Whenever I’ve moved one of the joys of living somewhere new is checking out the local pubs.

I look at those within a five-mile-or-so radius around then check out the outsides when driving by.

For those that pass that test, I have a mental checklist to tick off - does it have a good range of proper beer (by which I mean not fizzy weak lager)?

Does it have a menu that does not sound like it’s brought in by food service delivery every morning?

If it gets through this, then it gets the Sunday lunch test.

Anywhere that cannot produce a roast as good as (or better) than I can do at home is off the list.

Many a pub has stumbled at this hurdle.

When it came to The Potting Shed in Crudwell, I knew it passed stages one and two, time meant we had to assume the Sunday lunch would pass muster.

Anyhow, it came with a glowing recommendation from my brother – a man whose judgement I trust when it comes to this sort of thing.

And so on a scorching evening (my birthday actually) we made the journey from the next village down to The Potting Shed.

It is, it’s fair to say, a bit of a looker – all charming stone and hanging baskets on the outside and beams and flagstone floors once you’re in.

It was already busy when we arrived early evening, which is always a good sign – a mix of post-work pinters and early-evening eaters.

Our table was in half-sun, which was lovely (although by the time it came to puds we have to head for the shade in the garden!).

And so to the main event – the food. While I waited for my pint of Butcombe Gold, I eyed up the specials board. Calling out loudly was a delicious-sounding hake dish, and a whole sole with caper butter.

We sat and gave the menu our full consideration – well we did anyway, my children chose the burger in 0.01 seconds as usual.

My head was turned by the rarely-seen-on-a-menu nduja.

For those who don’t know, it’s a spicy, almost spreadable spicy sausage from Italy. Traditionally made with pork shoulder and belly with roasted peppers and spices, it’s quite the thing.

Like a turbo chorizo with added afterburn, it’s a once-tasted-never-forgotten kind of thing. And one I like. A lot. But be warned - it’s got some zip...

But luckily for me, my wife chose that dish – a vast pork chop, topped with the nduja and served with sauteed potatoes. I went for the sole with triple-cooked chips, while secretly planning a raid on the chop.

When the mains came I had a moment of regret.

The chop, the nduja, the potatoes – oh my, they looked good.

But then the sole came. It was perfectly cooked, just flaking off the bone with crunchy chips to dredge through the capery butter. In short, yum.

And the pork, a thick ribbon of fat cooked to velvety softness, the spice of the salami, was quite special.

Both dishes were cooked with care in a way it’s impossible to fake on the plate.

And so to pudding. The children went for ice cream – raspberry for her, ginger for him. The smiles and sticky faces told their own story about eight seconds after the bowls had been put down.

I had the chocolate pudding which came with a sharp-as-you-like raspberry sorbet to balance the rich sweetness. My wife went for the crowd-pleasing sticky toffee pud. Obviously, I had to try this.

It was lighter than your traditional STP, but none the worse for it.

All told we had a lovely meal.

So it might be a bit of a schlep from Swindon, but if you’re out in that direction, it’s well worth a detour (even if it’s just to try the nduja).