GOOD things come in small packages, I said to my wife in a consoling voice. It's something I do on occasions as, being just five foot two in her stocking feet, Sylvia is sometimes given to regretting her lack of inches and, endeavouring to be a decent sort of husband, I try to make the best of whatever situation is vexing her.

Usually it is in the cinema or theatre when the arrival of the six-foot-two gentleman sporting a Seventies-sized Afro hairstyle in front of her prompts an outpouring of "why-am-I-so-short" angst. In the cinema a discreet shuffling along the row usually solves the problem but this time, there was no such simple solution.

The circumstances were not those where a husband of a short wife might anticipate a problem. Having a meal out at an acclaimed eaterie in North Yorkshire is not the sort of environment where height might normally be a factor in the enjoyment or otherwise of the experience.

But it was when we visited the Black Bull at Moulton, between Darlington and Richmond, an establishment with a reputation which has stood the test of time, reinforced on a year-in-year out basis by its entry in the foodie's bible The Good Food Guide.

But I should have been alerted to the potential problem when the phone call to enquire if a table for two was available was greeted with the response: "In the railway carriage?"

Now was that a note of invitation or caution I sensed in the voice? In retrospect I think it may have been the latter but I assumed it was the former, which was why Sylvia ended up sitting in the railway carriage at the Black Bull with her plate at about the level of her throat and not very happy about it.

The restored Thirties Pullman carriage at the Black Bull is undoubtedly splendid - if incongruously called Hazel - but the squashy armchairs mean that sitting at the tables is a choice between leaning back and hoping the food on your fork will make the long-ish journey from plate to mouth intact, or sitting on the edge of your seat with no back support. It is particularly challenging for those of modest height.

We thought about asking for extra cushions or even a high chair but decided instead just to try to enjoy the excellent food which is the Black Bull's staple fare. It was not difficult.

At this point it should be made clear to those not familiar with the Black Bull or its reputation that it is not a cheap restaurant. But then it is also one of the best examples of the maxim: you get what you pay for.

Feeling that this was something of a special occasion, I had ordered two dishes from the specials board - a pork and veal terrine with piccalilli (£5.25) and poached turbot with broccoli, new potatoes and hollandaise (£18.75). Both were simple classics but beautifully executed. The turbot was especially magnificent, cooked to within a second of the perfection sought by anyone cooking fish - that precise moment when the fish is just cooked enough but no longer.

Sylvia's opinion of her warm salad of duck and pancetta with mango chutney (£7.95) and rack of lamb with a dauphinoise sauce (£16.25) was not quite so fulsome but this may be put down to her singular perspective on what she was eating.

Nevertheless, the salad and the lamb were both given high ratings as was my bread and butter pudding (£4.50) which was prepared in the modern style, which is to say very soft and creamy.

(By the way does anyone know of an establishment which serves bread and butter pudding in the old-fashioned way, that is with a crunchy, almost crusty and caramalised topping? I haven't come across one for years and am getting disheartened by the search.)

The bill came to just over £60 which included a bottle of mineral water and coffees which were not, as they are some at-first-glance establishments, overpriced.

So an excellent meal, let down only by the seating arrangements which didn't personally suit us. Hazel is charming but apart from the seating, the acoustics mean conversations of fellow diners are easily heard. The discussion about the relative merits of members of the Royal family was moderately diverting, the salesman's discussion of his area targets and company car prospects less so. The view of the Black Bull's car park was also not particularly edifying.

So, eat at the Black Bull for first-class, good value food but choose one of the restaurant's other, more conventional, dining areas. Unless, of course, you're six-foot plus.