DESPISED by the squeamish, the haggis is a thing of rare beauty, in my opinion.

Here, amid the deliberately faded elegance of the bistro at Hotel du Vin, it reached heady heights.

The pudding itself had a refined texture and flavour, the nuttiness of the oatmeal cutting through the unmistakable twang of sheep offal.

Quenelles of swede and mashed spud were rich, but retained their earthiness.

And around these components was a glossy pool of reduced jus that deftly achieved a sweet, sour and savoury balance that suggested a kitchen with a generous level of skill.

Seldom can the innards of a sheep have been put to better use.

But, sadly, the dish has now disappeared from the menu so I guess you’ll have to wait until next winter if you wish to try it.

My wife fell silent over her starter of butternut risotto, eventually emerging from her trance-like state to say that it, too, was a starter of great quality.

I continued my meal with another robust dish, again using an ingredient that’s not to everyone’s taste.

The hare a la royale I chose was an old-fashioned sort of thing – substantial, tasty and manly.

The hare had been braised to melting tenderness and formed into a sort of sausage that was wrapped in pancetta and had been mixed with smoked bacon lardons and foie gras.

The texture was superb, the flavours strident without being unruly. Again, there was an exemplary jus that perfectly complemented the meats.

Lynn’s calves’ liver served with crisp pancetta, sage-streaked mash and a lighter jus was also highly praised.

We shared a bowl of accurately cooked broccoli, which added a healthy edge to my meat-fest.

My wife declined dessert but though I was replete, I continued my gluttony by ordering probably the heftiest sweet on the menu.

“Fly pie” was something I grew to love when I lived in Scotland, but here appeared under the less off-putting name of Ecclefechan tart. Crisp pastry contained dried fruits and nuts whose richness and sweetness were mitigated by a good glug of squeezed lemon.