THIS column knows what it likes and, although it may strike the reader as a trivial point, a Sunday lunch is not considered complete without a bit of pulverised potato.

We refer to mash, but not the stuff that comes out of a supermarket packet. We mean that ruthless process by which you boil a pan full of spuds, drain the water, squash the soft, white, helpless remains into complete submission, chuck in cream, milk, butter or margarine according to taste, and serve. It helps if you are stressed and have a bit of steam to let off, as it were, while doing the squashing.

We had imagined mash to be a thing of the past on Sundays until we made a speculative and revealing visit earlier this year to the Navigation, a pub marooned on wasteland between the Tees, the Saltburn to Darlington railway, the urban A66 and the Cellnet stadium at Middlesbrough. Handy not only for anyone visiting Teesside cinemas but for Boro fans at home matches.

We discovered, courtesy of landlord Charlie Seed and his hard working kitchen staff, that a generous amount of mashed potato was included on a colossal plate of steaming vegetables that would have gone down a treat with hungry dockers and steelworkers, were there any still around.

We have just come across the humble squashed spud again, although in more modest quantities, on our first visit in about seven years to the New Inn at Thrintoft, a hamlet which serves as a sort of adjunct to the larger Morton-on-Swale a few miles outside Northallerton.

If not exactly hiding its light under a bushel, the New Inn is one of those places you have to seek out either by driving around or by word of mouth. It stands on no main road and, if its agricultural surroundings can hardly be classified as wasteland, its nearest neighbours are just a few houses and the odd farm.

After seven years we could detect no major changes at the place save for the people who now run it. They swapped a life on the high seas for landlocked Thrintoft 18 months ago and have sought to bring a distinctive flavour to the New Inn.

Luca Jallucci was the Italian sous chef on a cruise liner and Melanie Fletcher was the first cook, her name now appearing as licensee above the door at Thrintoft. In their first pub venture they have introduced Italian nights once a month, but hints of that country's cuisine find their way into some of the desserts served at traditional Sunday lunches.

With colder autumn days closing in, a log fire was a welcoming feature as we settled into seats in the bar, its length greater than its width, studying the beer mats that adorn the ceiling beams until orders were taken. There's not much of a view, though, from either bar or restaurant.

But it was still a pleasure to wait in this bar, where a few informal and abbreviated meals were being taken. If there was a one-armed bandit we never heard the voice of the infernal contraption. Similarly, mobile phones seemed to have been buttoned up and left in the nearest water butt. The only accompaniment to conversation was piped music, appropriate in tone and played at a level consistent with the day on which you seek to relax.

The New Inn's position, out on a geographical limb, does not seem to have harmed its prospects. On this Sunday the car park was busy and one of the first people we met was a woman from Bedale who said she had been prised away from her own fireside for a family birthday celebration in the restaurant, which was rapidly filling up.

The menu proved varied without being notably ambitious, a novel touch being the opportunity to sample a share of each of the available roasts on the main course for £1 extra. We decided to keep things straightforward, money not entering the equation at all. Chicken was chosen in one case, pork in the other.

Starters were soon served in the rear restaurant, which has plenty of leg and elbow room. My companion had chosen a home-made leek and potato soup which was judged to be full bodied, flavoursome, filling and completely satisfactory.

Seeking something lighter, I had gone for potato wedges which turned out to be crisply done, in the style of scampi, with a dollop of tangy barbecue sauce and an arrangement of lettuce leaves and chopped peppers.

The main course was marked by well prepared and presented vegetables but, surprisingly, my companion's pork was considered rather bland. My chicken came in the thickest slices I have ever seen and was reasonably tender and tasty with sage wrapped in bacon.

It was a pleasure to sink the fork into that little mound of mashed potato but, having been denied this delicacy for so long on Sunday outings, I should have liked more of it.

My chosen home-made dessert was an Italian panna cotta, a dainty and delicious little concoction of vanilla and cream topped with strawberries. My companion opted for a sherry trifle which, it was maintained, could have had a bit more of the stated drink in it. Coffees took some time to arrive.

In the car park later we chatted to a man who gave us a potted history of the New Inn's changing fortunes in recent years and told us how Luca and Melanie had turned it round. Having tried their traditional Sunday lunch, we may well sample one of their Italian nights. The next one is on November 20