Many years ago, I used to live a few doors down from this pub, then a dingy Dalston boozer where you could overhear the patrons wearily comparing the prison sentences being served by family, friends and neighbours. The beer was better than the ambience, so I used to take it home in a jug.

At the time, the place was called the Lady Diana. The day after she gave her cocked head confessional interview to Martin Bashir on Panorama, the landlord changed the name back to the original "Prince Arthur", which had always remained visible, though painted over, on the facade. It was a far-sighted move. Going down the Lady Di would sound grotesque these days.

The Prince Arthur has now been taken over by Tom and Ed Martin, who already run The Gun and several other gastros. The building, dating from 1861, has been beautifully refurbished to show off the unspoiled bar and original architecture.

It's touching to see a place one knew when it was down at heel restored to glory - even if this one gives an impression of possibly having in one bound leapfrogged right over the ongoing gentrification of this part of Hackney.

In theory, you can still come here just to drink - a pint of Deuchars IPA is £2.70, house wine is £12.50 - and they have a policy of not taking reservations on all the tables to make it possible.

But it would be a pity, especially if you've actually gone so far as to get yourself to Tube-free E8. For the moment at least, the food is great value, if you can take the full-on heartiness. "Rabbit loin and braised oxtail terrine, caramelised pear" (£5) was a tasty chequerboard of light and dark meats.

The main courses came surprisingly elegantly served in white porcelain tureens and gratin dishes on large plates, making what were in fact absolute-blockbuster dishes seem all too manageable. Chicken and roasted cep pie, Wensleydale blue cheese (£10.50) was never going to be a light dish - although the pastry was just a crisp little cap, not the whole pie. So this was chicken and mushroom pie in excelsior, quite sumptuous, the cheese melted into the chicken and mushrooms in just the way your cardiologist fears: memorably good.

It could only have been cheery ignorance of how much we had already consumed that made us think it would be a good idea to try the Prince Arthur's nostalgic British pudding, "Deep fried jam sandwich, plum chutney, Carnation milk ice cream" (£4.50).

Encouraged by the reasonableness of the food, we went for an expensive wine, a raspberryish 2002 Mercurey at £31. Even so, the bill came to £83.05, a fair price. The Prince Arthur's a real pleasure, pioneering a new level of excellence in Dalston. I'll be back. Probably for a single course, next time.