Matt and Cat have a friend who aspires to retire and spend her 'third age' cultivating her garden and writing angry letters to Radio 4 whilst sitting in cafés eating cream teas. Café life is very alluring and it is easy to see why pensioners (and aspiring retirees) choose to take their meals in public; no cooking, no washing up and the chance to get out of the house and have a natter. In fact, a local eatery could have as important a community function as a post office, or so Matt and Cat thought when they visited Ventnor's Thistle Café.

Although your reviewers are some considerable way from receiving a pension (the light at the end of the salt mine glints tantalisingly in the very distant future), they joined the Sunday lunch club elders at the Thistle one beautiful winter's day. Meeting up with some 'second age' locals, they took their seats at the prettily-adorned table, with its floral napkins, table cloth and little doily under the condiments pot. The venue was very busy - in fact a table had to be reserved, so popular is the Thistle.

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Like most cafés, the Thistle does not fuss about with fancy fare as, frankly, no-one wants it to do so. The laminated menu offered a satisfyingly wholesome array of staples which followed the simple formula of meat, potato and veg, such as liver and bacon, a selection of pies and burgers and the gut-busting Thistle grill: steak, gammon, lamb chop, chips, peas, mushrooms, tomatoes and salad garnish - surely that's a week's groceries! However, it was clear that on the Sabbath, everyone wanted roast. And at £5.95 it was understandably popular. The meat choice was beef, lamb, chicken or pork served with roast potatoes and a selection of eight vegetables - enough five-a-day to last a week! The busy waitress soon appeared and took the orders. Despite the place being full to bursting the service was prompt and efficient throughout.

Roast beef and all the trimmings!

Well, everyone except Cat wanted roast. She was completely out of synch with the nation's stomach having over-indulged on a three course meal at the dog track the night before. The most modest meal on the menu was scrambled egg, which she ordered whilst those around her made room on the table for the roasts.

Before long the laden plates were lowered into position in front of each eager eater. Cat, wondering how such a large amount of food could fit into a person, glanced around the café to see a bird-like old lady push her cutlery together with a satisfied, yet boastful, clink onto a cleaned plate. Had she really eaten it all? Or was the lion's share in her oversized handbag, cached to be her rations for the week ahead? Cat's speculations were interrupted by the arrival of the scrambled egg.

Whilst Cat picked at her oeuf, the others cooed in awe at their roasts; the food included meat, three roast potatoes, a Yorkshire pudding and the eight different sorts of vegetables - ticked off as follows: peas, broccoli, swede, carrots, cauliflower, parsnips, leeks and sprouts. A bowl of eye-watering horseradish sauce and cups of tea completed the serving.

Matt was delighted by this steaming edifice. Whilst it was obvious that the veg had been steamed for a while, giving it a softness and blandness characteristic of most carveries, the sheer volume and variety of the meal made up for this. For the money, this was a splendid feast. The Yorkshire pud was crisp and flooded with piping hot gravy; the numerous slices of beef almost hidden under the other items. Yesterday's three-course meal at the dog track became a distant memory as Matt set to work on the Thistle's finest - so much so that when Cat, replete and daintily groaning, pushed away the last few forkfuls of her tasty scrambled egg, Matt had to step in and sample that too.

So a good and generous meal, at a decent price, in a cosy and straightforward venue. Matt and Cat's dining was enhanced by splendid company, and the prospect of walking the feast off with a promenade down to Ventnor beach for an early dose of sun - perhaps a promise of the summer to come. What better way to spend a Sunday afternoon?