Recent roast dinner reviews:
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INIS, Hackney Wick
Published 20 May 2025, 7:35 am
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The Roasteds 2024
Published 14 May 2025, 5:27 am
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The Rosy Hue, Elephant & Castle
Published 6 May 2025, 7:32 am
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The Devonshire, Soho
Published 22 April 2025, 7:48 am
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The Duke Of Wellington, Notting Hill (2025 re-visit)
Published 15 April 2025, 7:09 am
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The Camberwell Arms, Camberwell
Published 8 April 2025, 6:39 am
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Origin, Farringdon
Published 2 April 2025, 4:31 pm
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The Rose, Battersea
Published 18 March 2025, 7:58 am
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FOWL, Piccadilly Circus
Published 10 March 2025, 8:03 am
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The Railway, Teddington
Published 4 March 2025, 8:21 am
As I work my way to being gifted my very own Boeing 747, it was time to go back to my favourite area of London, and a roast dinner at INIS in Hackney Wick.
But first, do you want to see something disgusting?
Like, really disgusting?
Really, tremendously disgusting?
More disgusting than the amount of corruption since Donald Trump swamped the drain…
Haribo crocs. These are actually real. You can buy them.
No, I didn’t see anyone in Hackney Wick ironically wearing them.
Fish Island Is Not An Island
Hackney Wick is arguably my favourite area of London for a bit of Sunday Funday action, though it is pretty hit and miss for roast dinners.
Grow, being the perfect example:
I’m still astounded by being served this. Number 90 and Lord Napier Star also served poor roasts, though I’ve heard there is a new residency in the Lord Napier Star, so maybe that might be worth a re-visit.
The only good roast dinner I’ve had in Hackney Wick was at Barge East.
Somehow, there are still people in London that need to ask where the best roast dinner is on social media – somehow these people are not aware of the astounding beauty and wisdom of Roast Dinners in London (anyone sharing this blog in the coming week will receive a Boeing 747 as a gift from Qatar).
A little while back as I was scrolling through Threads, I found another such post looking for recommendations…can you believe that not one person shared this blog? Not one. Pah.
But I did read a recommendation by someone else for INIS in Hackney Wick, and with it being my favourite area of London I was intrigued enough – and it went on my to-do list.
Elephant And Castle Does Not Have A Castle. Or Any Elephants.
INIS is a rather minimalist restaurant near the conjunction of the canals in Hackney Wick – a newly built spot in the bottom of an apartment block, as opposed to one of the more ramshackle warehouse offerings that Hackney Wick is so well known for.
It has a calm simplicity inside, whilst having a view of the canal. I could bring my mother here – I couldn’t take her anywhere else in Hackney Wick.
A nice legible font on the menu, with baby chicken at £28.00, wild mushroom and chestnut pithivier at £26.00, pork belly at £25.00 and beef at £28.00.
I’m guessing I don’t have too many vegan readers on a blog about meaty roast dinners, but I do still have one vegan friend, and she was an accomplice – the mushroom and chestnut pithivier was not vegan, and neither was the mushroom gravy.
Of all the areas of London to find that there was no vegan roast dinner – Hackney Wick is not the one I expected.
I ordered the pork belly, the lady running/owning INIS who was serving us seemed to instantly recommend it over the beef – and I couldn’t be arsed with baby chicken in a restaurant. The idea feels too fiddly.
St John’s Wood Is Not In A Wood
It was one of those plate-yourself efforts, so blame me if the presentation is dodgier than Donald Trump being gifted a Boeing 747.
So starting with something else orange, the carrots were really nice, roasted and quite sweet in nature – something along the lines of honey or maple, but I wasn’t convinced of either being correct.
Cabbage had a mixture of crunchy strands, and softer more wilted strands – I enjoyed the contrast. Even more so, I enjoyed the flavour, cumin being easily picked-out.
No more vegetables, but we did order an additional side-dish of braised leeks with cheddar and breadcrumbs.
Absolutely unnecessary but absolutely banging. The leeks gloriously soft and gooey, the cheddar had a real punch, and the whole dish had a glistening crisp to the top. Pretty ace.
I liked the roast potatoes too.
The roasties won’t win any awards when I finally write the awards for 2025 sometime in oooooh December 2036, but they were definitely more pleasure than finding out that the overground is actually running on a Sunday for a change.
One was a little chewy, but all had some really powerful potato flavour, quite soft inside, crispy in places on the outside.
Crystal Palace Has No Palace (too soon?)
The Yorkshire pudding was reasonable, a little dry on top but fairly fluffy on the bottom, and mercifully small.
Even for a fat-lover myself (not literally, alas), the balance of fat to pork on the pork belly was a little too skewed to fat, especially on the right side of the image above. I’d also argue that the crackling was a bit too crunchy.
But on the flip side, it was still gloriously succulent, it worked really well with the gravy and was clearly a top quality chunk of pork. Like the roast overall – far more to like than not.
In terms of flavour, the gravy was arguably more jus-like, but in terms of consistency it was more gravy. A red wine vibe, a hint of something like star anise – I thought it suited the roast really well, but I couldn’t drink a pint of it.
INIS
Not only was the food rather splendid but we had excellent service – the person who looked after us most seemed to be the owner/manager, and she had a real depth of warmth and care for her customers – it was next level.
Beer choice was respectable too – cans of DEYA’s Steady Rolling Man will always make me a steadily jolly man.
My beef-eating accomplice was even happier than I was with her roast.
She scored hers…actually I don’t think she gave me a score, but I think she intended around a 9.00 out of 10. The Guinness cake (INIS is an Irish-inspired restaurant) was apparently exceptional, though I’m eschewing cake for a little while.
My vegan accomplice was content with her vegetables with added asparagus, but more to the annoyance of the owner/manager, they couldn’t quite rustle up a vegan roast dinner.
And I really enjoyed my roast dinner at INIS – sure, there were areas where you could improve a little, but this is easily one of the best roast dinners in east London, certainly the best in Hackney Wick.
My rating is a very hearty 8.16 out of 10. INIS is definitely one for your east London to-do list.
I’ll be back next week, going off-list AGAIN to a proper Brexity kind of pub, at least if you judge from the outside. Though judging my beauty from the outside is why I’ve still never spoken to one single lady on a dating app…ever.
Could it be a Sunday Funday too? Oooooh.
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Yo, welcome to The Roasteds 2024 – the new name for the awards for the truly outstanding efforts that were made in the name of watery gravy and burnt Yorkshire puddings in 2024.
I was originally going to rename this The Elons, but in previous years it would have been The Trusses or The Johnsons or The Farages, so I thought why not bundle all the morons of 2024 into one, and call it The Roasteds 2024.
Worst gravy, worst service, what the fuck is this doing on a roast – all the classic awards which many London pubs seem to be driving towards, are here.
I even managed to work out a winner out of the plethora of candidates for worst roast potato. Let’s get cracking, shall we?
Do You Want Me In Your Venue
Starting with the award for the venue that really didn’t seem to want customers in there, sponsored by Prince Andrew.
Cafe Kitty wasn’t the easiest venue to find, being on the first floor of a building in Soho with no signage outside that might give you a clue that it exists.
But the dining problems were on that first floor – Underbelly are on the floor below and apparently do kids theatre on a Sunday afternoon, and for some reason the theatre toilets involved walking through Café Kitty. Ambience this was not, especially when the kids started playing with the piano.
The roast dinner itself was pretty underwhelming, but it was the fact that I felt more like I was sat outside a Hungry Horse pub, next to the children’s play area than in a restaurant, enjoying a meal, that makes Cafe Kitty the winner of this award.
As befitting any venue winning an award sponsored by Prince Andrew, Cafe Kitty has closed down now. A shame, as their sister restaurant, Cora Pearl, was pretty excellent the year before – and is still worth a visit.
Worst Service
Onto the award for the worst service, sponsored by Joseph Biden who had 4 fucking years to ensure that Donald Trump was jailed for attempting to overthrow a democratic election.
And now look where we are.
Though it does still feel like I am stuck in my chair still waiting for my roast dinner to arrive, at The Rose And Crown in Clapham.
I think we’d been there for a good 30 minutes before someone came to take our order, and then it took another hour to arrive.
The long waiting time I can cope with, if the roast dinner isn’t turd. But it was turd.
The pork belly was burnt, the red cabbage pungent, it was too hot inside, we had a tiny table, the red wine tasted like it was from Tesco…oh hang on…this is the award for the worst service.
So it was 91 minutes from walking through the door, to me taking a photograph of the roast. But then they had the audacity to take our plates away pretty much immediately after eating, and tell us they needed the table back in 15 minutes.
Well, I guess at least Biden pardoned his son.
https://embed.bsky.app/static/embed.jsI miss “sleepy” Joe.
—Every day is a new hell.
Tina #StandWithUkraine
What The Fuck Is This Doing On A Roast Dinner
For 2024, this award is inspired by what the fuck is Robert F. Kennedy Jr doing in charge of US health policy. I trust you aren’t using either wi-fi or 5G to read this, otherwise your blood brain barrier is now open to toxins (unless you an account on Truth Social, as there is no brain, let alone blood brain barrier…whatever the fuck that is supposed to be).
