my starter, where crab, king prawns and spring onion in a risotto had a zingy, peppery freshness, worth the é7 price. Across the table, a salad frisee with lardons, poached egg and new potatoes was a slightly greasy treat (traces of which gleamed on the wobbly jowls of Miss Pinker).

Cabbage Hall's wine list is brief but cunningly chosen with some classic white Burgundy choices. I and my companion, who glugged most of it back like grog, enjoyed our modest é18.75 choice - Novas, a Chilean organic blend of marsanne and viognier, all minerals and apricot on nose and palate.

Banana split

I could have predicted PP would plump for banana split with morello cherries, ice cream and chocolate sauce, a nursery pudding that worked for her. My lemon tart for the same é5 price, was little soapy with soggy pastry, but not unpleasant at the end of an engaging, if undemanding meal.

It is not as overwhelming a design experience as previous Carroll incarnations and the soundtrack, which encompassed everything from some ancient house to the Gotan Project, via something that sounded like you could morris dance to it, added a bizarre charm to proceedings.

I hope our host doesn't run aground again. These are early days, and the passing clientele may not be as demanding as the big city punters, but I wish Cabbage Hall well. As I steered our course home to a safe harbour. Miss Pinker snored in the hold (well, the back seat). There will, of course, be a sequel, shipmates.

Cabbage Hall, Little Budworth, Cheshire (01829 760292). Tweet