The Hop Pole Inn, Limpley Stoke

More oooh! than the backdrop for a Richard Curtis romcom, more aaaah! than an illustration for a Beatrix Potter storybook: that’s the vibe that seduces you as you make your leafy-lined way from Bath city centre to the pastoral paradise that is Limpley Stoke, the historic little village nestling on the outskirts of the equally picturesque villages of Freshford and Midford, a splash away from the banks of the Kennet and Avon Canal and laden with ancient landmarks. 

At the epicentre of Limpley Stoke life lies The Hop Pole Inn, a merrymaking zone with origins that probably date back to the mid- to late-1500s and, if used as an ale house from its earliest date, could be one of the oldest surviving public houses in England. What we do know for sure is that The Hop Pole has been in operation on the same site since 1580… until it was closed down in 2018 and earmarked to be sold to housing developers. 

In a grand act of defiance, the Limpley Stoke Community Benefit Society took the pub over in 2022, and were given six weeks to raise almost £400,000 to keep it in safe hands; a challenge that the local community ran with. It’s been a long, hard task, but scroll forward to January of this year, and the results of The Hop Pole’s £1.3m renovation were revealed; today, the inn is making modern-day history all of its own. 

Now thriving again under the confident, considerate and cheerful curatorship of on-site tenants Hannah Randall – a hospitality queen with years of experience – and her chef-partner Charlie Rawlings (who grew up on a farm just up t’road from the pub and trained at the illustrious Le Gavroche before further honing his skills as a head chef in the super-yacht sector), The Hop Pole is a paean to the unique charms of a properly good country pub.

Beyond the impressively handsome stone architrave/heavy oak front door, the pub’s interior tells its own story without any contemporary flimflam to detract from the beauty of its venerable heritage: steadfast flagstones underfoot, original beams overhead and stone walls softened by flickering candlelight dictate the linger-long vibe in both the bar and dining room, with classic chunky farmhouse furniture throughout turning the whole affair into an inviting oasis of traditional inn hospitality and a gorgeous garden-in-progress out back.

The menus, meanwhile, are as seasonal and subject to change as the newspaper headlines that only a proper pub like this one can offer respite from, flaunting a commendable farm-to-fork policy and using many ingredients that have travelled a far shorter distance to reach Charlie’s kitchen than we had, at downhome prices that make all of it accessible to all.

“We’re in a Vermeer painting!,” Mike observed as our wine landed on our corner table in the understatedly atmospheric dining room along with four generous slices of perfect focaccia to complete the evocative tableau. Vermeer? I was thinking, this is what a night out in Nell Gwynn’s local might have been like – similar difference, but you get the general idea. 

A starter of Beef Scrumpet – similar to a Bath Chap, but with yet more umami complexity further complemented by a lively Sauce Ravigote –  kept us on the strumpet/crumpet debate for a little while, before two more starters-to-share (a beautifully-balanced Prawn and Crayfish Cocktail modernised and reinvigorated by the simple but clever addition of sesame prawn toast, and a Crab Cake absolutely laden – and I mean, laden – with fresh, sweet crab) fast-forwarded us bang up-to-date again; if you’re after a taste of proper pub grub 2025 style, you’ve come to the right place.

The pie of the day (chicken, on the evening we visited) tasted like a proper pie should taste: super-soft chicken wrapped in rich, perfectly-seasoned gravy tucked under a flaky shortcrust pastry lid and served with a cloud of super-velvety mash. We shared a massively flavoursome sirloin steak too, which proved that ‘cutting like butter’ isn’t just a careworn cliché and came with a softly peppery, refreshingly non-overwhelming peppercorn sauce and fabulously frangible proper chips. 

We had a taste of lemon and lime tart too – posset-y indulgence neatly sliced from the thinnest, crispest pastry case – and a featherlight caramelised chocolate mousse French-ed up with ‘boozy prunes’ (brandy soakage, I’m guessing?), candied pecan nuts adding snap and crunch to a perfect pudding.

And lo, our feast was over, the moon had risen in the vast open skies over the Limpley Stoke Valley and it was time to hop off – with a firm promise to hop back soon at our earliest opportunity.

In summary, The Hop Pole wraps both the past and the present up in one glorious ancient-meets-modern parcel. Its most recent history tells a tale of the power of community spirit and triumph over adversity; its right here, right now modus operandi represents a flawless example of a quintessentially English country pub with a brilliant future ahead of it… and who wouldn’t want to say cheers! to that?