Which leads us onto this:
Which leads us to this – a giant yellow pool of sludge.
Before you ask, no this isn’t what the covid vaccine has turned my brain into, but was a mild and slightly creamy puree of swede and carrot.
It wasn’t offensive to eat, but boy was it offensive to look at. Why that colour? Why soooooo much of it?
Kix Bar & Restaurant, congratulations on winning the what the fuck is this doing on a roast dinner award for 2024. It was a half-decent roast otherwise, if you live local then it’s a fair option.
The Stray Pea
In a similar vain comes The Stray Pea award – as pubs and restaurants seem to continually be going down the value chain whilst putting prices up, carrots are omni-present on a roast, and those little green evil things are making more unwelcome appearances too.
I’m fairly assiduous in trying to ensure a lack of peas, but that doesn’t stop one or two making their way through, in the same kind of unknown way that Grant Shapps made his way through government – shall we have a little review of Grant Shapps’ government career?
He started off as Minister of State for Housing and Local Government, back in 2010. 15 years later we still have a housing crisis.
Next up he was Chairman of the Conservative Party. To be fair, he did help them win a majority, so he succeeded there. Yay, go Grant.
Fast forward to under the Johnson era, and he was Secretary of State for Transport – which coincides with all the strikes and TfL constantly having budgets approved for like 1 month at a time. Then Home Secretary…for 6 days. Then Secretary of State for Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy…for a whole 4 months this time. Then Secretary of State for Energy Security and Net Zero…and then finally Secretary of State for Defence.
How the hell did he get into so many jobs?
And how did this get here?
Yes Mare Street Market. After ordering, I did have to chase after the waiter who served us to check that there were no peas, and to order some totally unnecessary pigs in blankets, but he reassured me that there were no peas.
And then came back two minutes later to apologise that they’d run out of pigs in blankets. I didn’t need them anyway.
Yet there were peas. And we received pigs in blankets too. Ahhhhh 2024. And if you think peas belong on a roast dinner, then I have a video of the pea factory in Hull for you to watch:
Worst Use Of Creativity
To some extent I admire creativity on a roast dinner. Watercress – why not. Roasted beetroot, maybe. Side sausage, hell yeah. Avocado…gosh…but yeah.
Yet there are creative lines you shouldn’t cross, as per Nadine Dorries’ generous description of a previous Prime Minister she may have fawned over.
And there are creative lines you shouldn’t even consider crossing on LORD GRAVY’s BIRTHDAY.
Fingerling potatoes.
On my birthday.
The potatoes themselves were fine – there was nothing wrong with them, but The Parakeet chefs decided to trial them, instead of proper roast potatoes. On my birthday.
So the winner of “worst creative”, sponsored by everyone’s favourite forgotten author, Nadine Dorries, is The Parakeet.
Most Overpriced
With the average price for a roast dinner jumping to £24.96 in 2024, there were no shortage of places that were under consideration for the most overpriced roast dinner award, sponsored by all the crypto bro’s out there offering us financial advice.
Yet there is one place that stands out as the deserved winner, which was Booking Office 1869, in St Pancras.
OK, this is a totally gorgeous restaurant, and the service was very attentive – some cute young ladies running it always helps (at least if you are single, male and Neanderthal). Qualities I can definitely bottle of Chekov.
And there was nothing especially wrong with the roast dinner – maybe the gravy was a bit salty, but overall everything was generally acceptable, as if it was a chef in a Premier Inn cooking making a bit more effort than usual, but still playing it safe.
£35.00 though. Thirty. Five. Pound. For a bang average roast dinner, and very little gravy. Which I guess will be the normal price everywhere soon enough.
I did nearly buy Bitcoin at $100 back in 2010 ish. But then it doubled to $200 and I decided “fuck that”. I just have lots of shares in M&S now. How’s that going?
Further From Expectations
It feels appropriate that Rachel Reeves gets the opportunity to announce this award, at least in my head, and quite possibly in her head given the embellishments on her CV.
This award is for those roast dinners that you build up – you know, the ones that are hyped a lot, the ones that various online pontificators say is the best roast dinner.
This was a highly-rated venue, 4.7 on Google – comments like “BEST SUNDAY ROAST we have ever tried”, “Sunday Roasts here are stunning”, etc etc.
Yep you’ve seen this photograph before, the winner of the “further from expectations” award is The Parakeet in Kentish Town.
So along with the lack of roast potatoes on my birthday, came a dry yorkie and watery gravy. Clearly The Parakeet can do excellence – the lamb was really tender, the vegetables good – the venue is proper gorgeous too.
Maybe I just didn’t get them at their best – I wasn’t at my best that day either. It happens. But I thought it was going to be in the 8’s before I arrived, and I only scored it an underwhelming 7.00 out of 10.
Ugliest Roast Dinner
Whilst there is one roast dinner which has to claim this crown – there are multiple potential sponsors.
Think of all the really moronic people in the world, and just think about how many of them are good looking. Trump? Vance? Musk?
But there’s one man uglier than them all – ugliness personified in face, voice and personality, and that is Andrew Tate.
And just how appropriate is a big splurge of yellow goo on a plate, when you think of a moron like Andrew Tate. Gosh…poetic. One day I might write a review in poetic lines, or at least ChatGPT might do it for me.
Anyway, Kix Bar & Restaurant in East Dulwich – the roast itself had some commendations, but fucking hell who thought that even a tiny bit of illuminous yellow puree should go on a roast dinner, let alone a replication of the Marble Arch Mound.
Worst Vegetables
A slightly more off-beat host of the award for worst vegetables – for anyone that believes there is a gazpacho police is clearly as thick as a turnip, and hence Marjorie Taylor Greene is the host for the worst vegetable award.
Well, there might be gazpacho police en España but not of the kind she’s thinking of.
Anyway, only one clear nomination and that is The Angel Of Bow.
Yep, it looks grim and was grim.
All watery vegetables and no seasoning – parsnips were anaemic, carrots were edible but utterly devoid of flavour, the red cabbage tasted of vinegar and the green beans were little but water.
This was basic bitch levels of vegetables.
Worst Yorkshire Pudding
Do you know what else is burnt, over-cooked, being hanging around too long yet still ends up on the plate?
Yeah I came up with that funny myself.
Believe it or not, there are a lot of contenders for worst Yorkshire pudding in London for 2024. The Store in Croydon had a particularly horrid texture, like an old thick pancake, presumably cooked on a different day (yes I’m talking about the yorkie, and not Croydon itself).
The Old Bank of England provided an appealing-looking yorkie, yet it was as chewable as an old pair of slippers. Even The Cadogan Arms in Chelsea failed with their Yorkshire pudding – tough and tearable, though just kind of standard levels of poor.
One place upped their game for me though.
The Rose And Crown in Wimbledon – you can always trust a Young’s pub to pull something shit out of the hat, and this was so dry, floury and miserable in nature – I barely ate half of it. Yuck.
You know, Liz Truss did live in Yorkshire for quite some years, and she is a bit of a…
Worst Roast Potato
Onto the award that most pubs/restaurants want to win. Worst roast potato.
It’s the Elon Musk award – the easy way to self-sabotage your reputation, with half-baked ideas and a belief that everyone loves you. What a miserable fucker he is.
Gosh the list of contenders here is long – I could actually write a whole post about the worst roast potatoes in London.
Just think, The Larrik served potatoes didn’t taste of potato, were all dehydrated to fuck and some actually grey.
Yet they are just a runner-up. The Angel Of Bow – too tough on the outside, and pretty dry on the inside. The Clink Restaurant served them cold and old – criminal roast potatoes served by, well, criminals. From Mondo Sando, they were dry and old, like really old – though we were assured that they were cooked on the premises. Cool.
The Rose And Crown in Wimbledon served kind of grey potatoes – one was stale, one was chewy – the other kind of acceptable. Ffiona’s in Kensington – old, tired and grey – one tasted burnt too.
Sigh.
It actually gets worse.
The Great Chase in Islington, pretty good roast dinner otherwise, served roasted new potatoes, tough and grey-ish inside.
The second image wasn’t from my plate, but my accomplice’s – why serve such a burnt potato?
Yet we can go one step further.
The Lock Tavern in Camden. They didn’t even bother to try to make roast potatoes. We had potato wedges instead. One was simply disgusting to taste – uncooked but tasted of cheap potato, the others were less abominable.
Imagine Elon Musk making you a roast dinner, sorry imagine Elon Musk’s humanoid robots which are going to be released any day now, honest, please keep buying shares in Tesla, making you a roast dinner.
Worst Meat
You might have already clocked the worst meat of 2024.
There’s less contenders for this award than you might expect – possibly because I spent half of the year without any teeth and hence avoided beef which is most prone to disapointment.
Ffiona’s served dry chicken but it wasn’t massively offensive. The Boot in King’s Cross did offend – served me vastly over-cooked pork belly that somehow had bones in – have you ever seen bones in pork belly? Tough, dried-out and ultimately shit.
