Wouldn’t it be amazing if every humdrum hotel in every Scottish village suddenly transformed itself into a venue worth visiting for its food alone? For inspiration, look to the Bonnie Badger in golfing Gullane, the reincarnation of the former unremarkable Golf Inn on the main street. The bricks and mortar work here has been radical, not least the rediscovery of the towering raftered loft space in what was once the stables, now the new dining room, with its honey-coloured original sandstone walls restored and brought back to life, the whole space warmed by a crackling open fire.

Sympathetic yet thorough is how I’d describe the makeover, and it comes hand-in-hand with terrific food, the sort that’s not a flash in the pan, but predicated on deep professionalism, just what you’d expect from any operation masterminded by the heavyweight Michelin chef Tom Kitchin, whose leitmotif is rigorously seasonal ingredients prepared 100% on the premises.

Anyone who works in a Kitchin-led kitchen gets a profound professional training, no shortcuts permitted. All the butchering, for instance, is in-house. You could say it amounts to control freakery; if so, it’s freakery in the customer’s favour. So when most country inns might serve you as nibbles a few bought-in olives, some average olive oil and tinny balsamic to dip your boring bread in, here we’re tucking into Kitchin’s signature sticks of pork crackling and crispy pigs ear, and home-made parsnip, beetroot, potato, and carrot crisps.

If the menu has a theme, I’d say it’s Scottish and homespun, but that doesn’t mean amateur, or couthy. So in dry January I’m grateful to be sipping away fashionably on Kombucha fermented from Darjeeling tea that lives up to its description: “hints of rhubarb and white peach”. It sets me up for pumpkin soup, smoother than any home cook ever got it. In it sit three ravioli stuffed with intriguingly seasoned crowdie. Allspice or nutmeg perhaps? They’ve got me guessing. Swirls of pumpkin seed oil and toasted pumpkin seeds underscore the often elusive character of this orange member of the cucurbit family. It costs £6, a typical tariff for pub food, but this one oozes effort. Now here’s the dressed crab, not the wet, long-chilled, factory-cleaned crab that turns up on the fishmonger’s slab, but lots of white meat, creamy, lemony, bright with dill, on a dainty shredded lettuce salad that’s lubricated with avocado.

Steak pie here bears no resemblance to the greasy-lidded, mean-with-the-meat offerings that frequently bear this name. It would easily feed two, a luscious stew loaded with wine-softened meat, punctuated with molten onions, diced carrot, and mushroom. I break into the impeccable flaky pastry- free from any gooey underbelly- gingerly, because it’s steaming hot. It’s held up by ring of marrowbone filed with gelatinous marrow gravy that cascades into the stew pie, enriching it further. My side order of buttery kale and spinach partners it perfectly.

Homemade beef sausages? Now these are something else. They have the gelatinous quality of a Tunisian merguez crossed with the softly minced, succulent crumbliness of ‘square’ or ‘Lorne’ sausage- a felicitous hybrid. Puy lentils soaking in sticky, bacon-enriched juices accompany these stunners, the only off-notes are the pickling onions (too hard) and the greasy, deep-fried onion rings, which overdo the allium element and gild a lily that definitely doesn’t need gilded. These bangers are bliss; all they need is potato purée.

You won’t get desserts this accomplished in a humble country inn. The first, a dome of hollow meringue, filled with yogurt panna cotta and astringent, citrus-citrus-like sea buckthorn curd, served with a sorbet of green apple, apple balls capped with candied citrus (possibly kumquat). The second, a faultless treacle tart with pastry as short as pastry can be that merges into a lemony, faintly gingery filling that has a consistency somewhere between frangipane and roly-poly, flanked by a quenelle of clotted cream with a tangle of candied lemon zest on top.

Don’t let the twee name mislead you. The Bonnie Badger is brilliant, and in Tom Kitchin’s capable hands. Will likely stay that way.

Bonnie Badger, Main Street, Gullane 01620 621 111

Food: 9 and a half/10

Atmosphere: 9/10

Value for money: 9/10

Service: 10/10