The Raven, Much Wenlock: Much ado about pudding

In a contest lasting three rounds, we'll settle this sweet-toothed duel for once and for all.

Welcome to the blue corner, the undefeated Queen of the Puds, weighing in at a slimline size eight, Mrs I M Hungry. Boasting a 1-1-0 record, she uses her spoon like a rapier and can demolish a chocolate fondant at 50 paces. When she eats, she eats to kill. Cue applause.

And in the red corner, seeking to avenge a recent defeat, it's the challenger, Mr I Mer Reviewer. Weighing in at a little over – erm, actually, let's skip that bit – he's still smarting from losing a recent four-dessert face-off. He has a 1-0-1 loss on his record. Cue boos. No matter, I'm happy being the pantomime villain.

Regular readers may recall a recent trip to Shrewsbury's Glutton Club, which turned into a battle of the puds. My friend and I ordered four of them, yes, four. Count 'em. One, two, full, ill. And then we started dieting.

Foolishly, we decided to reconvene at The Raven, an eminently popular restaurant in Much Wenlock, or, as it's known around the world: Olympia. Much Wenlock was the home of Dr William Penny Brookes, the founder of the modern day Olympics. And, though it was the last thing on our minds, our dinner descended into a fight for gold. More of which later. . .

The Raven is a delightful venue. Its website suggests it: 'combines authentic period charm with genuine warmth and a degree of sophistication offering accommodation that will delight the most discerning guests'. And that's not far off. The lounge is pleasant and cosy, without being overly refined. The links to a glorious past are present on every wall. Letters and artefacts point out a golden era in which it witnessed the start of the Olympian movement. There is memorabilia from Baron Pierre de Courbertin detailing his fascination with the town.

There are photographs for cups that were awarded for long-since-past-sporting endeavours. It is like a museum, but much, much cooler.

The combination of trend and tradition, of heritage and modernity plays out throughout the venue. A former well has been incorporated into the dining area, with a large, circular plate glass sheet having been placed over the deep vessel. There is an airy conservatory, which is flooded with natural light and decorated simplistically. The contrast between the historic and the modern is evident throughout. It is a delightful venue. Echoes of a halcyon time resonate throughout and the location is superb. Wenlock is one of Shropshire's prettiest towns, redolent with tradition.

I've eaten at the Raven on a number of occasions and it is one of Shropshire's most consistent venues. The food combines the best of local produce and the kitchen favours classic dishes with a contemporary twist. So, for instance, a terrine of local Shropshire pheasant and venison is served with apple chutney and warm focaccia; a slow-cooked fillet of tender Morville beef is served with rosemary mash and a mushroom marmalade.

My friend and I arrived for a midweek dinner. We were shown into a lounge area where we perused the evening's menu. The restaurant was half full, with a combination of hotel guests and visitors to the town. A youthful waitress ferried drinks to our table, advised on the evening's specials and then repaired to the kitchen.

We had ample time to relax and enjoy the ambience before placing our orders. My friend opted for a potato cake with salmon to start, while I choose the confit duck. The voluminous potato cake was light and fluffy, had been well-seasoned and contrasted well with the delicate pink salmon. The confit was gutsier and was served with a deep, dark and intensely-savoury jus. We both polished off our plates approvingly.

Our mains were good, without tripping the light fantastic. My friend opted for the steak with mushroom marmalade. The steak was cooked as she'd requested though there was much too much mashed potato, which was left to one side. My chicken dish was fairly good, without being memorable.

A breast had been stuffed and served atop a bed of basil tagliatelle. Though the quality of the ingredients was first class, the execution was underwhelming. The chicken had been a little over-cooked, just by a minute or two, so had lost some of its hoped-for moistness. The basil tagliatelle, in contrast, had been overdressed and was a little oily. The dish was packed with flavour but greater attention to detail would have yielded a finer result.

Ding dong. Time for pud.

When an early 19th century nursery rhyme writer was conjuring his 'What Are Little Boys Made Of' poem, he probably had my friend in mind. She epitomises sugar and spice and all things nice. Offer her the world's best dinner, or a bar of chocolate, and she'll vote for the Cadbury's.

Four desserts were on the menu – a sticky toffee pudding, poached pears, a raspberry crème brulee and a cookies and cream cheesecake – and I feared the worst. Having experienced 'dessert rage' some weeks previously, I tried to intervene.

"Would the chef be able to provide a 'plaque de degustation'?" I enquired. I'd hoped, not unreasonably, that the chef might be able to put together a single sharing platter, comprising a modest taste of each dessert. The waitress repaired to the kitchen and relayed the chef's succinct answer. "No." He wasn't being rude, it transpired. After all, it's impossible to serve half a pear, isn't it – what would he have done with the other half.

My friend took the lead role and ordered three, leaving the poor, unlamented sticky toffee pudding behind. "Sticky toffee pud is sticky toffee pud," she declared, with disarming alacrity and profoundly good logic. On another day, she might have offered E=MC2, but there were no lectures on mass-energy equivalence – just a straight-down-the-line 'it is what it is'. The sticky toffee pudding wept bittersweet tears.

The waitress returned, momentarily, with three desserts and an intrigued smile which said something like: "We've got a right pair in here tonight, what will they order next?"

We knew the drill. Snatch: the kumquat was in my mouth. Grab: she'd cracked the deliciously thick golden caramel atop the crème brulee and was making off with the creamy yellow filling. Zoot: I'd levered my fork through the dense and deliciously light cheesecake and was levering a portion toward me. Snap: She'd broken a shortbread biscuit that had been served with the brulee and was polishing it off, while laughing.

In truth, I didn't get to taste much of the brulee, though the little I had was like silk and satin on skin. It was soft and lustrous, indulgent and rich. On any other day, I'd have eaten the lot. The fact that it was so quickly eaten was the highest compliment possible. I also noted a particularly sneaky manoeuvre from my friend, who left herself a little scoopful at the bottom of the bowl, but then turned the bowl around so that I could not see it. Curses.

The poached pears were fragrant and sweet. They were presented attractively and garnished with kumquats and raspberry. The cheesecake, meanwhile, was reasonably good. The cookies and crème filling was an interesting idea, though it tended to make the dessert too filling and too dense. A tart fruit might have cut through the richness a little better. Ice cream had been served alongside the desserts – it didn't last long.

The Raven remains one of Shropshire's most reliable restaurants for guests looking for an upmarket evening out. There are, inevitably, some areas for improvement; but guests can be assured of good service from a youthful team, exceptional ingredients on their plate and an exhibition of good skills from the kitchen team.

The prospects for the venue are bright. The Raven has recently appointed a new chef – a well-known figure on the Shropshire scene – and he'll be bringing pizzazz to the venue sometime soon. With respected proprietors, delightful service and delicious food, it remains uppermost on my list of favourite venues.

And as for the desserts? Well, they're a knock out. Ali and Frazier duked it out over three bouts. But I'm hoping my friend and I can now call it a truce. Manilla is too far – and my stomach couldn't cope with another thriller.

By Andy Richardson

The Raven

30 Barrow St

Much Wenlock

TF13 6EN

01952 727251

http://www.ravenhotel.com/