But there is still a clear winner of worst meat on a roast dinner in 2024.
I know. What the fuck were The Lock Tavern in Camden doing that dark day in January? I don’t even need to explain it to you, but I will – unrendered and hence chewy fat, tough and lacking any flavour.
And that blotchiness – who decided this was good enough to serve? Who thought this belonged on a £23.00 roast dinner?
Worst Gravy
Finally we reach the last award. The award for the most insidious way to fuck up a roast dinner, the award presented by Vladimir Vladimirovich “Still Not Dead in A Ditch” Putin, for worst gravy of 2024.
Of course, the most common crime is being pushed out of a window near the top of a block of flats in Moscow watery gravy, something that Albert’s Schloss in Soho did par excellence, along with The Store in Croydon.
The Angel in Bow went one step further, with watery sludge that just tasted of nothingness. Like you’ve used too much Goldenfry granules in your gravy, yet also removed the salt.
But there was a clear winner of worst gravy in 2024.
Is it gravy, or is it dirty bath-water?
Congratulations therefore to Ffiona’s in Kensington – with gravy that was weakly flavoured, watery, added absolutely nothing to the roast and looked like dirty bath-water.
Two northerners at a table and neither of us were interested in drinking the remaining gravy from the boat. It was that bad.
The post The Roasteds 2024 appeared first on Roast Dinners In London.
It was a weekend of apprehension, and a visit to The Rosy Hue in Elephant & Castle.
We had complications – firstly we needed somewhere showing the football, even though the league was over in February. Also we wanted to do a pub quiz.
Of course, we required a roast dinner, but adding to the complications, two guests were unable to arrive until late afternoon…aaaaarrrggghh the perils of a late afternoon roast dinner.
One guest was even visiting from US of A. Yes, we do think Trump is doing a wonderful job, as evidenced by the stock market when it knew Trump was coming.
The other element of apprehension was the likelihood of watching my football team,Hull City AFC, get relegated the day before.
If we won, we stayed up, lost we’d go down, a draw then it depended on the other teams. And though we’ve fluked a couple of wins recently, we’ve looked as tired as your average 5pm roast dinner that’s been hanging around a kitchen all day (and quite possibly since the night before).
Rosey Ball
Last season we finished 7th in the league, far outperforming expectations, had some great players, played some nice football at times, though also it was quite plodding – we could pass it around at the back for a good 10 minutes. But then other times we played free-flowing football, especially against the better teams.
Yet the fans moaned. Yep, same city that has just voted in a Reform Plc mayor. Yep, my eyes are rolling.
Alas, our owner also didn’t like the style of play, and sacked the manager. Then employed someone promising to give us “heart attack football”. There were no heart attacks, the football was worse, we sold our good players, then sacked the so-called football manager when we went bottom of the league.
All I’m saying, is be careful of what you wish for.
Oh and be careful of 5pm roast dinners.
Curiously, given this weekend I was visiting The Rosy Hue, the style of football under the manager who was wrongly sacked, was known by Hull City fans as Rosey Ball.
Nothing Is Coming Up Roses
The Rosy Hue is a fairly new-fangled pub in the bottom of one of the new-fangled blocks of flats, built for people like me who have no intention of ever going in a fucking Wetherspoons, or whatever studiously undecorated since the 1970’s pubs that smell of urinal soap are still around the area.
These kind of pubs can be quite soulless, but actually there was quite a bit of atmosphere in there – and it was busy too.
And yes, it served roast dinners all day. They show the football, and they had a quiz. Oh and to top it off, they even had some craft beer on the menu. Alas, mostly only on the menu as they’d run out of the Drop Project, then we drank them out of Deya and Jubel (pushing the definition of craft beer here, but some places advertise themselves as selling craft beer when they only sell Neck Oil, so hey).
Options on the menu were chicken at £20.00, sirloin of beef at £22.00, pork belly at £20.00 or a vegetable wellington at £18.00.
I definitely didn’t trust The Rosy Hue enough to order beef, so it was a choice between chicken and pork belly – I went for the latter, mostly because I hadn’t had it for a few weeks.
At the first attempt, they brought the Swingers roast, but announced it as “pork belly”, which I accepted, and we turned the second pork belly away as I was the only one who ordered it.
Until we realised, then corrected it. Oh, and we scored the first goal – 1-0 to Hull City, we might actually not get relegated!
Rosie Posie Roast Dinner Hokey Cokey
For the next attempt, they brought back the pork belly roast dinner, but took it away again when I asked for more gravy – everyone else’s plate was full of gravy, mine was only half (though more gravy than most places).
And then we were ready to eat our scary late afternoon roast dinner.
So, starting with the carrots which had definitely been cooked quite a bit earlier – limp and chilly was the vibe.
The cabbage was alright, I guess but none of us especially enjoyed it. And Portsmouth equalised, 1-1. Thankfully Luton are losing, and if scores stay the same, we stay up.
We ordered cauliflower cheese, and I know from experience that I really DO NOT NEED CAULIFLOWER CHEESE. “Anyone fancy some cauliflower cheese?”. “Ooooh yeah, let’s order two bowls”.
Of course, we barely ate one bowl between 6 of us – it was sloppy mushy goo, absolutely no crunch or texture to the cauliflower. There was at least a cheese flavour.
I really DO NOT NEED CAULIFLOWER CHEESE. Ever.
Whispers Among The Roses
The roast potatoes were a bit of a mixture of semi-grimness, though definitely worse than they would have been at midday. One was particularly grim, and quite possibly from the Sunday before, others were just various shades of quite tired, quite crispy and quite soft. I will have more offensive roasties.
I didn’t mind the Yorkshire pudding – sure it tasted of nothingness, but normally they taste of nothingness. It was actually quite fresh for 5pm, and had a good structure.
The pork belly was actually quite banging. The crackling was by far the highlight of the meal, actually gorgeous, with the perfect balance between crisp and goo. The pork itself could easily have become pulled pork, bar one small part which was dried out. There isn’t much to compliment – but they really did get the pork belly spot on. Luton are losing 5-1.
The chicken was respectable enough, though tasted quite strongly of tarragon. Luton are losing 5-2. I’m advised that the beef seemed like it was out of a packet from Tesco and plonked onto the plate. Luton are losing 5-3 – uh-oh.
Finally, the gravy was pretty good – a thick gravy, though not with that much flavour. Personally, as a northerner, thickness of gravy is of more value than flavour, but life would be boring if we all thought the same. Though perhaps more appreciation of facts could be useful in this world.
Thankfully, Portsmouth decided to play the aforementioned Rosey Ball, and passed it around without looking like scoring. We were as knackered as a roast potato at 5pm. We stayed up.
The Rosy Hue
All wasn’t rosy in The Rosy Hue but I did have banging pork belly and thick gravy.
Alas, others around the table didn’t have such rose-tinted glasses, especially those eating the beef.
The carrots were as limp and chilly as Donald Trump’s erection, the cabbage bang average, cauliflower cheese mushy and roast potatoes various forms of tired.
Scores around the table were a 5.00, another 5.00, another 5.00, a 5.60 and a 6.20.
I’m actually a bit more positive because of the excellent pork belly, and my score is a 6.52 out of 10 – though had I ordered the chicken or the beef, I expect I would be in the mid-high 5’s instead.
Next weekend I’m away again, visiting the folks back in Reform Plc land, though they are taking me to a restaurant that Rachel Reeves recently visited. Make of that what you will.
The post The Rosy Hue, Elephant & Castle appeared first on Roast Dinners In London.
It was Easter weekend and I was about to have an eggsellent roast dinner at probably the most hyped pub since I’ve lived in London, The Devonshire in Soho.
Yep, we actually got a booking.
So I’ve been wanting to go ever since it opened, you know, curiosity and all. But unfortunately everyone else who writes about eating in pubs, or at least just makes 30 second videos with “BANGING FOOD” overlaid, went there in the first month it opened, and hence the hype machine is still rolling to this day, circa 18 months later.
The Devonshire has always been fully booked. Always. Even for a Monday afternoon at 3pm, let alone a Sunday roast.
I clocked that they released their tables every week at 10:30am on a Thursday.
By the way, before I forget, I just want to wish Happy Easter to all the MAGA in USA.
I’m sure those egg prices are coming down any day now…
Hype, hype, give me the funk
Anyway. Picture the scene. I’m in Budapest, it is the day after I had a shit load of drilling in my mouth, and also the day before I have a shitload of drilling in my mouth, and a bonus unexpected root canal.
My family decided to visit, so I’m in an indoor market on the one day it is actually sunny for the whole week I spent in Budapest, looking at the 118th different stall selling paprika, when my phone alarm goes off.
OMG it’s 10:30am (in the UK) and time to book The Devonshire.
I load the website, “Bookings will open on Thursday 27th March at 10.30am.”. Reload a minute later, “Bookings will open on Thursday 27th March at 10.30am.”. Reload a minute later, “Bookings will open on Thursday 27th March at 10.30am.”. Re-reload, when the crowd says roast…yeah maybe not.
