Just 30 mins from Euston’s perennial building site lies the leafy Chilterns market town of Berkhamsted, Berko to the locals (of which, full disclosure, I am one). Whether you arrive by train, the A41 that snakes this way not so very far from the M25, or the more sedate Grand Union Canal, this is undeniably commutersville. And that means plenty of London dollars and pretty knowledgeable, not to say demanding, diners. Chains predictably have a tough time – but what’s bad news for retail investment consortia is excellent news for the local independent places and those who patronise them. But they have to be good to thrive: Berko can be withering in its judgement, politely but clearly voting with its feet.

There are plenty of good foodie places here – just good, no more – and some a little prosaic. The five below are, to my mind, the true standouts, delightful destinations that belie their small-town setting. You can choose between a rather swanky Turkish place, a great Italian that isn’t Italian at all, genial hipster types with coffee and brunch on their minds, authentic Greek home cooking and the second outpost of Marlow’s original indie wine merchant/bar.

This is probably the chicest Turkish restaurant I’ve been to this side of Istanbul. Together with a couple of glam sisters in St Albans and Harpenden it has been delighting the discerning folk of Hertfordshire for a few years now, mercifully obliterating memories of the dismal Chinese restaurant that occupied the premises before. Once you’ve fought your way past the velvet-curtained entrance you’re into a world of comfily intimate banquettes and open-kitchened fireworks. And how clever they have been to hide sound proofing boards amongst the lovely dangle of their filigree lighting (a trick so many other restaurants should employ). Service is great: perky and prompt but without any sense of rush. Ingredients are organically sourced too, I understand.

Its small-and-larger-plate dinning, so you’ll enquire as to how many dishes per person would be optimal. And then you’ll completely ignore the advice, ordering a couple extra for good measure. Well done. You’d be foolish to pass over the “bread and dips” section of the menu. There are some interestingly different things here (Kuymak for example, a traditional melted cheese and cornmeal affair) and even the familiar houmous, labneh or babaganus are elevated with libations of truffle oil or pops of confit garlic. And their pitta is a delightful, tasty, billowing hug (as far removed as it is possible to be from the pallid insoles of supermarket infamy).

Amongst the small plates you’ll find excellently handled traditional ingredients like aubergine, artichokes, harissa and sumac rubbing shoulders harmoniously with tuna tartare, merguez and flourishes of beetroot crisps. The larger plates beckon with promises of barley risotto and slow-cooked lamb shoulder (v. good indeed), apricot ‘n olive stuffed chicken with barberries and tarragon cream sauce (again, excellent) and some good, char-grilled things. There’s baklava and helva/halva/halwa for pud (of course) together with a provocatively named Aegean Mess. The latter featuring caramelised peaches and Chantilly cream as well as mastic (the ancient resin flavouring of the eastern Med) in its crème pâtissière.

I am far from an expert on Turkish wine, but I have a friend in the industry who is. She recommended the white and red by Vinkara both made from indigenous Turkish grapes (white Hasandede – in which Vinkara is somewhat a pioneer – and black Öküzgözü, respectively). The producer even has a traditional-method sparkling on the menu which might prove an interesting alternative to the usual fizz.

There’s a disproportionate number of Italian restaurants in town, but this one is not Italian – it’s Sicilian. And it’s a particularly good one at that. It began life as a small pasticceria called, baldly, I Love Food. It served a mixture of crispy, flaky cornetti-type things to appeal to your inner Don Corleone and more vernacular British cakiness. It was lovely and successful enough to grow first into a scrubbed-table and tumbler-of-rosso place and then into something more glamorous again. Today, the décor hints at the kind of velvet and gold drama that only the Italians (and Sicilians!) can pull off, but it’s matched by a relaxing jungle of foliage and some startling white ceramics set against the deep marine of the walls. Being Sicilian, there’s even the odd Testa di Moro – like the ones in White Lotus, only classier.

