Lewis Of London Ice Cream Farm

Picture this: a blistering hot Sunday in July. I’m seven years old, face sticky with rainbow sprinkles, and my dad is trying to pry an ice cream cone from my white-knuckled grip. I had just discovered that this ice cream—a swirl of bubblegum and vanilla—tasted nothing like the stuff from the supermarket freezer. It was creamier, weirder, and somehow alive. That was my first trip to the Lewis Of London Ice Cream Farm, and frankly, the place has been a recurring fever dream ever since.

Fast forward to last weekend. I brought my own kids there, and guess what? The magic hasn’t soured. If anything, it’s gotten more wonderfully bizarre. We’re talking about a destination that’s part farm, part ice cream factory, and entirely a love letter to childhood chaos. (And by “chaos,” I mean the good kind—where you don’t mind sticky hands because you’re too busy laughing.)

What even is Lewis Of London?

Let’s be real: it’s not just an ice cream shop. It’s a sprawling farm experience that’s been serving scoops since 1971. (Yes, that’s older than most of us—don’t let the bright colors fool you.) Located in the heart of the English countryside, it’s a place where animals, play areas, and ridiculous amounts of ice cream collide. Think of it as a petting zoo that got a sugar high and never came down.

You’ll walk in and immediately smell two things: fresh hay and waffle cones. It’s a weirdly perfect combo. The farm itself is a working dairy, so the cows you pat on the head might just be the same ones providing the milk for your sundae. Cow-to-cone transparency—that’s what I call it.

The ice cream: not messing around

Here’s the thing about their ice cream: it’s made on site daily. They churn out over 30 flavors, from classics like honeycomb to wild stuff like “Eton Mess” ice cream. (I tried that one—it’s basically a crumbled meringue party in your mouth.) My personal favorite? The “Sticky Toffee Pudding” flavor. It’s so rich it should probably come with a warning label.

And the portions? Let’s just say you’ll need a bib. Or at least a strong commitment to washing your shirt later. I watched a toddler demolish a “Kids’ Scoop” that was easily the size of his head. His parents looked proud and terrified. (Honestly, same.)

Animals that judge your flavor choice

You know how some farm animals have that “seen it all” stare? The sheep at Lewis of London definitely judge your ice cream choices. Especially if you go for something fruity. I swear one goat gave me a side-eye for ordering strawberry sorbet. But you can also feed them animal crackers—which, ironically, is not cannibalism for the goats.

The barn area is spotless, which is saying something for a farm. You get to bottle-feed lambs, pet alpacas (who are basically fluffy divas), and watch pigs do their happy little trots. It’s so wholesome it might make you tear up—or maybe that’s just the sugar crashing.

The toddler gauntlet: indoor play zones

If you’re a parent, you know the terror of public indoor play areas. The soiled socks. The mysterious puddles. Lewis Of London has one of the biggest indoor play barns I’ve ever seen—and it’s actually clean. I’m not saying you could eat off the floor, but I’d risk a dropped waffle cone.

They have a massive soft play area shaped like a giant ice cream scoop. My kids disappeared into it for 45 minutes. I sat there, eating my second sundae, feeling like I had hacked the parenting system. (Spoiler: you pay for the ice cream, but the happiness is almost free.)

But let’s be honest: the price tag

Here’s the subtle irony: this place isn’t cheap. A family of four can easily drop £50 on cones, a few side snacks, and entry to the play zones. Is it worth it? Absolutely—but bring your bank account with a bit of padding. My wallet left feeling lighter, but my soul left feeling like a kid again. (And my tongue was blue for two days. Totally worth it.)

The final scoop

Lewis Of London Ice Cream Farm is the kind of place that reminds you why sugar and animals are two of humanity’s great joys. It’s messy, loud, and unapologetically sweet. If you go, do yourself a favor: skip the vanilla. Go for something with a name that sounds like a dessert crime. And if a goat judges you, just shrug and take another bite. You’re not feeding an ego—you’re feeding a memory.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wash rainbow sprinkles out of my car. Again.