I suppose the pre-Christmas rush this year is no more frenetic that any other, it just seems like it. Vast crowds of my fellow citizens rush wildly around in a buying frenzy, their arms laden with purchases, a mien of distraught unease and their spirits weighed down with that peculiar feeling which Christmas alone engenders, that if we haven't got ourselves deeply into debt, then we haven't done it right. Shops become impenetrable with people, the streets are like obstacle courses that need negotiation with care, and restaurants become so busy that all their systems become stretched to their limits. With all this in mind, it seemed to me that this was the time of year to avoid the city centre and its chaos and try for a little serenity amid the bucolic charms of Kildare.

Naïve, I know. The Christmas rush is pandemic. Deep in the Curragh, in Milltown, there is a pub and restaurant called the Hangman's Arch - but above the door in the car park it says 'The Hangman's' leaving you wondering the hangman's what? I'd gone to Kildare to meet my friends Patrick and Louise Guinness, and at their house we were joined by two more friends, Mandy and Blaithnid. The five of us set off in Patrick's Jeep with Louise giving us the directions. It was a clear night and a waning gibbous moon hung low in the sky to the west as we drove across the open expanses of the Curragh, past the race track, on to a fork where we eventually took the right road, on to a cross roads, and then right towards Milltown. Up and over a humpy bridge crossing the canal, and there, suddenly on the left, is The Hangman's.

The restaurant is upstairs and has its own bar, which is where we sat and looked at the menus and wine list. I was given the job of picking the wines, so I dutifully checked out the list, which isn't overly long - about twenty-five wines - but it's very reasonably priced. Just a few examples of what you can find: a Hunter Valley Shiraz for £15.50, Antinori's Chianti Classico Riserva for £18.80 and a white Marques de Caceres at £12.50, all good value. Eventually I chose a Chilean Montes Reserva Chardonnay at £14.00 and its sister red, a Merlot at the same price.

The menu is a large, laminated sheet with a smaller one attached. The smaller one, listing three starters and three main courses, changes weekly, while the larger changes quarterly along with the seasons. Starters were centred on £6, while main courses ran from £13.50 up to £17 for a ten-ounce fillet, served as medallions. There were some interesting dishes: among the starters were a wonton of prawns, green-lipped mussels in a cream sauce and a warm beef salad. Then for main courses there was venison, escalopes of turkey, beef with a Roquefort sauce, honey-roast duck and paupilletes of sole. We'd started with the idea that we'd all pick different things, but Patrick, Louise and I all picked the mussels while Mandy had the deep-fried Brie and Blaithnid had the Clonakilty black pudding. For main courses Louise had the turbot, Mandy had a vegetarian dish of roasted vegetable with a wild mushroom sauce, Blaithnid had the beef with the Roquefort sauce, Patrick had the venison and I chose the shanks of lamb.

We sat at the bar, which was warm and welcoming and it was here that our orders were taken. A old open fire place with a crane and various iron pots was a feature of this room, as too were the very large groups of people with silly hats having their Christmas parties, who mostly went into the dining rooms before we did. It was while we were ordering that I discovered that green-lipped mussels come from New Zealand.

When we were called to our table we found that there are three dining rooms, and all of them were very full of people. The first had a long table of over twenty people, the second was set for a similar number and ours had a party of over a dozen as well as smaller groups. This kind of capacity normally means that service will be absurdly slow, and at first I had my doubts if any kitchen could cope with such a large number of people wanting to be fed at the same time. I needn't have worried, the service was excellent throughout the evening.

Our starters arrived and before me was a plate of big, fat, succulent mussels. Or so I thought. They were tough, and had an odd aftertaste. Louise found the same with hers, but Patrick's were just fine. I wasn't too fussed about it and enjoyed a taste of Mandy's Brie and Blaithnid's Clonakilty pudding, both of which were very good. But a couple of moments after the plates were cleared the manager was at the table. 'Was there a problem with the mussels?' he asked. 'Not really,' I said, 'but they were a little tough.' 'I'm very sorry,' he said, 'they'll come off the bill.' Normally I wouldn't bother relating stories like this, but this time I am because it's a perfect example of how a restaurateur should behave when something goes wrong. Bear in mind that this was a very busy restaurant, but he was prompt, professional and polite and took the dishes off the bill at once without question. That's what should happen in a properly run restaurant and full marks to The Hangman's for dealing with problems so well. As a result, instead of being cross and irritable, I was full of admiration for his professionalism.

All our main courses were very good; I liked the Roquefort sauce on Blaithnid's beef, Patrick's venison was extraordinarily tender (probably farmed), Mandy's vegetarian mix was tasty, Louise's turbot was nicely cooked and my lamb shanks were delicious. If this kitchen can make food this good when under severe pressure, I'll be delighted to return when things are less hectic. Desserts were described as a surprise, and we had a mix on one plate for us all to taste - I particularly liked the ice cream with crushed meringue. We ended the meal with decent coffees.

The drive home involved a loud and almost tuneful recreation of the Ronettes and the Shirelles in the car, which the sober Patrick had to endure stoically. A fun end to a good night, where the bill came to a little over £30 a head.