Good honest pub food, in vast portions, washed down with up to a dozen real ales and ciders, in a beautiful medieval countryside inn

I don't usually get emotional about pubs. But walking into the Plough and Harrow brought a little tear to the AleInTheVale eye. A tear that said 'I'm sorry'.

Ale used to go to the Plough a lot, see. The Plough was a little like that lovely auntie you had when you were little, who used to come over and play and bring you sweeties and biscuits and vintage rough cider, and you loved your Auntie Plough dearly.

But then, you turned into a surly teenager, started hanging out with the cool kids. Gastropubs, microbreweries, places that had AA rosettes displayed slightly-too-prominently in the windows and talked about real ale as if they invented it. And like the little gobshite that you are, you forgot about your Auntie Plough and neglected her terribly. But she was always there, always wondering how you were, ready with a hanky and some stout and an open fire (apart from that short time about five years ago when she went a bit batty and stopped doing ales properly, but we don't talk about that).

And before you know it, years have passed, and you think you'd better check in on Auntie Plough and end this tenuous metaphor. After all, you're still fond of her, in a nostalgic sort of way.

And you walk up through the beer garden and through the medieval door, the smell and warmth of the open fire makes the hairs on your skin bristle, you look up and see six real ales and seven (SEVEN!) ciders chalked on the blackboard, and you sink to your knees and tell yourself you're never going to be so stupid again.

(cough)

Let's start by talking about the Plough purely in pub terms - for this, mon cher, is the best pub in South Wales. We're not the only ones that think so - Camra have regularly doled out their award for best boozer in the nation, Rough Guides recently featured the Plough as one of only 50 chosen best pubs in the entire UK, and they've got the Good Beer Guide folk writing in faintly dizzying superlatives.

It ticks all the boxes - stunning location near the coast; lovely beer garden (replete with boules pitch); gorgeous, ramshackle medieval interior, roaring fire; proper layout: turn left for the a sit-down lounge, right for a more raucous bar, each with a cosy, cheery atmosphere.

But the main event is liquid-based. Three impeccably-kept house ales whet the appetite (HPA, Bass and Worthingtons on the night we went, although you might well have Otley O1 instead of the latter usually). But the real attraction's the guest ales. The Plough's affable and knowledgeable beerkeeper, Alistair, has a rotating selection of up to six really rather magnificent brews from near and far, many served straight from the barrel. On the night we went, the organic Celt Golden, Banks & Taylor Golden Fox, and a brew from Otley, "Columbo", so rare that Al's stash was one of only a handful of barrels actually produced.

And just in case you're still not thirsty, they've got no fewer than SEVEN proper ciders. So geared up are they for the proper beer-drinker, the lager taps are discreetly hidden to the right of the main serving area, to give the ales more breathing space. This we like (although why the tables were strewn with Carling beer mats with the slogan: "Campaign against warm beer", we don't know. We can only guess it was irony).

So. You don't need to be a genius to guess that as a drinking hole, this gets 10 out of 10, and how. But what of the food? The P&H used to be famous for its hearty, big-portioned fare, and it's pleasing to reveal that after a flirtation with a more gastro-pubby approach, the current owners have reverted to this winning formula.

The menu's pleasingly wonkily handwritten on a high roof beam - all warming pub staples, including faggots, peas and gravy; game stew; hot madras curry with half and half; glamorgan sausage and chips; plus a couple of less earthy options like Moroccan lentil and veg stew and sea bass on a bed of feta salad. Most are around the £8 mark, with nothing more than a tenner - impressive pricing. Homemade desserts are all £3.95, and similar pub fare (spotted dick, sticky toffee pud, lemon cheesecake, tiramisu, all with cream or custard), while charmingly you can also get a tub of local Joe's ice-cream for a measly £1.40.

And we're pleased to report the food is extremely nice. The Plough was never going to win Michelin stars, but the food is certainly a cut above the average pub kitchen offerings: faggots and mushy peas were tasty, albeit swimming in a veritable lake of gravy, whilst the sea bass was a real surprise - impeccably cooked, with copious chunks of tasty feta in the salad, a steal at £8.95. But the real winner was the game stew - massive, tender chunks of venison, rabbit and pheasant in a delicious stock that would have taken pride of place on the menu of one of Heston, Jamie or Gordon's rustic gaffs.

Portions, needless to say, were VAST (the stew could have fed two). Shame the chips were ordinary, whilst desserts were relatively forgettable. But in this place, the food's only part of the package - at these prices, and in this atmosphere, we really couldn't give a fig.

Frankly, you should go there right now. Improbably for such a tranquil venue, you can even get there on the 145 bus from Bridgend or Llantwit, which stops right outside (don't miss it back though, as it only runs every couple of hours, and if you miss it you'll only have to go back in and have more beer. Actually, that's quite a good idea). Auntie Plough, you're lovely and you're wonderful, and we promise to be a better nephew next time.