Words and images by Nicolas Payne-Baader

Despite leaving Hereford to go to acting school in London, it wasn’t long before Tom Jones found himself working in kitchens across the capital. Having grown up in prime beef country, Tom noticed a vast disconnect between even the best restaurants and the ways their meat was being raised. Determined that he could do better, and bring together these estranged parts of the food system, Tom started approaching restaurants in London. Eventually, he found himself a key player in the rise of British seasonal food, the name Tom Jones almost a byword for high quality meat.

“Come on, we’re going to go see some sheep,” Tom declares as we sweep through the sunny fields of Herefordshire. Tom Jones has been a fixture on the menus of London’s best restaurants for the best part of two decades. We wander over to the sheep, some fluffy and white, straight out of a ladybird book, alongside stout little brown ones with stumpy tails. Tom soon identifies them as Ryelands, before launching into the lore around this squat little sheep. “There's all sorts of stories about their fleece,” he says. “Apparently Queen Victoria would only have Ryeland sheep socks, but they almost died out in the ‘70s.”

This breed is part of the history of the area, first bred by the monks of Leominster Priory and grazed on the rye lands which now gives them their name. Nowadays, with wool prices on the floor, they’re primarily used for meat. “They go fat like you wouldn’t believe,” says Tom with more than a hint of affection. “Once they go fat you’d have to stick them on concrete before they go back and it’s only Lyle’s and Quality Chop House that’ll stand a chop like that.” 

Being able to stand in a field on a sunny afternoon, look at a sheep and be able to tell what restaurant will be willing to accept it is not a normal skill. The meat trade is made up of many levels, with abattoirs, distributors and butchers all playing a part. Few farmers make it to the restaurants they supply and few chefs have time to go and see where the meat is coming from. “They’re just not in it,” explains Tom. “You turn up to market, drop the tailboard and you watch it be sold, but you have absolutely no idea where it’s going.”

Tom does things differently. He rears his own animals and works with a small number of farmers he knows, often taking animals at a young age and ‘finishing’ them, the final processes of fattening so they’re up to spec for kitchens. “That’s why a lot of farmers like to deal with us now,” says Tom. “Because they’re genuinely really interested in where it’s going, they go on Instagram and see it’s in a counter somewhere and think ‘oh that’s fucking cool’, it makes it all worthwhile.” It’s not a task that requires a deep knowledge of both how animals live and grow as well as what chefs are looking for. It means feeding the animals enough of the right thing to really bring out a great flavour without overfeeding them and creating too much fat. Then there’s understanding what chefs want and how they could use it, a very fatty pig might be perfect for charcuterie but have too much fat wastage for a chop. 

“Don’t tell them, but they're off on Sunday,” Tom says as we approach a pigsty, referring to the inhabitants’ final journey to the abattoir. Climbing over the wall, Tom starts pouring whey into the trough for a group of very jolly plump pigs. The whitish slop is a byproduct from Neal’s Yard’s  creamery, located just a few miles away. It’s the perfect food for creating complex fat and flavour. “They bloody love it,” Tom says smiling as the mix of Berkshire, Welsh Saddleback and Gloucester Old Spot pigs erupt in a flurry of contented snorts. Mention Tom’s name to most chefs and they’re eyes will fill with a slight wonderment. “Tom brings the farm with him weekly,” says Elliot Hashtroudi of Camille. “He’s one of few suppliers that puts restaurants first and allows a dynamic cohesion with city chefs and countryside farmers. Having someone so honest with their work and with farming has helped me develop as a chef, there’s no ask that won’t be met and no question unanswered.”

The rarity of being able to have one foot in a London kitchen and the other in the field has been a key to Tom’s success as well as a long term source of frustration. “Agriculture’s been taken away from the British public for years now,” he explains as we climb over a metal gate and into a field of cows. “We’re as far removed from agricultural knowledge as we’ve ever been and it’s getting worse.” The average age for a farmer is now 70 years old and in Tom’s view successive governments have failed to make it a more accessible industry to enter. “It’s just not a viable career for most young people,” he explains.

Whilst new laws around inheritance tax have come under fire and seen huge protests from farmers, Tom believes it was badly implemented but that the idea of breaking up huge farms and lowering land prices to let more people in was good. “Not to sound like a communist but I’d split it up, get younger, more diverse people into the industry, even if they have to make a gameshow out of it, if that’s what it takes,” he says. Land prices and tax breaks are of constant concern in farming. Since 1992, farms have been almost entirely exempt from inheritance tax meaning that they’ve become a tax haven for the wealthy driving prices up across the UK and making farming an increasingly expensive industry to try and enter. Farms have generally become larger, hoovering up much of the government subsidies and entering into farming practices which put cash before the quality of produce. 

