If the foot and mouth crisis has done nothing else, it's focused our minds on the state of the countryside. Behind the façade of rolling green pastures and sylvan glades some very murky practices have been paying havoc with the food we eat, and now some of those same practices have us running for disinfected cover. The fact that animals now have to travel miles for slaughter is the law - that they arrive here without tags by night from abroad, is not. As is often the case, the actions of a greedy few endanger the livelihoods of the rest, and confidence in the integrity of the meat we eat is declining by the day.

T'was not always so. Twenty-odd years ago I made a definitive move to the country - a choice based not on necessity, but rather on free will. I liked the clean air, the quiet, the stars at night and the gentle pace of life. Perhaps the pace has quickened, but for the most part life is lived outside the cities much as it ever was - until now. All my neighbours have disinfected straw at their gates, no one can go riding, even the hill-walkers have had to take a moratorium. But, as I said, it focuses the mind. Life and death are more inter-connected in the country because death is closer and all around us. Foxes kill chickens, hawks kill pigeons, herons take your goldfish and magpies make sure that ne'er a song-bird will trill again in your garden.

You may well ask me, 'why all this lugubrious talk of death?' Well, apart from the TV pictures of hundreds of carcasses being incinerated still fresh in my mind, death made its appearance a couple of times on the night my wife and I went to Ballymore Eustace in Kildare. As we walked to the car, a piercing scream, like a child in distress, came through the still night air from the paddock. A fox or a cat had just caught a rabbit. And with this haunting noise still in our ears, we set off across the Wicklow Gap for the plains of Kildare. Rounding a corner I met the unavoidable: a young badger on the road. This was the first time I've hit an animal with a car and it wasn't a pleasant experience. It left my wife still more distraught.

So when we arrived at our destination - The Thatch in Ballymore Eustace - the warm fire and cosy interior couldn't have been more welcome. We'd been told on the phone that the restaurant itself wasn't open, but that the restaurant menu was available in the bar. In truth, now that I've seen both, I'm delighted that we ate in the bar. It's one of those bars with lots of wood, old books on shelves, bits of Singer sewing machines and saddlery scattered about. There was a blazing fire and old cast-iron table-stands that were topped with massive slices of tree. We sat on a comfortable settle, watched the flames, and gradually recovered our composure.

'The Thatch' is a good example of what provincial Ireland does well: offering a place of comfort and conviviality. What's unusual about it is, quite frankly, the quality of the food. I don't know about you, but when I go to a pub to eat, my expectations rarely run high. At best I hope for a nourishing plateful of plain, but wholesome food - and there's nothing wrong with that. It comes as a surprise, then, to get food well above the average, not least because you don't expect a pub kitchen to put the same care into presentation as a restaurant might.

The menu had starters like deep-fried Brie, a seafood chowder and smoked salmon all around the £5 mark and main courses included an entrecote steak with brandy and peppercorn sauce at £12, a chicken curry at £7.75, a tian of roasted vegetable at £7.95, a home-made burger at £5.95, chicken Kiev at £7.95 and a salmon steak at £9.95, all served with vegetables and potatoes. Nothing wildly exciting - but good, sensible dishes all. For once I didn't look at a wine list, we both decided that since we were in a pub that we'd do the traditional thing and drink beer.

For starters Susie had the smoked salmon and I had the deep-fried Brie. We both got a pleasant surprise when they arrived; served on big, handsome plates, the salmon came with capers and a mixed leaf salad that had been well dressed, and the Brie was similarly presented. These were both as enticing a dish on the plate as I've seen for a while. The Brie was cooked to perfection and the smoked salmon was excellent; moist and tender with a deep colour.

I began to worry that perhaps I should have chosen something a little more exciting than steak for my main course; after all, it was clear that whoever was in the kitchen knew what they were doing. But I needn't have worried, the steak and its brandy and peppercorn sauce were very good and Susie, who had chosen salmon again for her main course, was presented with a fine piece of salmon, perfectly cooked and served with herb crust and a lemon beurre.

Not long after we'd finished our main courses we were joined by our friend Patrick Guinness, who lives not too far away. We couldn't persuade him to eat, despite my heartfelt recommendations - not even a taste of the steamed pudding that I'd ordered on the basis that all nursery food is comforting. What we did persuade him to do was give us the history of Ballymore. It was, he told us, for a long time an island of Co. Dublin, surrounded by Wicklow and Kildare. It seems the Eustace family enjoyed the link with Dublin and fought successfully to keep it. While I learnt a little history, I picked at my steamed pudding - a nostalgic end to what had been a surprisingly good meal.

A few more beers and some coffees brought the evening to an end and a modest bill £52.10 didn't seem like a lot for the quality of what we'd eaten. Okay, there was no linen on the table, but the service had been quick and friendly and the espressos were very good. I haven't made much effort in the past to review pub grub, but this meal has changed my mind. The Thatch is a pub that takes its food seriously and that's a big plus in my view.