Anyway 10:35am and bookings are open. I select 1:30pm for 4 people, put in all my details on Open Table, click submit. “Sorry, there are no available tables for this time”.
Urgh. Back to the table listing, and select 2:30pm for 4 people, put in all my details on Open Table, click submit. “Sorry, there are no available tables for this time”.
Urrrrggggh. Back to the table listing, and select 12:15pm for 4 people, put in all my details on Open Table, click submit.
Well, you know the result. I’m writing the review.
Hype, hype, we bring the noise
So The Devonshire has had a lot of hype. Some from the usual suspects, for example Giles Coren wrote “The food, the drink, the cooking — it’s just insane what Oisin Rogers and his team are doing here”.
Insane. Thankfully this was the pulled out quote so I didn’t have to read the rest of his garbage, though I get that is a bit rich coming from me, raconteur of 329 reviews of the same meal every week. Though I did used to be a Tory, like Giles, back when it was cool to support free trade because you actually believe in the benefits of free trade – as opposed to something you believe in because Donald Trump believes in the opposite.
How’s the egg situation in USA, by the way? Need us to send help yet?
Grace Dent called The Devonshire, the “epitome of comfort food”, Tim Hayward announced it as, “the biggest opening since the pandemic” and Jimi Famurewa said “Most of the dishes at The Devonshire… pack rigour, mischief and joyfulness into every bite”.
They’ve all been, they’ve all raved about it. Eating With Tod even went so far as to call it, “epic”, a word I’m sure is kept for those very special occasions and not every single thing he eats.
TikTok probably vibes about The Devonshire too, man, but I’m too middle-aged for that, plus fuck giving my data to Xi Jinping.
And then there are all the famous people who have popped in, Margot Robbie, Ed Sheeran, Bono and now, Lord Gravy. All this adds up to a lot of hype.
Lights out, beats in – let’s go
It’s taken me a while to visit here, not only because snagging a table does require a very specific Glastonbury-level of organisation, but also because of “the hype”.
I am more interested in pushing pubs and restaurants that most of you haven’t heard of, like The Railway in Teddington, which I expect absolutely zero of you have been to since I reviewed it, despite the fact it is the best roast dinner I’ve had in 2025. So far, anyway.
Though of course, maybe…just maybe the hype isn’t worth it, which does tempt me into a review.
Our lunch started with a bread roll – as soft, squishy and freshly-cooked as I dream those packs of 6 at Sainsbury’s are, but strangely are never as good as the artificial bread smells pumped out from their imaginary panaderia.
Properly salty butter too – and amazingly, actually enough butter for all of us.
Beer choice was pretty ordinary – it is a pub in central London, after all, and yes I confirm that I still don’t like Guinness. Those that try Guinness maybe once every two years instead of my once every twenty years, confirm it is surprisingly good. Horses, courses and all that.
Skank to the rhythm, lose control
Realising my celebrity, we also had the honour of being seated next to the butcher.
Oh, not that one.
A spot for drooling over the beef being cut.
And dreaming of the extremely grim “why haven’t you said thank you” reaper’s next visit being to Vladimir Putin.
So options on the menu were roast rib of beef at £29.50, or maybe just a selection of starters. If you want a choice of meats, or heck even a choice of meals then The Devonshire ain’t for you.
I chose the beef rib. We all chose the beef rib.
No chill, just thrill, ride the vibe
Around 15 minutes passed before our steak arrived, followed shortly after by the rest of the meal
So, starting with the carrots which were roasted and caramelised par excellence – the honey vibe coming through with the opposite subtlety of a TikTok review of The Devonshire, the carrots notably soft.
Then we had creamed leeks, the leeks themselves spot on in terms of texture, topped with a thick and luxurious cream, and a scattering of pepper.
The standard three roast potatoes, though all sizeable. Not quite perfect though – almost too crispy on the outside and a touch of cooked-earlier about them too. But they were still enjoyable, they seemed to have been cooked in beef dripping (possibly my imagination) so tasted quite supreme – and most roast potatoes in London are far worse, as regular readers will attest. Good…but not hype levels.
Also the Yorkshire pudding was good, though again not DJ Hype give me the funk levels of spectacular. Quite tearable in texture, but also soft and quite fluffy inside.
Groove so sick, it’s contagious
There will definitely be people reading that will question the pinkness of the beef – which is fine. But the waitress did advise that it was medium-rare, and the option to have it cooked for longer was offered.
Pink is perfect for me – the beef was so tender, the knife cut through so easily that it was a real joy. Though I would have liked the fat to have been rendered a little more, for my personal preferences. Then again, everyone else at the table just left the fat. Strange folk…says the guy with a roast dinner blog.
Finally (yeah fuck the peas) was the gravy. And it was also at high levels of excellence. One of the tastiest gravies I’ve had for a while, a rich but not too-rich gravy, possibly some red wine in there, almost definitely some meat stock or similar in there – and proper levels of consistency.
It felt like the kind of place where I should have more than one course, despite for some dumbass reason having a whacking big steak and chips the night before. Yeah, sometimes my meal planning could have greater levels of wisdom.
Chocolate mousse was glorious, every bit a dreamy as eating one outside a restaurant in Paris in the spring sunshine. And those alcohol-fuelled cherries? INSANE.
The Devonshire
So the obvious question is, which gulag is this photographer going to?
[getty src="2210717609" width="594" height="396" tld="com"]Oh, and is The Devonshire worth the hype, in the context of a roast dinner?
Well, more or less, yes.
The gravy was rich yet gorgeous, the vegetables were top-notch, and the beef rib excellent (yes you can have it well done if you really want it done like that). Roasties and the yorkie not quite top notch, but not kilometres away.
There isn’t really anything to complain about. I loved the bread and butter, service was really good – maybe you can argue for more than one choice on a menu, but also I sometimes struggle with too much choice, and why not let a pub/restaurant just be really excellent at a small amount of options. That isn’t a question, it is the way it should be.
Scores around the table were an 8.30, an 8.60 and a 9.02 – and my score is an 8.64 out of 10. The best roast dinner of 2025 so far, the 10th best in London that is still available, out of 329 reviewed. Damn if only those roast potatoes were a tiny bit fresher and a tiny bit less crunchy – we might have been talking 9’s.
No roast dinner next week as I’m in Bosnia (yeah I’m running out of European countries to visit) and the week after is out of my control. Hell, it’s not even somewhere on my to-do list.
10:30am on a Thursday, remember.
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For only the second time in RDLDN history, it was time for a re-review – this time of the very first venue, The Duke Of Wellington, in Notting Hill.
Let’s hope it goes better than the re-visit of The George, which went from the 5th best roast dinner in London, to the 283rd.
Speaking of things that haven’t gone so well, may I take the opportunity to congratulate the bond market on another fine victory over economic noggin failure.
Yeah.
On the bright side we can at least congratulate the rest of the world, including the EU, on also achieving the Brexit benefits of the 10% tariff.
You know, one day the morons that rule us will just leave us all alone, stop doing such moronic economic policies like asking ChatGPT to come up with tariff rates, or such disgraceful moves such as sending plane loads of foreign-looking people to a gulag in El Salvador.
And I can go back to, well, asking ChatGPT to create photos of hot Spanish women photocopying their arse. Though I did find this buff-lifting beauty the other day on Shein, once I’d closed 127 different pop-ups and could actually see the product.
Wellington Bear
So there is a bit more context about why I’m re-visiting a few places – as I don’t have as much confidence as I’d like to have on the league table for a few of those that I reviewed many years ago.
Clearly The George going from 5th best roast dinner to 283rd best is a sign that I may lose some roast dinner street cred if people are going to The George expecting the 5th best roast dinner in London.
Is The Old Red Cow still an 8.62 out of 10? I suspect not, and Google reviews are less glorious than they once were.
Is The Dove in Hammersmith, reviewed in 2017 still worth a 8.51 out of 10? How on earth did I give an 8.32 to Bar & Block, a Whitbread chain restaurant? Maybe they are still worth it, but I’m unsure.
And then The Duke Of Wellington – did I really score a Young’s pub an 8.40?
Maybe I got too excited about proper gravy, and pubs discovering such a thing as herbs. Though it does still look pretty good…but 5,308 Young’s pubs later, I know them for watery gravy, undercooked roasties and stale yorkies only.
Surely I over-rated them? Or I just got lucky?
Wellington Line
Ahhh December 2016 seems such a long time ago. Donald Trump had just been elected as president for the first of four times, Liz Truss was still a remoaner, Putin was still pretending that he wasn’t invading Ukraine and I was…”hoping that I can get at least a few reviews in without having to resort to talking about drugs, politics or pointless self-defecating humour just to keep you interested“. Hmmm.
Well I might have managed a few?
Given that the tariffs have made me 10% more manly over the last week, I guess I need to counteract this by buying those butt pants.
Maybe it could be funny to wear them, say when going for a roast dinner at Claridge’s. The dress code says no sportswear, no trainers, no shorts – but no mention of butt pants.