From cicchetti to dolce, there a whole heap of Sicilian and regional cooking on display here. You must order the Sgombro in Carpione if only to practice your finest baritone/alto Italian. This is surely a dish to sing out and sing about. The island-dwelling Sicilians, quite rightly, don’t have the same distain for mackerel (sgombro) as us foolish Brits. Here it’s served with an agro dolce sauce of onions and sultanas so typical of the local cuisine. I am, in general, a sworn enemy of arancini, those invariably disappointing, arid cousins of risotto’s creamy largesse. Rosanna’s are certainly better than most but little “mezze lune” filled with n’duja or the funghi pizzette with truffle oil are I think more interesting propositions to launch your evening.

It’s the pasta though that really captures the heart. It reminds you just how good a simple plate of pasta can be (and so often isn’t). I don’t know if its home-made – I didn’t care to ask with my mouth stuffed full of rigatoni – but I suspect it is. It doesn’t really matter, as good, dried pasta is (heresy alert) often just as nice. It’s a secret many a nonna keeps closely guarded (especially if she want the morning off to watch the footie). The norma here is a delight, fragrant and enlivened with salted ricotta. The pesto di pistachio is even better. Its khaki tones don’t photograph well, but the dish is utterly delicious – complex, elegant and comforting. 

Do leave some room for the puds as there is a very deft pastry hand in the kitchen. The wine selection is heavy on southern Italy and Sicily, as it should be. Given that these areas are producing great wines, it’s a joy to have such a tightly focused list. Or try Chinotto – that lovely soda made from sour chinotto oranges. It’s great when you want a rest from all that Etna Bianco and Nerello Mascalese. Come back for brunch - less Sicilian to be sure but cooked with the same skill and love.

There's a seemingly bottomless appetite for coffee and cake in this town. All the major chains are represented and scattered amongst them are a number of more interesting independents. Some major on the bread and cake with incidental coffee and others foreground the grind, offering the odd nibbly bit to go with. Sitting proudly on the High St opposite the rather lovely parish church, Fred & Ginger is definitely coffee-forward with all that entails: flashes of chrome through the milk steam, the clatter of cups and the lactic thud of flat-white jugs providing the harmony to the locals' melodious chitter-chatter. Evoking more of a hipster-cloth-cap and red-beardy vibe than it does the 1930s dancing duo, there are a few tables ‘n chairs outside in the kinder months (usually with a dog or two tethered beneath) and a range of small, intimate tables and larger trestles inside. Thankfully, you can also take your pooch inside on those inclement day to enjoy the interior pitched somewhere between industrial NYC loft and shabby chic, raw-plastered scandi-dom. 

The coffee is the star of the show with a goodly selection of roasts, preparations and alt. milks covering pretty much all bases. The range of breakfast and lunch food stuffs is pert and well curated (good granolas, a bit of patisserie, sarnies 'n salads and some sausage rollery etc.), all served by a lovely array of beaming folk of the occasional piercing and dungaree type. Patrons are a mix of the breakfasting n’ brunching, knitted-brow speedsters snaffling takeaway brews and the odd creative type pouring over a laptop whilst guzzling one too many oat cappuccinos (any resemblance to the author is merely coincidental).

It's a place to linger, offering a genuine welcome and coffee good enough to consider that (usually unwise) third cup. I'm willing them to open the place in the evenings for scrubbed-table and carafes-of-wine fun. A tight menu of French classics is what the town needs: a daily special, a resident cassoulet, peerless frites and the odd passing crustacean. If you're reading this Fred (or indeed Ginger!), more than happy to design the menu for you for a really very reasonable fee.

The Greeks are a cheery lot (when they’re not bearing gifts or arguing about philosophy). And at the Olive Tree, there’s a lot to cheer about. The place is unmissable roadside, Greek blue and white set off nicely by the pink of the bougainvillea that climbs up the exterior (not real, but nicer than that sounds). It’s a little like the set of Mama Mia but with better food and less (although, like all Greek places, not zero) chance of spontaneous song. The pink planting continues inside where everything relaxes into a pleasingly Hellenic sway: exposed cyclopean stonework and photos of very Greek Greekness, windmills, fishing boats, (real) bougainvillea-filled streets. Staff are young, chipper and very happy to help with your attempts at pronouncing “melitzanosalata” (not a word designed for Anglo Saxon soft palates). There's a nice buzz about the place: it just feels like somewhere you're going to be fed well. And you are.

