Suppose for the sake of argument that you've gone to Clew Bay for a party on a Friday night and it's taken you seven hours to get to Westport behind a convoy of protesting hauliers. You hit the party at eleven, but thankfully it's still in full swing. And suppose for the sake of further argument that you find the party continues all through the following day and night as well. Now by Sunday lunchtime the body screams for solid food - preferably carbohydrates and red meat. With this snippet of personal history you can understand how the Tullio family felt as we pulled up in the car park on Westport's quays just opposite The Asgard. My two offspring had been so busy partying that they hadn't found time to eat at all on Saturday, consequently 'ravenous' might best describe the state of their appetite.

We'd been staying with friends just outside Louisburgh on the south side of Clew bay, where we've been made welcome many a time. As a result I've got to know and like Westport a lot for it's busy night life and general sense of vibrancy. The Asgard is one of Westport's landmarks; it's been there for years. Recently it's had a major extension attached to it in a modern style, which sits a little uncomfortably alongside the old pub. It's three-story, with a bar on the ground floor and a restaurant on the first floor, it has lots of glass, pale polished wood and brushed steel, which give it an almost Scandinavian feel. There's a vaguely nautical theme in the ironwork - an homage perhaps to its name - and there are the ubiquitous Graham Knuttel prints on the walls. The large windows mean that from the split-level restaurant the islands of Westport Bay can be seen and in the distance - its summit shrouded as ever in cloud - the imposing bulk of Croach Patrick dominates the horizon. It's a pleasing room, whose architect has made good use of the space and prospect.

Now I have a question for architects, and it's this: why are lavatory doors always designed so that you push to go in and pull to come out? If, like me, you wash your hands, then to get out you have to hold a handle that's been held by the many who don't wash their hands, which kind of defeats the purpose. If the doors were designed so that you push on the way out - with an elbow or foot, say - then you can go and pick up your sandwich with a easy mind and a clean hand. No one wants to look like a big girl's blouse by trying to grab the handle with a hand in a pocket. It makes you look like one of those neurotics who see germs everywhere. Simply changing the way the doors open solves this perfectly.

Anyway, the menu is exactly what you'd expect for pub food: an array of sandwiches priced in and around £2.50; two soups for the same money; a few starters and a few main courses. Before doing anything else both of my progeny - Rocco and Isabella - ordered sandwiches to take away to make sure they'd have food for the drive home, such was their hunger. Then they set about deciding on their lunch-time fare. Both my wife, Susie, and Rocco ordered the sea food chowder to start and so did our friend Gay, who was with us. Then it was bacon and cabbage with mashed potato for Rocco, lasagne with chips for Isabella, an open smoked salmon sandwich for Susie and the roast rib of beef with chips for me. Not one of us could look a glass of wine in the eye, so the girls had mineral water and Rocco and I ordered a pint of beer.

'Why are sandwiches called sandwiches?' I asked the table in that way that fathers do when they're trying to enthuse their family into conversation. I looked chirpily around me. No response. Not one to give up, I blundered on. 'They were named after Gerald, Lord Sandwich, who during an immensely long card game at his club, asked his valet to bring him a piece of meat between two slices of bread. If those had been less formal times than they were, we'd probably be asking for toasted cheese geralds now.' I beamed and still got no response. Ah well, I thought, maybe after they'd got food into them conversation might become easier.

Because what we'd ordered was difficult to divide into starters and main courses we asked for everything to be brought together. I have to admit that I'd been really looking forward to my chips as any gourmet might, so when my beef arrived with the usual array of veg and roast potatoes I felt hard done by. 'I thought I was getting chips,' I said balefully to our waitress. 'They're on the way,' she replied brightly. Wow. Everything on my plate plus a flat of chips for a fiver. In fact all the main courses came with similar quantities and they were all priced at a fiver - remarkable value.

Apart from being good value the food was actually good. A really tasty mustard sauce came with Rocco's bacon and cabbage and a well-flavoured gravy was on my beef. Susie's plate of smoked salmon on brown bread nearly defeated her and Isabella couldn't finish her lasagne. By the time we'd come to a full stop we were all feeling much restored, which is as well, since it's a five hour drive to Wicklow. With the table cleared there was some thought as to desserts, but it came to naught. It was Rocco who spotted the addendum underneath the unappetising listing of 'mug of coffee'. 'Please ask about our range of coffees' it said, so we did. Yes, they did espresso, which was exactly what I wanted. So, it turned out, did Susie and Rocco while Isabella decided that an Irish coffee would help through the long drive home.

I suppose I hadn't really made much of a stab in advance at what lunch for five would be, but I was surprised and pleased when the bill came to find that all in all we'd spent only £51.55, which didn't seem like much for what we'd had and it also included the takeaways. The Asgard provides a good, simple pub lunch and next time I find myself in Westport I'll be back.