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• The White Horse, Brixton

  Published 10 February 2025, 8:49 am

The White Horse in Brixton. Horses…white…there used to be a ketamine joke here, but now Elon Musk has come along and ketamine doesn’t seem so cool any more.

Sad times when ketamine jokes are dead thanks to a billionaire that definitely isn’t a Nazi.



Also dead – the flowers in The White Horse in Brixton. Yeah I’m going to have to say “The White Horse in Brixton” instead of “The White Horse” because my SEO plugin doesn’t like me using the same keyword on multiple pages, and apparently I went to a different pub called The White Horse…not that I remember.

Oh yeah, it was in Harrow. That was actually a surprisingly good roast dinner.

I had fairly low expectations this time – it was an e-mailed recommendation, though described as a “standard pub roast”, so the recommendation wasn’t exactly overflowing with vim – a bit like the vase of flowers.

Yet I was quite happy to go to Brixton, as it is relatively close to Croydon (where I live) and I’d had a busy weekend removing all mentions of women and black people from the blog, because I don’t have a backbone to stand up to demands from the TaliMAGAban.

Just the worst pieces of shit.NASA moves to erase 'women in leadership,' 'Indigenous people' from websites www.chron.com/news/space/a…

— Oliver Willis (@owillis.bsky.social) 2025-02-05T23:12:53.466Z

https://embed.bsky.app/static/embed.js

Fuck The Aryan Brotherhood

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Lol, as if I’d remove all mentions of women from the blog, I’m not a piece of shit like…Janet Petro…how is a woman even signing such an order?

Sigh. So, the last time I was in Brixton, it was for an utterly disappointing roast dinner in the kind of establishment that Donald Trump would be in, had US justice actually done it’s job over the last 4 years. Yeah, that was Brixton Prison.

This time I was in a pub which was kind of styled like an Antic pub, at least the multi-coloured chairs and 16 year olds serving behind the bar seemed to suggest.

The White Horse in Brixton is a kind of a mixed-use neighbourhood pub, there were flags up for the egg-chasing, grim and fully graffitied toilets, along with a pool table at the back. I cannot remember the last time I was in a pub with a pool table, though that probably says more about me than pubs themselves.

I’m probably not really selling this, and when the random number generator selected it, I did consider maybe just removing it from the to-do list.



However, despite the fact that it is 2025, you could get a roast dinner for £16.00, I shit you not. You have to go back to December 2022 at The Black Lion in Kilburn for the last time I paid just £16.00 for a roast dinner, though that did have mighty sexy gravy…quite possibly the last time I had sexy gravy also.

So not all doom and gloom this week. Options on the menu were sirloin of beef, pork belly or baby chicken – each at £16.00, or a nut roast at £15.75. Quite why they bothered listing it for 25 pence less than the other roast dinners, instead of keeping price symmetry…actually there are more problematic mysteries to solve right now. They also offer a kid’s size plate at £8.50, which I think is a good touch.

Fuck The National Socialist Movement



Well I should be angry about the unadvertised peas, but I have so much to be angry about at the moment that I’m struggling to be angry. Have I mentioned that I don’t like Elon Musk?

So, starting with the carr…holy shit, no carrots. It was probably December 2022 when I last had a roast dinner without carrots.

Fine. Starting with the red cabbage, which is something I’m never especially keen on, but it was alright – quite small and fiddly bits, arguably a bit too wet, and quite on the fruity side.

Next up, the broccoli, which was a tiny bit al dente and just ordinary broccoli.

Scraps of kale had a hint of perfume within…my accomplice noticed it more than I did.

Fuck The Proud Boys



We had two potatoes which tasted of a deep fat fryer…perhaps my imagination but it seemed that way. Quite dry inside, though some evidence of crispy outsides – if more on the fried side of crispy. I didn’t mind the first one, I didn’t finish the second one.

Not photographed that well, but we also had some mashed potato. Again, a little on the dry and coarse side, but much preferable to the probably deep fried potatoes, and quite creamy…if you can imagine something quite creamy and quite dry at the same time? Quite.

My Yorkshire pudding was actually nice, a decent home-made style, quite eggy, not especially soft but not too crispy either. My accomplice’s was the kind of colour that would see it removed from the website of a US government agency.



