"Butter roast" suckling pig comes with a stout, squidgy sausage roll, the filling spiked with dried fruit and Christmassy spices. Way to a girl's heart, in every sense. The crackling crackles, the rich, sticky gravy hums with apple brandy. It's the size of a baby's head. There's roast rump of lamb, pink, chewy, with the kind of ovine honk more often associated with hogget. It's dotted with barley, and there's bubble and squeak and "Yorkshire salad", which mostly features little gem and mint. For pudding, there's parkin (a touch burnt), and Welsh rarebit, four Bunterish slices, slippery with onion jam and served with a vat of fruity chutney in case your buttons are ever in danger of fastening again. Snarky metropolitan types might snigger at loos titled "Helgas" and "Olafs", or at wall art of a knitted pig's head, or the dreaded crossed chive garnish. And the kitchen could lose 98% of the truffle oil it's so keen on; the smell hits you as you walk in. But this is a splendid restaurant. At night, it's like the approach to a fairy castle, the city's beauty creating the kind of ambience designers can only dream of. Justin [Brosenitz, Pern's partner] chases us out the door when we leave: "Well," he barks, "did you like it?" It's fabulous, I gush. And I mean it, Justin, I do.
Rating: food 7/10; atmosphere room A 4/10, room B 8/10; value for money 8/10
Price: about £30 a head for three courses, plus drinks and service