The Stiperstones Inn, Snailbeach

Let's start with the food. The food was fine. It was fair-to-middling, not much to write home about, the sort of stuff that won't be featuring in any long lasting memories. Okay, that's the food. Done, finished, finito, caput. That was this year's quickest food review, concluded in one pithy paragraph.

Now let's get on to the good stuff.

The Stiperstones Inn has been one of my favourite pubs for longer than I care to remember. It's a home-from-home, a place in which time moves slowly, a venue in which to sit, chat, cogitate and laugh. It's friendly with a capital F, pleasant with a capital P, delightful with a capital D. FPD – that's The Stiperstones Inn.

You don't have to take my word for it: I'm not the only one who ranks it so highly. The great British public – who, having spent too many twilight hours reading TripAdvisor are harsher critics than I – even give it their seal of approval.

Earlier this year, it was a 2013 TripAdvisor Certificate of Excellence winner, which is no mean feat.

It's the sort of pub that townies picture when considering the perfect rural boozer. It's not too posh; the bar staff wear T-shirts and jeans and refer to the locals by their first names, rather than a more formal Mr or Mrs. Nor is it too-shabby; present landlords Phil and Lara Jones have kept the pub in good order and there's the ubiquitous roaring log fire not far from the bar.

It's all-things-to-all-people. A village shop is tagged on to one side of it, which seems to be Open All Hours. Ronnie Barker doesn't work there, but it's the sort of place that he might have once frequented.

The Stiperstones Inn is located miles from anywhere, which is one of its most endearing qualities. Situated in the heart of the South Shropshire Hills, in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, it provides an ideal base for walkers who want to ascend the Stiperstones ridge, the Long Mynd or other surrounding countryside.

It's a traditional free house, stocking a range of real ales, and it's friendly. No, scrap that, it's like stepping into the local you never knew you had. The bar staff are polite and attentive and engage in chat about myriad subjects. During my brief visit there, the topics of conversation across the bar ranged from the merits of The Old Rope String Band to the price of a steak and the cost of varnishing an oak table to whether people who play computer games have glass faces . . . or something like that.

But the real beauty of The Stiperstones Inn is that it's unfussy. It is the perfect antidote to modern life. There's no mobile signal – or, at least, I was unable to access my ever-present device – and people engage in that most old-fashioned of pursuits: they talk. They talk about the weather and they talk about their families, they talk about their pets and they talk about rock music, they talk about walking and they talk about food. They converse. In an age where communication often takes place only via the presence of new technology, it gives it a unique selling point. The past is the future.

With The Stiperstones Inn, what you get is what you see. They take an 'if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it' approach to their culinary offer. There are no gimmicks, no fireworks and no party tricks. It's a traditional, down-home, plain old-fashioned boozer with a chef who cooks stuff that people like.

So, for instance, the menu features duck and orange pate on toast, garlic mushrooms, prawn cocktail and baked camembert. The clock hasn't stuck at 1970 and there are a few concessions to modernity, though not many. The mains are traditional too. Steaks, gammon, ribs, shanks, steak and kidney pudding and fish and chips. Add in a few curries and chiliies, the odd cheese bake and a roasted Mediterranean risotto and the ubiquitous lasagne, and you've pretty much got it covered. Oh, and lest we forget, it does a very impressive ploughman's lunch.

But it's the desserts that make the place come alive, more of which in a little while.

My latest visit was a last-minute thing. It was Saturday evening, there was nothing in the fridge and – unusually for me – I didn't want to cook. I scrolled through my mental Rolodex to come up with something to fill a gap: The Stiperstones Inn topped the list.

It's hidden at the top of a long and winding road, the sort that next year's Tour of Britain ought to try out. It must be a nightmare in winter, when it snows. I called ahead to book, though it wasn't necessary. Many people eat their dinners in the lounge, though there was a bijou dining room with four tables and 1970s furnishings, for those who favour seclusion.

I perused the menu in between reading the sports pages, the sort of behaviour that is perfectly acceptable. I started with the most sophisticated option, Mississippi chicken goujons. They were the sort of thing that you'd get at a fast food restaurant, with a terrible batter-like coating and a mildly spiced flavour. They were served with a sweet chilli dip and a retro side salad, which featured a quartered tomato, a couple of lettuce leaves and three thin strips of red pepper. It wasn't fancy and it sure as foie gras wasn't posh: it provided sustenance and left no further impression.

The service, however, did. The barman and two youthful waitresses both made trips to my table as I ate, to make sure everything was fine. It was and I was grateful for their attentiveness. They were friendly, humble and honest – real, rather than professional. It made a pleasant change.

I opted for the 'foodiest' main course a lamb shank in a red wine and rosemary reduction, but then thought better of it and ordered a side order of curly fries. The fries were a treat: straight from the freezer, presumably, and into the deep fat fryer. They tasted of cholesterol-fuelled, artery-clogging, Government-health-warning fat – and were all the better for it. The lamb was tender and mostly fell apart. It wasn't the best shank of all time, but it did the job.

Pudding was a shoe in. The Stiperstones serves whinberries, in various guises, and I could eat them until I turn purple and they started shooting from the top of my head like a fruit shoot filled with bicarbonate of soda and Ribena. They are D.E.L.I.C.I.O.U.S.

Whinberries are native to Shropshire, they're grown on the Long Mynd, and every year entrepreneurial locals head on to the hills and harvest as many as they can. Then they sell them, just as they would have done 200 years ago. You won't find them in supermarkets or shops and they are only available in season. Like The Stiperstones, they're a return to a simpler time. They have a taste that's similar to blueberries, though are smaller and a little sharper.

I opted for whinberry crumble with custard. It was served in a medium-sized bowl: a slick of golden yellow covering a deep well of intense, black-purple fruit. The custard was custard: the stuff that comes from powder or a packet – and none of your high-falutin', Fancy Dan crème anglais with vanilla pods, egg yolks and cream. It formed a skin as I ate it and it was as sweet as honey. The crumble was soft and unremarkable while the whinberries were a triumph. My bill, including drinks, was £18. Get that – 18 quid for three courses, an evening of chat, reasonable food and the nicest staff you could hope for.

Food isn't always about dazzling the senses. While it's fun to eat at restaurants that re-invent the wheel and are able to concoct 143 ways of serving a pea shoot, sometimes, that's all too much. Food is about what's in season, it's about sharing, it's about eating among friends and it's about breaking away from the daily grind and taking time to relax and enjoy.

The Stiperstones provides the latter in spades. It is the epitome of hospitality – and 'real' hospitality, where the staff give a damn, rather than the type that's paid for and comes with a plastic smile. It is also located in one of the most beautiful parts of the Midlands, with views that ought to cost a million dollars.

Sure, they can improve the food, if they like. It's not a place for gastronomes. But that's not what the inn is about. Relaxing, enjoyable, friendly and serving food that's high on value and big on taste – that's The Stiperstones Inn on a plate.

ADDRESS:

The Stiperstones Inn, Stiperstones, Snailbeach, Shropshire SY5 0LZ

Tel: 01743 791 327

Web: www.stiperstonesinn.co.uk