A PLAYFULLY slow pace and low gear are needed to negotiate the steep road to the Hey Green Hotel.

Gravel crackles and spits as your vehicle creeps down the track while sheep in the adjacent field observe dismissively.

This area of West Yorkshire is quite famous for its sheep who have somehow learned to negotiate cattle grids by executing commando-style rolls. The sheep that live near the Hey Green, I later learn, are able to quite easily leap over their three feet fences, such is their desire for freedom.

The small country hotel sits half a mile outside Marsden on the moortop road from Oldham in the disputed boundary between Saddleworth.

Owners Mark and Siobhan took over the 12-room hotel a while back and with some restorative building work have transformed it into a charming wedding venue (I should know as I got married here myself about 36 months ago).

However, our visit is not to wallow in the trough of nostalgia but to sample the highly-acclaimed restaurant which has recently earned its second AA rosette.

Executive chef Nigel Skinkis arrived at the kitchen three years ago from Marco Pierre White's Lowry venture.

Since then the Hey Green has built up a strong following, proving a hit with local diners as well as hungry walkers fresh from tramping the moors.

The AA prize plate was on display as we marched through the Regency-style reception area into the sun-lit lounge, a breezy conservatory with cane furniture and pot plants.

After a quick drink, we are ushered into a two chambered dining room painted an aquatic blue. The white-clad tables are considerately spaced and the artwork - either abstract Rothko or rural idyll bowling scenes - add to the tranquil vibe.

The menu is fairly slim reading with around six dishes per course which cover the usual veggie, steak and fish bases. Dishes appeared to have some imaginative flourishes but I feel these could have been pushed further.

Following a recent trip to Glasgow my wife had absorbed too much of the local lingo and was still working off some of the vernacular, with a propendency to call people "hen" and less-tastefully "bawbag". I had to order for both of us.

Seared mackerel

Starters included a seared mackerel, twice-baked goat's cheese soufflé with beetroot syrup, and wild mushroom and chicken liver pate with onion marmalade.

I was tempted to sample the potted duck with balsamic onion. In keeping with the waitress' description, it was a convocation of unpressed meat neither pate nor terrine. However the loose chunks of dark flesh fell apart quite easily with the brush of a fork and were complemented by an intense fruity sauce.

For mains, my three fat wild boar and beer sausages were gamey and substantial and served with caramelised onions on a big bed of creamy mash. They were served with a big plate of seasonal vegetables which easily covered our five-a-day.

In keeping with her demeanour, I thought Senga would be best suited to the fried haddock with fat chips (anything deep fried).

Now fish and chips generally looks much like fish and chips unless some vicious weasel in a chef's hat takes a chisel to it.

In this case, the kitchen men had decided to push the envelope as much as decently possible, turning the plate into a blackboard of protein algebra with a long thin fillet of fish superseding a kerplunk tower of chips and a punctuation of crushed peas.

Malty beer batter

The fleshy white fish had a malty beer batter and was perfectly crisp but the crunch of uncooked chip had earned my partner's opprobrium.

"Was everything alright for you?" said the girl as she took our plates.

Senga echoed her disproval, pointing to her chips and speaking in the third person.

"Big man disnae like it, hen. Big man says naw."

Desserts restored our confidence, with the emphasis mostly on comforting but elegantly presented stodge. My partner stayed mostly silent as she munched through a golden-topped raspberry and apple crumble, which was brought with a jug of creamy custard. Truly a significant accolade.

My Granny Smith crème brulee had the look of something that was subtle and ethereal. Underneath the crisp sugar shell, there was no insubstantial cream, but a whole world of baked apple which was consumed with the accompanying cinnamon shortbread.

We will come again - perhaps in another 36 months time. As Senga says, it was pure dead brilliant.

The Hey Green, Marsden, West Yorkshire (01484 848000). Click here for more information.