I might stop eating pork belly. I’ve ordered it three times in 2025 so far. Twice was burnt – The White Horse in Brixton didn’t burn it but they definitely over-cooked it, and the over-cooking, if I’m being generous, happened the day before. If you told me it was several days before, I’d believe you.

The crackling was impossible to eat, even if I actually had upper teeth (roll on Budapest dentistry in March), the pork itself was half dry – one side was properly dried out, the other wasn’t too bad. There was some occasional joy, not every mouthful was dry, some parts were reasonably juicy, if still overcooked.

Finally, the gravy was alright. I wouldn’t be too surprised if there was some granules involved, but broadly-speaking it looked and tasted like gravy, though it was nothing to bring out the bunting for.

The White Horse in Brixton

Well, it was just £16.00.

Obviously this wasn’t a good roast dinner, and probably never was going to be. Yet I wasn’t overly disappointed – probably because my expectations were low and it was just £16.00.

Did I like anything? Well, the Yorkshire pudding was quite good, I didn’t mind the gravy or mash – basic but acceptable.

However, the pork belly was unacceptably overcooked and some time ago overcooked, the roast potatoes were fried and there were unadvertised evil peas.



My accomplice had the beef – some of which was quite nice apparently, but some was too chewy to eat also. Along with the burnt Yorkshire pudding and her vegetables apparently tasting of children’s perfume (the place did seem to be run by 16 year olds…though quite possibly I’m just disappointed in not looking young any more), she scored it a 5.30.

For some reason that is quite possibly £16.00, I don’t want to hate on this roast dinner as much as I probably could…my score is a 5.94 out of 10. It’s probably a much better pub for having a few beers in, and with a 3am licence, it is probably quite fun on a weekend night.

No roast next week as I’m up north visiting family, but I’ll be back the Sunday after, and I’ll be going to another reader’s recommendation…this one I have a bit more hope for.

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And, no, I’m not removing references to black people, especially Jay-Jay Okocha. LEGEND. Have I mentioned that I hate Elon Musk?

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• The Westbourne, Westbourne Park

  Published 3 February 2025, 8:25 am

Welcome back to Roast Dinners In America, and this week I headed to The Westbourne in West Wing Park (the best park, tremendous, people are saying it’s fantastic), which can be found on the Trump Tower Line.



So, where else can we rename?

There’s a lot of towns in England that really do need renaming. Like, who named somewhere Grimsby? Of course, perhaps the word “grim” is named after the town.

Scunthorpe probably might improve without the “cunt” – Lower Shorpe, perhaps?

Goole, Tamworth, Walsall, Rotherham, Slough – all could sound more aesthetically pleasing with a name change. Slough-On-Thames? Hmmm, that doesn’t really help, does it? Lower Windsor?

Personally, I’m looking forward to the day that Moscow is part of East Ukraine, Xinjiang is East Turkestan, north-east Iraq becomes Kurdistan and China becomes Greater Taiwan.

Oops that’s me banned from Russia, China and Turkey.



And that’s me banned from America North Mexico.

Bourne In The North Mexico

I could be tempted to rename roast dinners, given the lack of quality in recent weeks. Granted, the sample size is low with three roasts so far, but the average score for 2025 is just 6.17.

This week I headed to The Westbourne in Westbourne Park – it had been on my to-do list for ages, but doesn’t have an online booking thing which means…scary shit incoming…a telephone call.

It was surprisingly easy. I put the numbers in my telephone, pressed “dial”, someone answered, and I asked to book a table. In fact, I was so excited by telephoning someone, that I then telephoned the Royal Mail head office to ask why I hadn’t received any mail for two weeks. Guess who was less interested in my call?



Miraculously, it was a nice sunny day, despite definitely still having that distinct February chill. We were a little surprised to see the garden at the front of The Westbourne really busy, but inside quiet.

Note to self – The Westbourne has a good area out front for beers in the summer. Whether you’d get a table in summer is another question, if they are all full in February.

Beer choice was respectable – quite a few known beers from independent breweries, like Kernel, for example. But it’s Dry February, so who cares?