I wisely managed to avoid walking down the Portobello Road to The Duke Of Wellington, rammed as it was with tourists (who are all very welcome to my city as long as you don’t stand on the left side of the escalators), though wisdom wasn’t something I was feeling too much of, given my hungover state.
The manager found me a nice corner table where I could hide away and study the menu, on a suitably wonky table – a wobbly table for a wobbly human. Curiously, in 2016 I also remarked on a wonky table.
Inspector Wellington
I was quite amused at one point to see a well-dressed older Asian lady walking around The Duke Of Wellington open-mouthed at the scene – kind of like me walking around the Taj Mahal.
British life in action. I hope I looked as hungover and desperate for a roast dinner as I felt.
Back in 2016, I paid around £15.00 for a roast dinner at The Duke of Wellington. My options were beef rump at £24.00, pork belly at £21.00 or lemon and rosemary roast chicken – at £22.00.
It was the latter I chose.
Yeah you see pink chicken.
Not the best look though I’m hardly competing to be in FHM’s most eligible bachelor list. So I think (and certainly hope) it was pink because of how it had been cooked – instead of it being undercooked. There was no sign of it being undercooked – and seemingly it was cooked a little while back too.
I did not notice any lemon or rosemary, as mentioned on the menu. However it was unexpectedly spicy – almost like piri-piri. I rather enjoyed it, but I know some people wouldn’t get over the pinkness.
The breast was plump, the thigh was juicy – there was plenty of chicken to eat.
Wellington Bridge
So, following up with the carrots – these were soft, and nicely roasted. Decent.
Also there were some parsnips, roasted and quite possibly from the same pan, also soft, also decent – actually really quite flavoursome parsnips.
They served notably peppery cabbage, which I enjoyed – on the softer side of things also.
The roast potatoes were actually better than in 2016. You could tell they had been cooked a little while ago, but not abominably so. Quite crispy on the outside, quite soft on the middle…yeah these were broadly decent, especially for a Young’s pub.
The Yorkshire pudding was thoroughly shit. Most crimes had been committed – it was burnt, overcooked and totally dried out like a Quaver too.
Finally, they supplied a very respectable gravy. It met minimum consistency standards required for a northerner, if a little gloopy, and was quite a herby and peppery vibe. Good, though not butt-liftingly good.
The Duke Of Wellington
So a more successful re-visit this time.
The only clear fail was a disastrous Yorkshire pudding – burnt and left to fail.
You might also judge the pink chicken negatively – unlike those magnificent butt-lifters, pink kinda bloody chicken isn’t really a great look. Yet the chicken was really flavoursome and not undercooked.
Charming veggies, good roast potatoes and thick gravy. There was definitely plenty to appreciate about The Duke Of Wellington.
I was solo-dining so only my score to consider, and I think it’s worth a 7.71 out of 10.
Next Sunday I’m going to the most hyped roast dinner in London, in recent years. Even worse – I’m going with a Liverpool fan, and they could win the league that day.
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It was time to liberate The Camberwell Arms from the persecution, pillage, sedition and rape of being on my to-do list.
But first.
Actually The Camberwell Arms was on my to-do list right from the beginning – it was omnipresent on those listicles that the likes of Time Out officially specialise in.
But then it went off my to-do list. And then back on. Then off again – I would compare it to the hokey-cokey, but perhaps it’s more comparable to Trump tariffs, which may well be off by time you read this – or by time I even finish writing this. Or may have doubled.
Like…serious point quickly. Why on earth did Americans (maybe also the Kremlin) think it was a good idea to put someone who had bankrupted casinos in charge of the world’s largest economy, an economy which (albeit funded by government debt) was growing remarkably strongly when the casino bankrupter came to power.
And now:
Casinos are literally designed to take our money – it’s a can’t lose business.
Yet someone managed to bankrupt his own chain of casinos, and now he’s running the world’s largest economy…into the ground.
Well, at least he won another golf tournament this weekend. Con…grats.
Cambered Roadblock
Sigh. Anyway, The Camberwell Arms had made it back onto my to-do list, and I’ve been trying to book a table for a while – and always there are no tables free for all the Sundays ahead.
But last week I tried on the off-chance, and there was a table at 1pm. Boom. Booked. Put a dress on my imaginary poodle, combed my imaginary moustache, paid my imaginary tariffs – Camberwell, I was ready.
It wasn’t actually open when I arrived, so I had a little plod up and down the high street – despite The Camberwell Arms being gastropub par magnificence, the area hadn’t quite been turned into an extension of East Dulwich.
The Camberwell Arms itself is a gorgeous, open and welcoming gastropub – not even pretending to be a pub, and quite frankly is a restaurant in an old pub.
Inside is the usual mixture of exposed brick walls, old timber floors, teal paintwork – and it just feels really spacious, and seems to make the most of the light. It’s a rather gorgeous gastropub. Beware – I do use the word “gorgeous” quite a lot here.
The reason it went off my to-do list was because I could never figure out if they were offering a roast dinner or not. But they do come with roast potatoes, which was enough to persuade me.
Backwards camber
All the roasts are sharing platters – chicken at £48.00, beef onion and bone marrow pie at £50.00 (though that might be stretching the roast definition too much), Middlewhite pork at £54.00, two types of hogget at £58.00 or onglet at £58.00.
We settled for the Middlewhite pork – my accomplice may have preferred the onglet but I didn’t, I might have preferred the hogget but my accomplice wasn’t keen. And I’m always happy to see some crackling.
I also decided that The Camberwell Arms was in deficit to me – here I was ordering food, and they weren’t ordering a flipping thing from me.
So I decided to apply a tariff in the name of a pint of Lost & Grounded pale ale…which I’m not so fussed about as it is quite malty…I really should have ordered a glass of wine instead. Pretty sure I wrote the same sentence last week, though maybe without the tariff nonsense. Maybe.
The roasts arrived pretty quickly, maybe 15 minutes or so from ordering – it was one of those serve yourself platters so if the plating looks messy, it ain’t their fault.
Well, not their fault in the same way that inflation going up in USA won’t be Trump’s fault, it will be the fault of the companies putting their prices up (because of the tariffs).
Yep just 4 things to speak about this week – last week at Origin I had 4 meats to write about, let alone the rest of the roast.
So…starting with the carrot which was pretty damn whole. It was about as tough as you can get on the scale before you describe it as crunchy, there was enough give and it tasted, well, carroty.
I did get bored of it and wished for another vegetable – I think there was an upselling opportunity for The Camberwell Arms there, though perhaps best not to increase the deficit further, otherwise I might have to add a red wine tariff or something to my bill.
Adverse Camber
And that’s it for the vegetables. Hey, at least you can get to the end of this nonsense quicker. And so can I.
The roast potatoes were close to excellent. Fuck it, they were excellent – freshly cooked, really soft and fluffy in the middle, mostly crispy outsides – after eating these I was happy with my decision to class The Camberwell Arms as offering a roast dinner.
Some mixed feelings on the pork, for my preferences it was a little over-cooked – the meat itself felt quite dense, my jaw had more work to do than normal.
One part of the fat was quite tough too, but on the positive side the crackling was absolutely gorgeous, proper melt in your mouth stuff, and it was a really nice quality piece of pork.
Finally, the jus ish stuff was very watery, kind of oily yet tasted of a rich jus. For what it was I quite liked it, but proper gravy is my vibe. I was never going to get proper gravy at The Camberwell Arms.
Because I didn’t have enough to write about, and definitely for this reason only, the dessert menu appeared. I didn’t photograph it, but the was some chocolate fondant dessert on there, along with a lemon cake and a Basque cheesecake…maybe something else too.
They burnt the top of the cheesecake – can you believe it?! It was luxuriously creamy, yet really light – and it didn’t make me feel stuffed at all, in the same kind of way that the chocolate fondant might have (which was also gorgeous, I should add). The rhubarb didn’t have too much tartness, though could have done with slicing a little more, given that I only had a spoon – the poaching (assumedly) hadn’t broken it down much.
£10.00 for the cheesecake, but this is another example of the golden age of adding tariffs. Damn this was good. Oh, and yeah I know it being burnt is a thing, I’m only that Neanderthal when it comes to boobs.
The Camberwell Arms
It’s a tricky one to judge this – my score isn’t really going to reflect how much I appreciated The Camberwell Arms, because it is one of those places where I’d rather go on a Friday night than a Sunday, but hey, my blog is what it is.
So The Camberwell Arms really is an excellent establishment, from my 90 minutes in there. The service was really on the ball, efficient but also really friendly – there was a connection there which often there isn’t in your bog standard pub.
The venue itself is gorgeous, so airy and light, you could just sit here and marvel at it for a while. I didn’t have any wine, nor know enough about it – the beer choice was ordinary, in a London way (thankfully not in a Scunthorpe way).
Yet the roast dinner was a mixed bag, and not much of a bag. The roast potatoes were excellent, as was the crackling – but it really needed a second vegetable for me. Plus if you know me, you know I want proper gravy.
