I drove 90 minutes to eat at Clarkson's pub — 1 thing I wish I'd known first

Daily Mirror

08-07-2025

I have to say it: I love Clarkson's Farm. This has very much come as a shock to me, since I'm one of those people whose default starting position on anything popular is to immediately dislike it.
But the Amazon Prime Video series is a joy. It's funny, sad, entertaining and informative but I think what I love the most is how passionate the show's biggest star is about farming and all the highs and lows that come it.
There have been four series of Clarkson's Farm so far, and there's a fifth in the works. A major theme of the first three series was Clarkson's attempt to open a restaurant on Diddly Squat Farm so he could sell the meat he rears and veg he grows (as well as that of surrounding farms). But the council (and some of his neighbours) are having none of it, so Clarkson has to give up on that ambition and "thought instead of building a restaurant we would buy a pub".
The result is The Farmer's Dog about 10 miles south of the farm on the side of the A40 as it winds through the Oxfordshire countryside. I booked a table here having watched the first three series and was over the moon to get one for Sunday lunch (I also went to Clarkson's farm shop but took one look and left).
But because I hadn't yet watched series four of Clarkson's Farm, which focuses on his attempts to buy and open the new pub, I was missing a big chunk of its story. And I wish I'd known about it before setting off. With Clarkson's heart set on the pub, which used to be known as The Windmill, and the five acres or so around it, for which he reportedly paid "less than £1 million", he discovered it used to be a "dogging" site.
In one episode, Clarkson is left with his head in his hands when his lawyer breaks this news to him on the phone and describes how "we have happened across some quite interesting photographs which capture... certain goings on".
These photographs concerned the public toilets that were once on the site, where they also learned that holes had been drilled between cubicles ("I don't think that was to improve ventilation", says the lawyer). Clarkson heads back to the pub after the call and uncovers further evidence for himself, including a pair or black knickers stuffed in a tree and a condom wrapper. It was seemingly an open secret in the area. A further headache came from the fact that a large part of the site was designated a public picnic area that the pub's owner could not refuse access to. This made the pub's story even richer and I valued all the more the effort that went into turning it into what it is now and all the obstacles overcome in the process.
One thing that really seemed to annoy council officials and some neighbours of Clarkson's original farm shop was the huge number of people visiting, clogging up the surrounding roads and parking on grass verges. So I was expecting it to be busy. But I wasn't expecting this. I've been to smaller music festivals.
There was a full-blown security and parking operation guiding arrivals into an enormous adjacent field with hundreds, if not thousands, of cars already parked in it. Visitors streamed like ants in formation between car park and pub and the stunned "bloody hell!" I heard from a fellow visitor pretty much sums up what I was thinking too.
I'd naively thought that, given I had a lunch reservation (secured easily, several weeks earlier, on the pub website) it would be a quiet affair. After all, only so many people can fit in a pub, right? Wrong. Oh, so wrong.
The first signs that we were not just out at an average local pub for Sunday lunch came a few hundred yards from our destination when the queues of cars and motorbikes started. Stewards in high-vis jackets directed us to a nearby field where, despite the numbers, we got a parking space easily (the queues on the road were short-lived too, to be fair, and I didn't even come close to losing my rag). Once parked, it was a short walk across the road to the pub.
The place was buzzing with activity, with scores of people queuing outside the pub, perhaps hoping to snag a walk-in table, grab a pint or snap a quick photo. Fortunately, with a reservation, we were able to bypass the line, thanks to a dedicated staff member who expertly ushered us to the front.
As we had arrived an hour ahead of our lunchtime booking, we decided to explore the pub's surroundings, which included a spacious shop, an outdoor bar, and an expansive beer garden. Thousands of patrons were soaking up the sunshine, perched on wooden benches or lounging on the grass, savouring a pint of Jeremy Clarkson's signature Hawkstone beer and taking in the breathtaking views of the Cotswolds countryside that the TV personality is so enamoured with.
The on-site shop offered a range of products, including crates and gift packs of the beer, as well as jams, marmalades, honey, candles and branded merchandise. There was a butcher too. I ended up purchasing a crate of lager (£28 for 12 bottles) and a £12 jar of honey harvested from the bees on Diddly Squat Farm.
A few minutes shy of our 1 pm lunch reservation, we made our way back to the pub entrance, where we were promptly directed to head inside and track down a man by the name of John ("he looks like me but he's bald and he loves Welsh people"). Easy to spot, John led us to our table — arguably the best spot in the pub.
It was nestled in a cosy corner right next to the glass doors that opened onto the expansive outdoor terrace. So, we had the best of both worlds — a view of the entire interior and the fresh breeze and sunlight from outside. It was perfect.
Much like Clarkson does on his hit Amazon Prime show (being here, I was beginning to grasp how much of a hit it really was), the pub advertises its support for local farms. A chalkboard on the wall credits local farmers Vanessa Hartley and Nick Sinden, as well as Rectory Farm, among their current suppliers.
We ordered a pint of Hawkstone Black stout (£7) and a half-pint of Hawkstone lager (£3.50). They were fantastic, and as we waited for our food, we watched the staff bustling around the busy pub, carrying plates heaped with generous and appetising Sunday roasts, occasionally stepping over a dog lounging at its owner's feet.
There was a pianist serenading us from a grand piano near the entrance, a constant queue at the bar for drinks, and an infectious feel-good vibe permeating the whole place. Everyone seemed thrilled to be there, myself included.
My starter, a plate of cold-smoked Bibury trout (£11.50), was gorgeos — thick slices of flavourful trout that outshone any smoked salmon I've ever tasted. Having visited the local Bibury trout farm just two days prior made it all taste even better somehow, as did the accompanying horseradish cream and watercress salad.
For my main, I opted for the dual-meat option featuring beef and pork (£26), the only two meats available. They came with whole roasted potatoes, roasted carrots and parsnips, spring greens, red cabbage, cauliflower cheese, Yorkshire pudding, and a stout-based gravy.
It's challenging to articulate how one excellent pub Sunday roast is better than another so I won't try too hard. This one was generous, tasty and largely faultless (I could probably have done with a drop more of the delicious gravy).
There was also a single meat option for £2 less, and vegetarians could enjoy a Wye Valley asparagus dish with pea pearl barley and a poached egg. However, there didn't seem to be any options for vegans, which may or may not have been intentional given the owner.
Despite being too stuffed for dessert, we couldn't help but admire the Eton mess (£10.50) and poached rhubarb crumble cake served with Cotswolds ice cream (£10.50) that were whisked past our table. Both looked tempting.
Our meal was polished off within the hour, and the bill for two mains, a starter, and a couple of drinks totalled £80 (service included). Before departing, I took a moment to absorb more of the venue's unique atmosphere, venturing upstairs (which was also packed), and finally spotting the full-sized tractor suspended from the ceiling above the pianist that I'd somehow overlooked upon entering.
Jeremy Clarkson and Amazon Prime have created a phenomenon. But don't let that put you off. The queue for the car park was no more than a few minutes at most and that was the only waiting we did. Thanks to our reservation, we were straight in through the front door and we didn't need to queue at the shop for our beer and honey either.
My over-riding impression of the huge crowd was how happy we all were to be there. If you wanted a beer (inside or outside) or something from the butcher, you should probably expect a queue, but that's pretty much it.
I felt a bit guilty about being one of the hordes of people taking over what was presumably a quiet and anonymous part of Oxfordshire 12 months ago, but reports suggest most people in the area are happy to have the pub.
I'm glad I went and will remember it for a long time. Pubs aren't only about food, they're about how they make you feel. And I loved every second of this trip.