Tom’s father invested in intensively farmed chicken, something Tom had no interest in. It’s a huge industry in this part of the country. Some farms have between 25,000 and 40,000 chickens kept in huge barns, slowly running out of space as they get bigger, reared from birth to death in less than 40 days without ever seeing the outside. “There’s a lot of greed and there’s money in that kind of thing,” says Tom, his disposition turning dark for the first time. “It causes a load of problems, it poisons rivers but then the chicken plant is the biggest local employer so it’s not something you can click your fingers and fix.” The former family farm next door to Tom’s house is still used as an industrial chicken farm, a spectral contrast to Tom’s methodology. His chicken coop has a couple of escapees from next door, not yet able to regrow all of their feathers. 

The huge barns are the opposite of Tom’s philosophy, one in which animals are cared for, rare breeds are appreciated and where he works for flavour and not output. “I was naturally born a conservationist,” he explains. “But I’m also interested in the different breeds and the traditions that were sniffed at by my father and grandfather.” Tom’s grandfather was known in the area for being one of the first to bring in larger, higher yield european cow breeds like the Charolais, a massive cow that can be easily fattened up but can often cause long term issues as well as replacing indigenous breeds and narrowing biodiversity.

Tom felt sure there was a better way and in 2003 he came back to work on his Uncle Gwynnes’ farm. When Gwynnes died in 2010 “He was 20 stone living with four sheepdogs in a basically derelict farmhouse,” Tom remembers. “His cattle were inbred and wild but he did have a small herd of sheep that had basically gone back to the land, they were living on spring water and fresh grass, the hardy bastards.” Given the opportunity, Tom was straight onto the farm, working to bring the place back into a good state and finding buyers for the meat in London. James Lowe of Lyle’s and Fergus Henderson of St John were two of the first people to take a risk on Tom’s farming, relationships that still last to this day. “St John came up a little while back and it blew their minds,” Tom chuckles. “They bought half the fridge which was nice.” 

It’s still a tough life and requires real graft to do what Tom does. “When I started 20 years ago, I thought that by now everyone would be doing this, going from the farm to the restaurant,” says Tom. “Now I don’t know anyone who’s doing it.” It’s hard graft, up at four in the morning to drive deliveries to London, back late at night and up again first thing to feed the animals. It’s a labour of love as much as a career but for Tom there’s always been a right and wrong way to farm, even if it puts him at odds with much of the community. “I was saying to plant some trees, leave the hedges, and people would respond that there was no money in it,” he says. “But they were only saying that because they’re not getting the most they can for their product.” Tom realised that by breaking away from the traditional parts of the industry and going directly to the people that use the product he could set a sustainable price and give people something they genuinely loved and wanted.

Tom’s latest venture is the culmination of much of this thinking and arguably his most ambitious project to date. Earlier this year, along with Mike Davies of The Camberwell Arms and Alex Keys, formerly head chef of Rochelle Canteen, Tom opened his own butcher in London They’ve moved into an arch in Spa Terminus, surrounded by like-minded food producers including Neal’s Yard, Natoora and The Ham and Cheese Company. On Fridays and Saturdays, they’re open to the public, allowing people to buy directly from Tom for the very first time. It’s also allowed Tom to whittle down the early morning runs into London and have meat aging for exactly as long as he needs. 

Back on the farm, we wander through a field of beans that are just coming into flower. I ask Tom if he sees his kids getting into farming. “It’s a great life, the way that I see it,” Tom says, stopping for a moment in the sunshine. “It’s very satisfying because of the people you meet and the places you can go. To get off the farm in the winter during weeks that are extremely challenging. Liquid shit, overcast skies, overcast mind. You don’t think January is going to end and then February comes round and it’s worse, Easter’s ages away. but then you get in the van, go down to London, concrete under your feet and people are enthused about what you’re bringing. It’s great, you come back to the farm buoyed. It’s not always the easiest but I love it so that helps.” 

We walk over to see Tom’s two bulls, Nigel and Darkside Radar, the latter an enormous 9 year old Angus steer. They’re incredibly calm, coming over to greet Tom, maybe aware that they’ve lived far more years than most cows are afforded. Slowly chewing a bunch of wildflowers it’s hard to imagine a better life for these animals and it’s hard to disagree with everything that Tom has just said. It’s hard graft, but it’s worth it.