Bourne This Way

The Westbourne definitely has a personality (and was in the Time Out Eating & Drinking guide 2002), though it does need a bit of love in places – the toilets were notably Grimsby-ish. It did feel a bit spit and sawdust, but in a Notting Hill kind of way…if that comparison can make sense. But who cares if it makes sense…not much makes sense now anyway…especially now wind turbines are killing our whales, our beautiful whales, in the French Chanel.



Grotty toilets downstairs, but bluefin tuna tartare on the menu. The menu seemed almost too classy, but then there were loads of people sat outside on a cold day, and then again 70m people voted for cheaper eggs and are now arguing that it is their patriotic duty to spend more on food when tariffs come in.

When is WordPress going to allow emojis?

Anyway, the menu – just two choices, that of pork belly at £25.50 or that of half a chicken at £24.50. I went for chicken because I had pork belly last week, and of course the chicken was miles better than the burnt pork belly at The George, and you know full well the pork belly will be banging at The Westbourne.

Our meal arrived really quickly – maybe after 10 minutes?



Starting with the, erm, orange things as orange seems to be the theme right now (a lot of people are saying…) and the carrots were good. Soft, roasted – there seemed to be some buttery glaze to them, though I’m not sure about it actually being butter. Plus there was a fair flavour of rosemary. I shit you not, flavour.

Bourne Slippy

I liked the green beans too – perfectly cooked (for my preferences), a little on the soft side, no squeak.

That was it for vegetables. Let’s look at these:



I’ve had to rename roast potatoes, to roasted potatoes on many occasions. Or fried potatoes. Or grey shit tubers. Yet these were actual roast potatoes, cooked by a real chef who clearly knows what he/she is doing.

Crispy outsides – properly crispy, soft inside – and a fair size too. Rare it is that I leave some roast potato for the final bite of the meal. Oh…and they were hot…like actually cooked recently hot. Tremendous.

Bourne To Be Wild

The small Yorkshire pudding looked the part, however, you know how I complain about eating the same thing every week, and wishing for some inventiveness? Well…the Yorkshire pudding tasted of fish.

Aha. Fish. Perhaps mackerel. I should state that only part of it tasted like fish, and my accomplice’s tasted of Yorkshire pudding (though hers was burnt a bit on the bottom – mine was…squidgy). Other than that I quite liked it, but couldn’t quite get past the fish flavour.



Back to compliments for the chicken, which was plump and juicy – especially the thigh which was a delight. I was particularly keen on the skin, which was divinely crispy, quite salty too – and the chicken tasted of lemon.

Damn good chicken. Yes, the pork belly that my accomplice ordered was even better.

I said that The Westbourne was a bit spit and sawdust in vibe, and as soon as I posted that on Threads, a bottle of Heinz ketchup turned up for our roasts. One assumes that this was because they were not going to put much jus on the plate, and the extra jus was a thimble to share between us.

Yes, it was a proper drought situation, assumedly caused by musicians in Iran. What jus was granted to us, was a red wine jus, a bit sticky – I didn’t hate it. But you know I want a proper gravy, and lots of it.

The Westbourne

There is actually a town called Pity Me, in Durham, and quite often I think you do.

But you don’t need to this week, I actually had a mostly very good roast dinner.

All good on the vegetable front, the best crispy roast potatoes for months and some seriously tasty chicken – with crispy skin par excellence.

Just two infractions – the fish flavour of part of the Yorkshire pudding, which quite frankly I think is hilarious. And then the jus, of which there was nothing wrong per se (apart from the drought conditions) – but I want gravy.



My accomplice, who had the pork belly (which was better than the excellent chicken), scored hers an 8.00.

And my score, is a 7.86 out of 10 – the best roast dinner of 2025 so far. This was the roast dinner I should have had for my birthday last weekend. Such is life.

No plan for next week, but there will be a roast dinner, and there will be more baffling bullshit in North Mexico by the orange man and his definitely not a Nazi sidekick to illuminate my roast dinner wisdom.



Too soon?

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• The George, Strand (2025 re-visit)

  Published 28 January 2025, 8:48 am

It’s a Golden Age, apparently. You could have fooled me, but I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands to do something shocking – returning to the scene of the first ever 9+ score, at The George, Strand.

