Restaurant review: The Peat Inn, near St Andrews, Fife

I’m not easily spooked. I don’t mind walking through graveyards at night, can sit through a Hammer horror film if required and can even go under the dentist’s drill without working up too much of a cold sweat. But ordering wine at Fife’s Peat Inn put me in a fair old funk.

It has been almost five years since I was last at Geoffrey Smeddle’s luxurious eatery, between Cupar and St Andrews, and I’d been looking for an excuse to go back ever since. Last year’s award of a Michelin star finally provided the pretext that found local foodie Michael and I sitting by a roaring fire, munching olives and cheesy snacks and mulling over a menu from which I’d have been happy to eat just about anything.

After we had ordered starters and mains, Ian Macrae – the hugely experienced manager who has kept the show on the road since Smeddle arrived in 2006 from Sir Terence Conran’s flagship Etain restaurant in Glasgow –came to to take take our wine order. “Good evening, Mr Bath,” he said, which was a bit of a surprise as I’d booked under an assumed name. “Would you like to order the same wine as last time you were here?”

Once in a while I’ll be recognised, usually in Edinburgh and typically by a restaurateur whose work I’ve reviewed unfavourably at some stage. But to be spotted out in the sticks – and for someone to remember what I’d drunk five years ago – sent the sort of shiver down my spine usually reserved for more macabre occurrences.

It was soon apparent, however, that we weren’t getting special treatment. No sooner had he taken our wine order than the suave Macrae was off chatting to other diners, referring to several other guests by name.

Later, Smeddle himself was to come out and speak to some of his customers, including a couple from Kendal who come up to stay once a year. It was an unselfconscious but bravura display of the sort of attention to detail (Smeddle says Macrae remembers virtually everyone who has been to the restaurant) that wins gongs, and specifically wins awards like the Michelin star collected by the restaurant last year.

Suitably off-balance, we arrived at our table in the largest of the three dining rooms and found the place a hubbub of activity, not too shabby for a windswept midweek night in midwinter. More surprisingly, while the Peat Inn has always had a quasi-formal ambience, a couple of children dodged about without any old man in a blazer sounding an alarm. Smeddle has spoken of trying to make the place more contemporary, and we certainly felt there was slightly less starch in evidence than in past incarnations.

But Smeddle didn’t win a star for his laidback attitude towards nippers, and our attention was firmly fixed on the main event: the food. Our first taste, though, was something of a disappointment. The amuse bouche of bayleaf and parmesan cream topped with shards of bacon had a gloriously velveteen, unctuous texture but was a little too cold. Actually, it was far too cold, and rather than bringing out the flavours this dulled them, giving an unexpected shrillness to what would otherwise have been memorable.

Thankfully, this turned out to be a false start for what proved to be an exquisitely crafted culinary experience. That much became clear as soon as our starters arrived, with Michael’s home-smoked wood pigeon, served with celeriac remoulade and celeriac baked in an ash and horseradish crème fraîche a welcome return to form. He lingered over every mouthful of the gorgeous slabs of dark red meat. But if anything, I was even more taken with my roast breast and tortellini of quail with black pudding and truffled sherry velouté. The sliver of breast was unremarkable, but the combination of the quail-stuffed tortellini and black pudding was stunning, while the pool of satin-smooth, achingly-rich velouté was as good as anything I've eaten in a long time.

Our main courses were equally impressive. I could have cut my crimson slabs of roast loin of venison with a plastic spoon, and Smeddle had resisted the temptation to smother its surprisingly light and ungamey flavour with his sauce grand veneur, using the French classic game accompaniment sparingly and alongside red cabbage and savoyarde potatoes.

When it came to the main courses, it was Michael who was in raptures with his choice of roast loin and shoulder of wild hare with a sauce poivrade. The thin slices of loin were good enough, but it was the dark hillock of braised shoulder that grabbed his attention and kept him quiet until the hyperboles started to flow. Michael has been trying to grow a small hedge in his garden, but it keeps getting eaten by a hare. So far, he has been loath to kill his long-eared visitor, but if the way he wolfed down this dish is any indicator, I suspect that its days may be numbered.

We finished what had turned into a memorable evening with an iced toffee apple crumble with cinnamon ice-cream that Michael found a little sickly, and an exceptional piping-hot baked rhubarb clafoutis with clotted cream for me.

These rounded off an eating experience that lived up to Smeddle's impressive advance billing. Not only were facets of the meal a rare joy, the service was impeccable and the atmosphere nicely judged. Not only that, while the meal could never be described as cheap, it was actually surprisingly good value for a restaurant of this quality. The bill here was £100 cheaper than two other friends paid for a similar meal in a city-centre Michelin-starred restaurant the same evening.

(01334 840206, click here to visit www.thepeatinn.co.uk)

Bill please

Starters £13-£18 Main courses £23-£26 Puddings £9.50 Cheese £10.50 Tasting menu £65 or £115 (with matching wines) Three-course set menu £40

Rating: *********