If you’re driving through North Devon, perhaps heading to the beautiful beaches of north and west Devon, consider stopping for dinner at the Stag Inn in Rackenford. We were on our way for a Bank Holiday weekend break in Devon, and our stylish B & B hosts recommended it. I’ve started asking locals for recommendations whenever possible because they often suggest great places that aren’t in every guidebook, and this was one of those gems.

Just five minutes off the A361 between Taunton and Barnstable, you’ll drive into Rackenford and spot the egg yolk yellow thatched inn, reputed to be the oldest pub in Devon, dating back to 1197.

Inside, the pub has recently come under new ownership and has been spruced up in true gastropub style with yellow walls and sage green wainscoting, and a smarter dining area at the back. The ancient charm remains, with a black dog dozing in front of the open fire, low beams to watch your head on, and a bar made of huge slabs of wood and paneling taken from some ancient ship.

As we were the first customers of the evening, we snagged the seat by the fire and checked out the menu chalked up on the blackboard. The food was delicious, with much of the meat and vegetables coming from the local organic farm owned by the owner’s family. I had to laugh at the fancy descriptions given to the food in places like this with foodie aspirations.

We could have chosen pork sausages in mash with red wine gravy (otherwise known as sausage & mash) or red ruby organic sirloin fillet with cherry tomatoes, pepper sauce, and chips (otherwise known as steak & chips).

In the end, I opted for some seasonal asparagus with a fried duck egg on top and some very tasty pork chops in a cider sauce, washed down with some Sam’s dry Devon cider.

Next to us was a cheerful family from London heading for a beach break at the coast at Croyde, enjoying fish & chips (or was that beer-battered cod with crushed peas and chips?). Soon, the place was filling up with locals having a pint or two between games of darts.

The only slightly jarring note was the 80s compilation playing in the background – remember Boy George and Karma Chameleon? Not sure I want to. We leafed through the local paper for riveting stories of how the latest Best Cornish Pasty Award had been won by (shock horror) a company from Devon.

Just as the evening was warming up, we left to continue our short drive down the narrow back lanes to our Bed and Breakfast.