Portabella Tenderloin—two four-ounce beef tenderloins topped with grilled portabella mushrooms and a balsamic au jus sauce. Chicken Gorgonzola—chicken breast with white wine, garlic, mushrooms, artichoke hearts and green onions. Finished with gorgonzola cheese and served over angel hair pasta. Greek Salad with Chicken—with Romaine lettuce, red cabbage, onion, tomato, feta cheese, pepperoncini and Wellington's own Greek dressing. The Pub Club—roast turkey, bacon, lettuce, cheese, sliced tomato & mayo piled high on three pieces of bread.

Hertel Avenue boasts a long and varied strip of restaurants, in the heart of a comfortable city neighborhood. Near the middle of this district sits the Wellington Pub, directly next door to a local fixture: Bob and John’s Pizzeria. Bob and John Hazelet, a pair of brothers, had run the pizzeria for several years when the bar fell empty and they decided that opening a pub would be fun.

So in 1984 they set up shop next door, to try their hand at running a bar. They thought that a British-themed pub would be nice, as they were of English extraction, but given the Irishness of the neighborhood and the turbulence of British-Irish politics at the time, they were eager to avoid giving offense. One of their wives was of Irish ancestry, and so they decided to have memorabilia from both nations.

Their antique Irish flag was stolen off the wall long ago during a rowdy night at the bar, so all that remains of their pair of antique flags is the British one. Politics have cooled down in the ensuing decades, so nobody makes much of it. But I, having traveled a bit in the British Isles, can assure you that the fare at the Wellington is far better than any you’d find in a real pub in any of Britain’s islands.

My guest and I ordered that night’s special, the shrimp quesadillas ($7.95), as an appetizer. They were tasty, with a smoky homemade chunky salsa, crunchy peppers, crisp shrimp, all smothered generously in cheese. We devoured the quesadillas in record time.

I ordered B&J’s Special ($5.50) from their extensive menu of sandwiches. It consists of peameal bacon and cheddar cheese on a kaiser roll. I had never considered making a sandwich from Canadian bacon, but it turns out it’s a great idea. It was three quarter-inch slices of peameal bacon with real cheddar melted all over them, and for $1 I upgraded the side of potato chips to seasoned curly fries. The curly fries were crispy, well-fried, exemplary.

My guest tried the hot roast beef dinner ($9.95). It sounded like the sort of thing I’ve had a million times before—roast beef and gravy over white bread, with steak fries on the side—but it was surprisingly good, above and beyond expectation. The gravy, far from the salty, canned stuff one would expect, was a homemade, slightly sweet, mushroomy concoction. When he asked for vinegar to put on his fries, my guest was overjoyed to be given real malt vinegar rather than the more common distilled vinegar. Between bites, he dubbed his dinner “proper.” Likewise, the salad that came out before his dinner looked unexceptional, but the wonderful and creamy dill dressing—the dill dressing, it turned out, was homemade, from the chef’s own recipe—soaked the buttery croutons and made the thing much more than the usual blah dinner salad.

The Wellington’s chef, Mark Meager, has been with the pub since the beginning, with a short hiatus, and has perfected a number of homemade recipes. I failed to sample their wings ($7.75 for 10), as I had believed they were the same as the exemplary ones served by the pizzeria next door (which I get every time I want pizza and wings, which is saying something in spoilt-for-choice Buffalo), but the owner, Kim Hazelet, assured me they were not. The Wellington’s barbeque sauce is homemade, and a host of other subtle distinctions separate the two restaurants. So wings from the Wellington have gone back onto my to-eat list. (Doesn’t everyone have one of those lists? A necessity, in Buffalo, where there is so much to try).

I already knew their burgers ($5.95-$7.95) were excellent, so I didn’t order one of those either, nor the fish fry, as it was Tuesday, but these are all things that you ought to try when you visit the Wellington. They offer their locally famous fish fries two days a week: Wednesdays and Fridays, from 11am until they run out—and they do run out. They also offer homemade Irish soda bread on Fridays, until it runs out. And it does. It is also worth mentioning that the place has an appealing kids’ menu, if your interest is piqued.

The Wellington’s selection of beers is respectable, with the usual suspects on tap and a fairly large stash of reasonably exotic bottles, all around average prices. The cozy bar sits near the entrance, with the dining room beyond it to the left as you enter, and then a wide patio out front that connects to the patio of the neighboring pizzeria. The restaurant and bar stay open fairly late, and there is a large room at the back where a sizable party could be reasonably private. Late on a Tuesday night, while we were there, a group of friends had claimed a table beside us, and were deeply embroiled in catching up with one another. The congenial young waiter, whisking by on his way to and from the busy patio, seemed to know everyone, and made sure everyone had whatever they wanted.

We had intended to save room for dessert but our entrees filled us up. Instead we sat with the owner for a few moments, finishing our beers and chatting about the restaurant. Apparently she runs the bar while her husband runs the pizzeria next door, having inherited both restaurants a few years ago from her husband’s parents. The place is a low-key sort of joint, well-lit and clean and not too loud, unpretentious and perfect for sitting and chatting or quietly watching the game. Hazelet mentioned their new specialty, the pot roast dinner: Pot roast has a bad rep, she says, but their version is a tender and loving sort with onions and mushrooms on garlic bread ($10.95). It has been selling well, and it has been added to my to-eat list.

That and the soda bread. I have to come back for that soda bread.