Golden age of corruption? Golden age of bullying? Golden age of pretending that your Nazi salute wasn’t really a Nazi salute on the basis that lefties over-use proclamations of being Hitler?

It’s certainly not a golden age of roast dinners.

I’m not sure reaching the middle of my 40’s is a golden age either, but I can at least take back control of roast dinners somewhat – and hence I decided to re-visit The George, in hopefully a slightly more constructive way than Elon Musk revisiting 1930’s Germany.



It’s my birthday, so I’m going to indulge more in myself and the blog, than that Nazi cunt. Maybe.

I Just Wanna Be Loved

Last year, 2024, was a poor year for roast dinners – the joint second worst ever. And 10% more expensive than the year before…pretty sure inflation wasn’t 10% at any point last year, but hey.

I kind of wished I could go to Blacklock every month.

Plus I started to wonder just how accurate reviews from 2017 were 7 years later – was The George, that I visited in 2018, still worth a 9.02? One of only 5 places that I’ve scored a 9.00 or over.

That and my to-do list has really shrunk – I think it was well over 100 places pre-pandemic, now just around 40 places.

Hence – time to go back to life in 2018, a time when Liz Truss was Chief Secretary to the Treasury, responsible for overseeing public expenditure and working on fiscal policy, something that would stand the country in good stead in due course.

A time when I was working in an office 3-4 days a week, on a third of the salary I’m on now, living in a grotty house in Harrow and suffering with the Metropolitan line’s signals having disdain for the colour green. A time when owning a Tesla was actually cool…I shit you not.

A time, when I could get a roast dinner for just £15.00. And it would have crispy roast potatoes. In fact, I had…

The plumpest, juiciest chicken, C.R.I.S.P.Y R.O.A.S.T P.O.T.A.T.O.E.S, the best cauliflower cheese dish in London and the wonderful parsnip mash with mustard seeds. This was just sooooo gorgeous a roast.

Hell, it was time when you might actually get punched for a Nazi salute. You know where this is going, don’t you?

Mistake No. 3

So for the birthday roast, our group was sat upstairs in the restaurant. If you haven’t been (surely you have followed my recommendation…you’ve had 7 fucking years to do so), The George is a pretty gorgeous pub – built in 1723, when Joe Biden was a teenager.



Kind of early 2000’s level of classy inside, with pretty gorgeous windows, pink walls and dark ceilings – downstairs is more pub vibe. We had the table around the corner, which was kind of like having a private room, though was exceptionally quiet when everyone was concentrating on eating.

One annoying aspect – I had to pay a £10.00 deposit for everyone, which is fine, except for having to chase certain characters multiple times. And also except for the fact that on paying, the deposit didn’t go against the bill but will be returned to my bank account. So I have to then send everyone their £10.00 deposit back. Yay. Thank fuck I have a limited amount of friends.



On the roast dinner menu at The George was pork belly at £24.00, and have I mentioned that it is my birthday? So there was nothing else on the menu.

Though you could also have had chicken at £23.00, sirloin of beef at £26.00 or a vegan mushroom (because there are non-vegan mushrooms?), spinach and pine nut wellington at £19.50.



And that’s what the Yorkshire pudding looks like.

Changing Every Day



Some pretty toasty pork there, but let’s start with the carrot, because it’s my birthday! Have I mentioned that yet? Though I’ve also just realised that if I doubled my age, I’d be 90. Anyway, the carrot was quite nice, maple-roasted apparently but I didn’t especially notice it, and I’m fairly sure I said the same the week before, and the roast before that and the roast before that.

There was a little bit of kale, quite mushy and lacking flavour or seasoning. I had some kale on the roast dinner last week, and the roast before that and the roast before that.

And then there was not so mysterious puree, as this week the menu advised it was parsnip puree – fairly pointless, and I really wish it had been actual parsnips, but there was nothing wrong with it other than being puree. Believe it or not, I had mysterious puree on the roast dinner last week, and the roast before that…and the roast before that.

Yes, I know I have the same meal every week. But somehow I’ve gone to a pub owned by the Metropolitan Pub Company 4 times in a row. And they serve the same vegetables every place, apparently.

Oh, and I found out this week that Metropolitan Pub Company are owned by Greene King – a company that really does know how to enshittificate. Do keep reading.