My accomplice scored it a 7.60, and I’m scoring the roast dinner (only) at The Camberwell Arms a 7.30 out of 10. There’s better places for a roast dinner, but this is an excellent venue. Go Monday to Saturday instead if you can, but if you have to go on a Sunday, it’s definitely still good – maybe add a side dish though. And definitely order dessert. It’s going on my Monday to Saturday to-do list.
I’ll be back next week. No definite plan yet, and perhaps I’ll be bankrupt by then anyway. Though the Sunday after is a special one…
In a parallel universe, President Harris is giving a speech on the importance of pronouns, which nobody is listening to, and the stock market keeps motoring along. President Harris has not declared a golden age, she hasn’t released her own coin, she isn’t selling a golden Harris credit card for $5m, nor is she spending half of her time and much American taxpayer money playing golf.
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This week’s roast dinner review comes from Origin in Farringdon, which until I turned up at the door I always thought was called Origin City.
And for the first time since Tony Blair was still cool, I have a full set of teeth.
10+ hours in dentist chairs, 8 teeth removed, 8 (ish) fillings, 60 (ish) injections into my mouth, 2 minutes of wearing dentures that I hated, a hammer to the face, 6 screws into the jaw, 6 screws unscrewed, 6 different screws screwed in with a bit more drilling, existing teeth filed down, many many stitches and 6 months walking around with no top teeth.
Oh and a bonus root canal treatment just when I thought it was time to relax and work out how you do that smiling thing that I’ve been avoiding for the last few decades.
But now…I can audition for the Trivago advert.
Oh not to mention that I spent a 5-figure sum which is…oooooh…not far off the amount that I’ve spent on this blog. Quickly checks Patreon subscribers…oh £1 a month, cool.
Well, I guess it’s time to re-activate my Plenty Of Fish account, “fake teeth seeks fake tits…”.
On the Origin of Teeth
Origin was recommended to me a little while back, curiously by the same person who recommended The White Horse in Brixton, which I scored a lowly 5.94 out of 10.
A wiser man may have scrubbed Origin off his to-do list following this, but a wiser man may also have visited the dentist at least once during Tony Blair’s government, and not taken toothache as reason to eat some soothing chocolate, with a pint of wine and a bucket of diazepam. By the way, no – the painkillers that the dentist in Budapest offered didn’t make me even vaguely high or woozy.
Origin proclaims to be a nose and tail restaurant, though quite how often either a nose or a tail ends up on a roast dinner is questionable.
It has a large open kitchen at the back – though as a spacious restaurant the chefs are far enough away to be anonymous. Decor is tones of brown – perhaps matching the poop emoji they seem to use for their website’s favicon (I guess it may look like a flame to some people). Seating was comfortable – red leather panels, proper tables and chairs. It was Mother’s Day, and MOTHER was comfortable so the box was ticked there.
Questions occurred with the menu – I’ll accept a roast dinner without a Yorkshire pudding, but neither the lamb shoulder or pork shoulder came with a roast potato or a Yorkshire pudding – so they ain’t roast dinners, babes.
Therefore the only options were the beef, which was supposed to come with short rib and shallot, priced at £25.00, or the feast – which was beef, pork and lamb – with the proper trimmings, priced at £32.00.
Thankfully I managed to find another participant for the feast – I wasn’t convinced that my dentist’s advice of “soft food for the first couple of weeks” would work with silverside of beef. Then again…I haven’t exactly lived a life advised by dentists, doctors, lawyers, mothers or the KGB.
On the Origin of Species
Some bread arrived first – yay sourdough for my new “soft food only for the first two weeks please” teeth – it was fresh and fairly soft, plus the chilli/sundried tomato/butter combo that went with it was a delight (perhaps take those ingredients with a pinch of salt).
It was actually the first roast dinner of the year since my detox ended…so of course the beer choice on the menu was uninteresting. Five Points whose beers I am just nonplussed about – I had some other pale which was quite golden and amber, more my father’s taste, except he didn’t like it either. Should have ordered some wine instead…but hey, that’s my lack of sensible decision making kicking in again perhaps, and maybe also wanting to save some money after eating out 10 times in the previous 10 days.
I even considered ordering an apple juice outside of detox times, but baulked at a price of £5.50.
The roast was one of those put it together yourself ones, so do forgive them for my plating, though for my standards it looks quite tidy.
For a change, I’m going to start with the gravy.
Actually, I’m going to start with Elon Musk’s empathy.
Actually I’m going to start with JD Vance’s intellectual pronouncements.
Do you see where I’m going here?
Do you see any gravy?
On the Origin of Gravy
OK, new photograph and I’ve poured all the…jus…on the roast.
All of it.
Now, if I was writing for the Financial Times, I’d be telling you that you don’t actually need gravy for this roast dinner…but also if I was writing for the Financial Times I wouldn’t have included a meme of JD Vance holding a dildo.
Heck, even if I was writing for Time Out, then I’d be telling you “IT’S OFFICIAL: YOU OFFICIALLY DON’T NEED OFFICIAL GRAVY OR OFFICIAL JUS”.
Shall we start with the carrots?
The carrots were really good – orange, yellow and purple ones all combined with tarragon and perhaps some star anise too, a little on the crunchy side.
Next up was the cabbage, which was soft and really buttery – I was quite tempted to pour the leftover watery buttery liquid on my plate and use that for gravy (pretty sure some pubs would pour cabbage water and call it gravy).
The Origin Of Every Single Time Out Post Being Official
Finally in terms of vegetables, we had cauliflower cheese – it alone justifying the choice of the Sunday Feast for being properly cheesy, the type of cauliflower cheese that you have to keep picking the cheesy remnants from the bowl with your fingers, long after both the stomach and the brain have given the signal to stop eating. Thick sauce, perfectly cooked cauliflower with a little charring on top.
Three roast potatoes – and they were better than Blacklock’s. Yes, I did just say “better than Blacklock’s”.
Two things annoyed me, one that they were perfectly crispy and it definitely doesn’t count as soft food, two – why is there no fucking jus. Oh my. There was at least meat juices in the plate of shared meat, and some cauliflower cheese creaminess that I could use.
You could probably just say that these were perfect. I won’t get any better all year – crispy on the outside, soft in the inside, freshly made, and cooked with beef dripping. With apologies to any vegetarians getting excited.
The Yorkshire pudding was mercifully small, though kind of dry and crunchy – it had been sat around under a heat lamp or similar for a while, and was past its best. Oh well. But do you know what could have improved it? Yes, I know I could have asked for more jus for a second time, but it was serious thimble vibes and by time I’d made enough requests for sufficient jus, the waiter would have sacked his job off.
Ahh gosh do I really have 4 types of meat to describe?
So I think the pork shoulder was the least praise-worthy – it seemed like good quality meat yet was a little dry, though I stress the “little”. I took one look at my father trying to crunch the crackling and decided that I wasn’t going to risk £11k’s worth of new teeth for such limited joy.
The beef itself, I think silverside, was really tender and juicy – someone writing for the FT might well argue that it didn’t need any gravy.
But I’d argue the star was the lamb. Like the pork it was a tad over-cooked for my preference, but no great shakes – the flavour was excellent, it was really tender and it didn’t need gravy. I may have lied about one part there.
And finally, the…sausage. I’m tempted to say it was merguez – I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it tasted of, certainly plenty of herbs going on – one minute I thought it was lamb, the next beef – so I concluded maybe merguez. Whatever – it was top notch sausage.
By the way, this is what the beef looked like – the photography might help you understand why I’m so effusive compared to my strangely dull photograph.
Origin Of The Origin
So each of my accomplices scored it a 9.00 out of 10. You know I ain’t giving the first 9.00 out for 2 years, without gravy.
Yet almost everything was very good or better. The only complaint is the heat-lamped yorkie – but I’ve had far worse.
Possibly the best ever roast potatoes, all the meat was broadly really good (without being exceptional), cauliflower cheese was properly cheesy with good, thick sauce, the cabbage was really buttery, the carrots bathed in tarragon. This was a roast dinner of the ages. That’s the saying, right?
So was it my fault that we didn’t have enough gravy? We had two thimbles originally, between 4 of us. We asked for more – one more thimble came. I’m not exaggerating. Plus the menu says £5.00 for gravy – is this per thimble? I’d eaten out 10 times in 10 days, and it really was time to put the spending brakes on. Maybe I could have stressed our requirements more. But maybe we would have had multiple £5.00 charges on our bill as an unpleasant surprise.
I asked Threads what the score should be for a roast dinner without gravy, and it was a pretty unanimous 0. Then again, Threads is pretty unanimous that all we need to do is implement a wealth tax and our problems will be solved. Though it does also have a more agreeable side-line celebrating the rapid unscheduled disassembly of Tesla cars, Tesla showrooms or Tesla stock.
So I’m going to score Origin an 8.25 out of 10. Just a bit more gravy and this might have been a rare 9+. Probably the best ever roast potatoes I’ve had – seriously consider booking it, but do take a flask with you.
Next Sunday I’m going somewhere that only just about qualifies as serving roast dinners, and I’ve ummed and ahhed about going for years.
Gosh I could probably run for British president now I have teeth.
