I HAD looked forward to this Friday night visit to Crayke for a long time. Perched on a hill at the edge of the Vale of York on the way to Easingwold, it's one of my favourite views.

As well as staking a hotly-disputed claim to having been the mound up (and down) which the fabled grand old Duke of York marched his men, it also commands glorious views across the vale. Even the drive to the place was a thoroughly pleasant experience, from the back of my in-laws' car, out in honour of Peter's birthday.

The pub looks, sounds, smells and feels exactly like a pub should. It's long and roomy, with plenty of space for smokers and non-smokers to sit comfortably apart, and space to lounge or dine at will.

Nevertheless, we wanted a look at the dining room at the far end, so were shown our way through.

Now I know it was all down to the last rays of sun forcing their way in at the window, but the effect of the light on the startlingly bright blue walls were mesmerising, and briefly created a submarine feeling.

To kick off, I chose baked Queen scallops with garlic butter, Gruyere and Cheddar cheese (£6.95). The scallops, though perhaps more princess than queen in their bulk, were nevertheless given a tasty lift by the cheese.

Judith opted for the roasted beef tomato filled with herb and scallion goats' cheese with "a balsamic and herb oil reduction". I'm no lover of bloated overgrown toms myself, but the mother-in-law professed herself satisfied with the dish, and pungent goats' cheese usually makes up for a lot in the flavour stakes.

Anna, being a child of the 1970s, was delighted to go for the prawn cocktail (£6.95) on the specials board, but then wondered why it came in a large wine glass, which - while it looked smart - made it impossible to savour simultaneously the underseafood salad buried beneath the prawns, without tipping the whole lot out on her plate. It may work for a knickerbockerglory, but was less satisfying here.

Peter, meanwhile, enjoyed his crispy belly pork with a soy sesame dressing (£5.95), saying he liked the crisped little morsels of meat, although the sesame flavour was a little cloying.

He followed this up with Yorkshire rib eye steak (£15.95) and a bowl of home-made chips (£2.50) and was satisfied and full (and at 6ft 7ins, my father-in-law takes quite a bit of filling).

His wife had big chunks of Gressingham duck breast, arranged like the hours on a clock face around a fondant potato, with huge blackberries in between the hours and slices of grilled pear (£14.50). The meat was moist and tender, but she found herself in need of some vegetables. This led us to question why some establishments felt the need to charge £2.50 for side orders, even of simple new potatoes or a green salad?

I'm no fan of watery, overcooked vegetables, brought to the table like an uninvited guest, just for appearances. Nor do I like to see huge bowlfuls of good veg going back to the kitchen uneaten and wasted. But why risk leaving your patrons either hungry or resentful, simply for the sake of a couple of quids' worth of vegetables, when they are unsure about how big a main course will be, and so err on the side away from porcine?

Having said that, my roast rump of lamb with mash and green peas ticked the veggie boxes perfectly, so I was happy, give or take a stolen chip or two.

My wife chose the grilled salmon (£12.95), again from the specials board, which she said sated all of her taste buds' desires for sweet, salt, sour etc.

Thus far, the meal had gone very well - a lot of attention is paid to detail on the plate, and there was substance as well as spin: the quality of ingredients, variety and subtlety of flavour and skill of the chef were all on the high side.

But then a couple of gripes emerged, evolving into metaphorical bad tastes that were not only left in our mouths, but stayed on during the post-meal debrief in the car on the beautiful journey home.

The first point was, I guess, again borne of good old-fashioned Yorkshire tight-fistedness: four slices of (very fine) cheese, some biscuits, celery, grapes and chutney, should not add up to seven quid, Peter chuntered, as he abstained altogether. But he was right.

The women went for an assiette of petit desserts "for two to share" (£12.50), which was much better value, with five options, ranging from a very poor and rubbery sticky toffee pudding through an excellent tangy lemon tart, creamy cheesecake and a delicate white chocolate mousse.

But no matter how good the flavours, we were all starting to get slightly bothered by the adjacent party of seven or eight people, who had been set a table right next to our quiet little foursome in the by then totally empty dining room.

They were, by that time, quite well-oiled, rather loud and not very polite. In short, they were simply having a good time, but there was room for them to be doing it a little further away from us - basic restaurant management.

Add to this the fact that our experience at the Ox lacked any real front-of-house authority - the barmaid was not very welcoming and even surly while serving an otherwise lovely pint of Pedigree, our waitress was pleasant, but not discreet enough - and we left feeling the Durham Ox had not fully lived up to its fine reputation, or, perhaps, the £100-odd quid, plus drinks, the meal had added up to.

Having said that, it is a great pub in a gorgeous village and serves lovely food and good beer, and I would take no persuading to go back and give it another chance at erasing those little bad tastes.