The cauliflower cheese we paid extra for, but it was my birthday so why the hell not.

It was kind of bland and mushy, though the sauce had some cheese on it. In 2018, I said it was the best cauliflower cheese in London. This might be the best cauliflower cheese on the Strand.

Do You Really Want to Hurt Me



The roast potatoes were pretty shit – they were dry. Notably so, and that’s really all I remember about them. Dry and a bit undercooked. Anyone know when I last had a good roast potato?

I didn’t mind the Yorkshire pudding, it was relatively fresh and soft, though fairly bland tasting – not that Yorkshire puddings are ever supposed to be especially a taste sensation. Gosh I wish I was born in India or something.

Then I turned over the pork belly.



It was so black that I channelled my inner Elon Musk and gestured towards the waiter. Not that kind of gesture.

Normally, I’d eat it (or just discard it) and write a scathing review. In fact, I did try to eat it but it tasted burnt and I spat it out.

IT IS LORD GRAVY’S FUCKING BIRTHDAY. LORD GRAVY IS NOT HAVING BURNT PORK BELLY ON HIS BIRTHDAY.

The waiter took my plate away without quibble.

Shall we start again?

Karma Chameleon

It’s a Golden Age, apparently. You could have fooled me, but I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands to do something shocking – and returning the roast dinner because the pork belly was fucking burnt.

Golden age of corruption? Golden age of bullying? Golden age of pretending that your Nazi salute wasn’t really a Nazi salute on the basis that lefties over-use proclamations of being Hitler?

It’s certainly not a golden age of roast dinners. Is it?



Looks like I’ve not taken back control of roast dinners.

Or even managed to get ChatGPT to make me a song about Elon Musk being a Nazi cunt. Pretty sure I did say that I’d make this blog all about me and burnt roast dinners, but hey, changed my mind, let’s call it democracy.



10 minutes later, a new roast dinner turned up – alas missing the pig in blanket that we ordered separately.



So, starting with the carrot, which was quite nice, maple-roasted apparently but I didn’t especially notice it, and I’m fairly sure I said the same the week before, and the roast before that and the roast before that, and the roast that I had 10 minutes before this.

There was a little bit of kale, quite mushy and lacking flavour or seasoning. I had some kale on the roast dinner last week, and the roast before that and the roast before that and on the roast that I had 10 minutes before this.

And then…nah of course I didn’t eat any more puree. I didn’t actually eat any more carrot or kale.



And the roast potatoes looked a bit more crispy than the original plate. Alas…looked.

So onto the pork belly which was a really quite chunky piece of pork belly – possibly an attempt to make up for serving me burnt shit. It wasn’t burnt – yay! Not even on the other side. Some herbs in the middle, as if they were vaguely attempting porchetta (this is what the other Metropolitan Pub Company pubs do) and the crackling had a pretty decent crunch to it. Alas, the meat was pretty dry. An improvement on burnt shit, but not overwhelmingly so.



We also ordered pigs in blankets, because it was my birthday. Alas, my little piggy went all the way to market and never came back, when I returned the burnt pork belly. We did chase it, and a bit of confusion later we had a few extra pigs in blankets – rather anaemic looking and definitely needed a bit longer in the oven, but herby sausages, and possibly the only thing I’m complimenting except the carrot.

Finally, the gravy was alright I guess. Inoffensive in flavour, though like most of the roast dinner having little flavour.



The George

So…maybe going back to 2018 wasn’t such a good idea, but at least the League Of Roasts will be more accurate now.

Other thoughts on The George – well, the apple juice was pretty nice stuff, though priced at £5.30 a pint which was a tad eye-popping. Those drinking beer were happy with the choice – there are more beers downstairs than upstairs in the restaurant.

Service was very efficient, there was no quibble when I returned my burnt pork belly – well, except for the confusion over the missing sausage.



Those eating the chicken were more in praise, the chicken was apparently plump with crispy skin, though one thought it was dry – the respective scores were an 8.00, a 7.50 and a 6.80.

Again, those eating the beef were complimentary on the beef, though one scored their roast lower because their Bloody Mary had no celery – respective scores here were a 7.00 and a 6.95.





The one veggie at the table scored hers a 6.00, possibly the lowest score she has given, and the wellington was burnt – it looked rather dry to my eyes too.