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It was my last roast dinner before heading back to Budapest to overthrow Orban get my brand new very very very very very very very shiny teeth, and we headed to The Rose in Battersea.
And after two very good roast dinners the preceding weeks, what could go wrong?
Aha we’ve finally found out the real intention of the Donald Musk government.
It isn’t to cut government spending (record spending this February gone).
Nor is it to bring peace to Ukraine within 24 hours (I’m soooooo certain Putin will sign a peace deal any minute now).
Middle East peace is sorted though, right?
So what is the real purpose of the Donald Musk government? Selling Tesla’s…nearly as much as institutions are selling stock in Tesla.
Some people say that a man with multiple bankruptcies, 26 sexual assault allegations, one civil rape conviction, two impeachments, a string a court cases, a foundation shut down due to the illegal use of charitable funds and a university shut down after allegations of fraud, wouldn’t be employable.
But I could see a future as a used car salesman. Hey, even Ted Cruz looks interested…
The Rose Garden
The Rose was somewhere I discovered, I think by trawling social media – and it was a pub I’d never heard of, with a roast dinner that looked potentially rather good. It went on the to-do list.
In fact, The Rose is two pubs – there is The Rose in Vauxhall and The Rose in Battersea. I’m not really sure why we went for Battersea over Vauxhall, especially when it is a 25 minute walk from the nearest train station, and I had somehow tripped up and fallen on my big toe the day before, meaning I had a slightly painful step, which is definitely not funny.
The Rose definitely had questionable attempts at Instagram-styling – the font and the flowers felt so like I needed my blonde extensions back in, though it did make a change from the various shades of teal that most pubs are painted in.
Plus inside.
PINK.
I really hope that artwork cost less than a share in Tesla does right now.
Also inside it was really quiet – like, more staff than customers levels of quiet, which concerned me both from the perspective of independent business struggle, but also my struggle to get a good roast dinner. That said…I’ve had two very good roast dinners in a row.
Guns And Roses
On the menu was beef at £24.00, chicken at £22.00, leg of lamb at £24.50, pork belly at £23.00 or the vegan wellington at £16.50.
I didn’t fancy chicken, beef I cannot eat due to the lack of teeth situation (if you see me only eating roast dinners at steak restaurants next month, you know why) so it was a choice of pork belly or leg of lamb, and pretty much a coin toss so I went for pork belly – thinking maybe for the first time in 2025 it won’t come burnt.
A standard 15-20 minutes elapsed before our roasts arrived:
And if you want to see anything other than a Yorkshire pudding:
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
Starting with the, oooh, carrot which was nicely roasted, a little on the soft side with some seasoning.
Next up was a tiny bit of broccoli, but it was so tough that you needed both upper and lower teeth for this – I’m told it was nice though.
The hispi cabbage was soft and silky feeling, with a little charring too.
There was a bit of swede mash which I wasn’t so bothered about, but the celeriac (I think) puree was utterly glorious, again a silky smooth used Tesla salesman vibe comes to mind, creamy and luxurious too.
Worth noting that the vegetables were generally nicely seasoned too – seems so strange that some pubs/restaurants just totally overlook the most simplest of things.
There were multiple small roast potatoes – one of those were I couldn’t quite tell if they’d seen an oven or a deep fat fryer, but either way they were pretty good. Reasonably fresh, often crispy on the outsides if not quite with the chuffed up outsides that would make me squeal.
Everything’s Coming Up Roses
The Yorkshire pudding had been done some time earlier, and was cooler than ideal. But it had probably been made the same day (small mercies) and was one of the best not-fresh Yorkshire puddings I’ve been served, I even ate it all, despite the dried up nature of the upper part of it.
The pork belly wasn’t burnt! Yay, another success (see reviews of The George or The Hare & Billet if you don’t get my reference).
And apart from not being burnt it was pretty good. A little overdone at the edges and not quite as gloriously gluttonous as pork belly can be at its best, but it was tender, it was definitely juicy and the crackling was pretty crispy too.
Definitely more winning than losing.
Finally, the gravy was an actual gravy. Perhaps there was some granules or Oxo going on – there was a bit of a salty aftertaste, but also it was more complimentary than not.
The Rose
Gosh, is this a third very good rose dinner in a row?
It is indeed – did you note the lack of moaning? Are you missing the moaning?
Sure there were things that could have been improved – I’ve had nicer gravy, I’ve had more gluttonous pork belly, and the yorkie was a bit dried out.
Yet it all came together really well – nothing was less than good enough, the roast potatoes were really enjoyable, the vegetables all really good – especially the celeriac puree, the pork belly was tasty too. Plus…seasoning.
One accomplice had the beef, really enjoyed the roast even if it wasn’t his favourite piece of beef ever – and scored the roast an 8.50. My other accomplice, who is probably as hard to please as I am, scored her pork belly an 8.20.
I was really happy with my roast dinner – sure it had a few minor imperfections but there was no real complaints, and plenty of winning – my score is an 7.97 out of 10. Possibly I might have scored it slightly higher without a £1.05 for extra gravy. This is nothing more than a tax on northerners. And why £1.05?
Oh and the apple juice was a bit naff.
I should be back in two weeks, though that is dentistry-dependent. Hurry up Hungary Teeth.
OMG the boycotting is going too far now.
Who is she?
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FOWL. No I’m not talking about watery gravy – FOWL is the name of the restaurant for this week’s adventure, near to Piccadilly Circus.
Do you want to play a game of fowl or foul?
[getty src="968494128" width="594" height="472" tld="com"]FOUL.
[getty src="914561706" width="594" height="479" tld="com"]FOWL…ER.
[getty src="828432084" width="594" height="396" tld="com"]FOUL.
[getty src="157817216" width="418" height="594" tld="com"]FOWL.
[getty src="2157902005" width="594" height="396" tld="com"]FOUL. I mean, is there really any chicken inside a chicken nugget?
Tell me that’s the highlight of your week so far.
Vinnie Jones
I like to plan my life in advance, if you live in London you probably know what I mean – message a friend to arrange a catch-up and you manage to find an hour, one Tuesday evening two months away, which you can both make.
Most of my Sundays are booked a few weeks in advance, but this Sunday wasn’t…and I didn’t know what to do.
I thought about doing one of the roasts that have been on the to-do list the longest. The Marksman has been on there since I started the blog, but is for two people sharing, The Camberwell Arms is booked up weeks in advance, The Prospect Of Whitby is a future Halloween special maybe, The Ned is like £100 for a roast and not really solo dining territory…I kind of gave up thinking.
Then, two days before, I span the random number generator and it chose the most recently added place, FOWL – their caps lock but I’ll FUCKING allow it. Sorry, how foul of me.
Yeah that might be FOUL also.
FOWL is a chicken-focused restaurant near Piccadilly Circus, owned by the same group that run Fallow and Roe – two restaurants with very good roast dinners, if replete with pontificatingly watery gravy.
As soon as I noted that you could book a table outside I was sold, helped that it was forecast to be a balmy 18’C and the first day for 6 months that I’ve been able to go outside without a coat – I felt so naked.
https://www.threads.net/embed.jsView on Threads
Not quite that naked though. Encule Nazis.
Sergio Ramos
It being a chicken-focused restaurant, there was only one thing on the roast dinner menu.
Mushrooms.
A ha ha ha I’m so funny. Though not quite as funny as a Tesla being vandalised.
Or the Tesla stock price being down 47%. Now that’s really quite funny. Fuck around, find out, Musky.
[getty src="2197059281" width="594" height="396" tld="com"]Oh yeah, the menu. I’ve been quite unpolitical this week for my standards though, right?
So the menu had chicken or chicken. Though to be clear, just one type of chicken at £24.00, or a maitake mushroom mystery thing at £24.00 which might be vegetarian, or it might be vegan. Or both.
I’ve already had a vegetarian roast dinner in 2025 (albeit with a side of chicken leg) so I went for the chicken.
Gennaro Gattuso
Frustratingly a table in the sun came available just at the same point as my roast arrived, just as I was thinking whether it is socially acceptable to change the table I’m sat on at a restaurant without it looking too un-British.
But I’m sure we’ll have plenty more warm and sunny Sundays to come in 2025. Won’t we?
Starting with…the sprouts. Whoa no carrots. Both Fallow and Roe had a very strong vegetable game, and FOWL followed in their footsteps.
The sprouts were nicely roasted, a little bit of crunch but soft enough.
Did you think the hottest new trend for 2025 was the Nazi salute? Well, seemingly you are wrong, because last week I had deep-fried parsnips for the first time ever, and this week I had deep-fried parsnips for the second time ever. Maybe their chef reads this blog? Gravy ain’t watery either…just saying. Someone in the industry must read this shit occasionally.
So they were rather on the crispy side, a slight hint of spice, with more battered coating than actual parsnip, yet still very enjoyable and just a little bit wrong.
As opposed to Agent Krasnov being funded by Russia which is totally not wrong at all.
Fernandinho
Two weeks in a row I’ve had crispy roast potatoes – is this the Golden Age that we were promised?