The menu is a roll call of meze delights. Again, the “dips ‘n pitta” are not to be overlooked (here they are homier, if no less tasty) and the filo feta wrap, crisply fried and anointed with sweet syrup, is so much better than the slightly prosaic name suggests. Meats come char-grilled and juicy (the likes of souvlakia and loukaniko sausages) or roasted slow into bifteki yemisto and delightful lamb croquettes that match unctuous lamb shoulder with light goat’s cheese mousse. The spanakopita is very nice indeed, shattery and squidgy in equal measure as it should be. The moussaka is really very good too – they call it their signature dish, with some justification. 

Good things from the sea too, octopus with fava bean puree and crispy capers, and calamari with saffron aioli reminding you just how good decent quality squid, freshly fried, can be. The gigandes – huge butter beans enrobed in lovely tomato sauce spiked with dill – make an excellent vegetable counterpoint. Puds, never really the eastern Med’s strong point, come in the shape of kataifi (baklava’s hirsute cousin) and portokalopita (a trad orange-syrup-infused sponge affair).

Greek wine is undergoing something of a renaissance: good for the Greeks and good for us. I’m rather fond of the Retsina of yore but admit it’s an acquired taste. There’s a more à la mode Assyrtiko here from Athanasiou (in Nemea) and a Vidiano (a much lesser-known white grape that hails from Crete). Athanasiou provides a red as well, in the shape of their fruit-laden “Thronos” made from 100% Agiorgitiko.

Real wine enthusiasts should head to Grape Expectations wine shop and bar where they will find a playground of interesting bottles ranging from the reassuringly familiar to the nicely aspirational. This is the second outpost of the business (the original is in Marlow, Bucks) where they continue their great formula of wine bar come merchant allowing you to sip in or take away at leisure. The building is a bit of ugly-bug modernism from the outside, but inside is dark and cosy – the perfect mix of elegant and informal. It’s very good for whiling away a few hours with a friend – human or bottle-shaped. Staff are agreeable and knowledgeable, welcoming to those who know their Riesling from their Rolle and those who are simply wine-curious.

There is a well-curated menu of wines by the glass but much more fun can be had by grabbing a bottle from the shelves and paying the small corkage fee. It’s a brilliant way to try something new and exciting without paying the vast mark-ups you typically find in restaurants. The range is good, touching all expected bases and augmented with some genuinely interesting finds (I’ve got my hands on Max Ferd. Richter’s excellent German Pinot Noir here, as well as one of my favourite [affordable] Henschke wines – Henry’s Seven). Good sharing platters of artisan cheese, charcuterie and bowls of salted almonds etc. are on hand too for when you start to flag.

The place runs a schedule of events, tastings, producer showcases and the like. I’ve been to a couple and they are relaxed and hugely enjoyable. It’s a really good place in which to gather for an aperitif or two before sauntering off to one of the local restos (Rosanna’s is virtually next door for example). Pub wine lists are almost always an afterthought so a place that really knows its grapes is thoroughly to be encouraged. Alternatively, its more than possible to spend a whole evening here grazing as if in your own wine cellar, pausing here and there for a mouthful of Baron Bigod or the odd passing truffle crisp.

Characterful canal-side pub lauded by CAMRA for its cider and craft beer. Regular cheese club/quiz nights with fish-n’-chip interval.

Off-shoot of an Amersham mothership, all the good bread and pastry action you need. And Basque cheesecake.

More delightful Sicilians and they certainly know their pizza. Authentic, impeccably sourced ingredients.

Hipster sushi hangout. Proper-grade fish, properly prepared. Proper.

Not quite Berkhamsted but definitely worth the walk up into the beautiful Ashridge AONB. Muddy boots (and Stilettos), roaring fires, great food.

Unassuming little gem, this super-friendly Chinese resto offers genuinely different food cooked with skill and obvious pride.