Perfect? Not quite, they had been cooked a little time before but it was only slightly noticeable, otherwise they were pretty crispy on the outside, pretty soft inside and…wait until you hear this…there were 4 of them.
Alas the Yorkshire pudding was the most pointless over-sized lump of dried batter I’ve been served in a while.
On the bright side it wasn’t burnt, but instead it was cold and dried-out. If chefs cannot be arsed to make Yorkshire puddings on the same day then at least please make mercifully small yorkies – I hate wasting food, but eating this humongous lump of dried batter would have been a waste of my jaw.
Thankfully for a chicken restaurant, the chicken was pretty ace. Plump, juicy and plentiful, the drumstick was a tad tough and I’d prefer the skin crispy, but there was easily more joy than jank here. If you are wondering what a Sutton Hoo chicken is, as I did, it is the name of a farm – and also site of two Anglo-Saxon cemeteries dating from the 6th to 7th centuries.
Finally we had actual gravy. I did get a little tired of it towards the end of the meal as it had Asian tones to it – either that or it was my imagination, which cannot ever be ruled out. Hoisin or soy sauce perhaps mixed in…you’d have to ask the chef, but it was on the hint side, and far preferable to watery wank that so many restaurants and pubs pass off for gravy.
FOWL
Pretty happy days again in the roast dinner world. How strange.
NOT A FOUL. Legitimate target, Ken.
So mostly good vibes at FOWL. Decent roast potatoes, thick gravy if a tad tiring, really good vegetables and plump chicken. The only real issue I had was the cold dried lump of batter, which really was quite FOUL.
I’m scoring FOWL a very healthy 7.84 out of 10, and given my love of fried chicken, I suspect I’ll be back off-duty one time soon. Especially if it’s possible to grab a table in the sunshine.
Service definitely worth a mention too as that was very welcoming and friendly, quick to serve me too.
I’ll be back next week, and the mission is to a pub which looks a little Instagrammy for my tastes, but we’ll see.
[getty src="107063643" width="594" height="525" tld="com"]FOUL.
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This weekend’s adventure was to another un-reviewed area of London – Teddington, and a visit to The Railway.
And after months of unrelenting cloud, it was actually sunny. OMG let’s have a hug.
Yep, no cancellation of diversity and inclusion around here – check out the multi-ethnic lesbian hug action.
And after, ooooh, minutes of vapid bating by a man who fucks sofas, and the Orange Pol Pot, it was equally wonderful to feel the hug from Kier Starmer.
Did you feel the hug too? It’s a good job I wasn’t drinking the day before or I might have been in tears on the train on the way home, and not just because every single one of the 5 trains I caught had some kind of delay or unwelcome human intervention.
And after, ooooh, months of watery gravy and roast potatoes made the day before, could I actually…like…just once…
Flying Scotsman
Given my run of poor roast dinners, I’m at the point where I just want thick gravy or decent roast potatoes. Just one or the other will do.
The Railway was a recommendation by my manager, so I guess this is an early clue as to what my end of year rating will be. Surely if he rates me as a software engineer, then he wouldn’t recommend anywhere with watery gravy…right?
Gosh a bit of sunshine and I’ve gone all soppy – and yes I’m pretty much ignoring that the most powerful country in the world is now actively cultivating it’s status as an enemy of the whole of Europe, cosying up to Putin, releasing an AI-video of men with beards in bikinis in Gaza worshipping King Trump, started selling citizenships to Russian oligarchs, arranged the return of alleged rapists from Romania, completely undermined cybersecurity in the USA and hence the whole world by stopping all investigations of Russian hacking…
Oh and fucking selling those baseball caps from the White House.
Isn’t it time for him to go on a golfing holiday? A very long one? Oh, he’s been spending lots of time playing golf too. Rightio.
Not that there’s anything wrong with men wearing make-up. Maybe something less orange though…
Intercity 125
So here I was, Teddington. One of those weird places with like two trains an hour so I walked from Twickenham, in the glorious early spring sunshine.
I was in such a good mood that I even helped a disabled man, who was struggling to hold doors open, get into a Wetherspoons. I was quite proud of myself for doing a good deed and not just walking by, but then I later questioned whether helping someone get into a Wetherspoons really was a good deed.
The Railway was noticeably busy – everywhere was this weekend, including all the trains I caught, as if the sunshine had actually woken London up, in the same way that Trump enacting Putin’s American election manifesto might have woken up Europe…maybe…
Quite a bright pub inside, light colours and exposed brickwork was the theme. It might have even been quite bright inside on any of the previous 137 Sundays that have been cloudy.
The top of the menu at The Railway scared me at first – £70 for a fucking chicken roast dinner – what kind of place is Teddington?
But these were the sharing roasts…not sure I’ve ever seen such an extensive list of sharing roasts.
The Mallard
Thankfully there were individual roasts at the bottom – sirloin of beef at £25.00, rump of lamb at £24.00, slow roasted pork belly at £23.00, chicken breast and stuffing at £22.00, and two vegan/veggie roasts at £19.00 or £20.00. Disappointed that they didn’t have anything at £21.00 to keep the numeric order, but there are worse issues in roast dinner world right now.
I quite fancied lamb, so that was my choice – no indecision for me, which is quite unusual.
It did feel a tiny bit rushed at The Railway, our waiter was friendly and helpful with our various requests, though it did seem as though he was taking our food order before I’d even thought about food. And our roasts didn’t take too long to arrive, say 10-15 minutes.
Kudos for actually making a roast dinner look quite, erm, phallic. And yes, that isn’t browed water on the plate. Could it be the first excellent roast dinner of 2025?
Let’s start with the carrots, which were quite baby-sized and really flavoursome in terms of the honey glaze. Soft to eat too. Best carrot of 2025?
Then there was a cabbage and…urgh…stray pea medley. I cannot say I was that bothered about the cabbage, and the peas were somewhat infuriating to have to pick out.
Ahhh I feel good now though. Though I also felt good eating the deep fried parsnip – an unusual idea but it worked, perhaps with polenta on the outside to help give it a bit of crisp, plus the parsnip itself was flavoursome.
Thomas The Tank Engine
The cauliflower cheese tasted quite cheesy but was rather mushy…well…very mushy.
Then, our first miracle.
Firstly, before I get accused of not being thankful enough, I’d like to thank Donald Trump, JD Vance and all the American people for supplying crispy roast potatoes for my roast dinner this week. Myself and all my readers are eternally grateful for your support.
I really am thankful. Thank you. THANK YOU.
Yes these actually were excellent roast potatoes. Crispy on the outside but not too much, fluffy on the inside and guess what day they were cooked? Today! A miracle. What? I did thank you over and over…
Continuing with relative miracles, even the Yorkshire pudding was pretty good. A tad overcooked, just a tad but overall pretty fluffy, especially away from the slightly dried top, and in the grand scheme of things in the roast dinner world (or the world in general) were pretty damn good.
Then onto the lamb rump, which was probably a bit too much of a challenge for a blogger without any top teeth (just two more roasts until I can chew meat properly). Overall it was pretty gorgeous, the more meaty bits were glorious, though in places there was too much fat to be easily enjoyed in my temporary predicament. Well seasoned, especially with salt, I really liked the charring around the edge too.
Finally, the gravy. Actual proper gravy – better than anything I had in 2024, let alone 2025 so far. A proper, glorious, thick, northern gravy, hearty and herby with a fair amount of seasoning going on too. This is the kind of gravy that improves everything (well, almost, JD Vance would still look like an sanity imposter with a jug of gravy) – but the roast was already excellent anyway.
The Railway
Has the sun gone to my head? Has Kier Starmer’s hug affected the wiring of my brain?
Surely there is something to moan about? At best, I can complain about the hidden peas and the cauliflower cheese being mushy. That’s it.
My accomplice, who hadn’t joined me on roast duty since before the pandemic (him moving to London probably means we’ll have another one before the next pandemic) was highly in praise of his nut roast – apparently a mixture of seeds, potato and stuff.
His rating was a very commendable 9.00.
My other accomplice, first time joining, had warned me that she was a harsh critic – something to which I whole-heartedly approve of, at least until she looked at my website and asked where my newsletter sign-up is (erm, coming soon one year) and where the link to my Instagram page is (erm…yeah but my largest contentful paint is just 1.1s and my total blocking time during load is just 20ms).
The weird things are gluten-free Yorkshire puddings – fair play to The Railway for doing them, I think most places just don’t bother? And she scored hers between a 7 and an 8, but a bit closer to a 7. So a 7.40.
I’m really fucking happy. Can you believe it? So happy that I was about to smile in public for the first time since 1987 until I remembered I have no top teeth.
Crispy roast potatoes, thick meaty gravy, really good lamb (if a tad fatty in some spots), the best carrots of the year…WHO IS THIS WRITING? My score is an earth-shattering 8.58 out of 10.
The best roast dinner of 2025 so far…ok faint praise, but the 11th best roast dinner in London that is still available to order (ie not closed down), out of 323 reviews.
Alas…you have to go to Teddington though.
So I guess my boss doesn’t want to get rid of me after all. I’ll be back next week…no plans at the time of writing.
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