And for the others eating the very crispy pork belly, though not the blackened burntness of my original roasts, scores were a 7.00 and a 6.00.

I’m a bit lost as to how to score it. Had I continued on with the burnt pork belly then it would score in the low 5’s I reckon. Do I take this into account? Or do I forget it because they replaced it with no quibble?

Quite frankly, I think I have to take it into account – how can anyone at The George possibly think sending out blackened, burnt pork belly is acceptable? Dry roasties were the other main crime, fairly bland gravy and a total lack of seasoning. I cannot say that I’m especially amused. And it was my birthday. Paris was nice though.

The vegetables were decent enough, the second pork belly did have some good crackling around the edge…hmmm I’m struggling for compliments.

Sadly, I’m scoring The George a 5.95 out of 10. How the mighty have fallen – the first place to score over 9, top of the league table from my visit until I went to Blacklock the next year. And now, just a 5.95 out of 10.

I’ll be back next week – going somewhere that looks a bit shabby. Who knows, it might have an amazing roast dinner?



The post The George, Strand (2025 re-visit) appeared first on Roast Dinners In London.

• The Wilmington, Clerkenwell

  Published 20 January 2025, 6:13 pm

Who fancies a bit of roast dinner controversy, courtesy of The Wilmington, Clerkenwell?

SCHNITZEL!



Oh yeah and that thing, yeah by time you read this, loser Trump, who is too scared of a little bit of cold weather and has to have his inauguration inside…ahhh bless, will be president of that dumbass land of very few roast dinners over the pond.

I decided to mark the occasion of old white men finally having power, by painting my walls white.



Yes, freedom is coming back, people – we’ll be free to invade other countries again, free to bow down at the alter of the economic geniuses Smoot and Hawley, free to kick out all the people of a different skin colour who do the shitty jobs that the rest of us don’t want to do.

Women will once again rejoice at being referred to as “pussy”, black people will praise the loss of civil rights, and everyone who I disagree with can now safely be called a retard, without HR being involved, because, yay, corporations are up for a little MAGA too.



Sigh.

I could boycott Intuit, I guess. That’ll show ’em. Yeah, no more Quickbooks.

Cerne Abbas Giant

Yeah I’m just totally fucking resigned about the cunt farm being in control once more, but don’t worry, we are sending our secret weapon to work in the newly-founded DOCE.

Liz the lettuce Truss has arrived in Washington looking like a right twat

— Fi (@rahhead01.bsky.social) 2025-01-17T17:26:51.095Z

https://embed.bsky.app/static/embed.js

Well, DOCE was founded in autumn 2022, the Department Of Crashing Economies. Hang on, my lawyer wants me to clarify that is actually the Department Of The Economic Orthodoxy Establishment Spiking Bond Yields To Overthrow Liz Truss.

So The Wilmington is a pub that I’ve been in a couple of times before for a drink, just around the corner from the charming Exmouth Market, which has some pretty decent drinking spots – The Exmouth Arms which always has an interesting beer choice (I’m too scared to try their roasts given the looks of their black roast potatoes), and then there is the Mikkeler Brewpub, which is one of my favourite craft beer spots.

Alas, Dry January. At least maybe Trump will let us have plastic straws back now climate change is finished.



I was quite excited to see partridge on offer, which I’d only seen on a roast dinner menu once before on my adventures, at The Lamb in Bloomsbury – so long ago that I still voted Tory back then. Hell Donald Trump had only one won election at that point, as opposed to the three elections he’s now won, and possibly it will be four by the time I next see partridge on a pear tree. If they bother with an election in 2028.

So The Wilmington offered partridge at £22.50, beef rump at £23.50, porchetta at £21.00, cauliflower cheese pie at £19.50 and pumpkin for the vegans at £18.00.

Or…



SCHNITZEL! at £22.50. Oh, also there was a Cote De Boeuf to share for big money.

Bledlow Cross

Of course I chose the SCHNITZEL! Yes, this breaks all the supposed rules of meats on a roast dinner.



How many roast dinners have you written about in your life? None?

Cool. If I want to write about something slightly different for my 317th review, then I will bloody damn well enjoy doing so, and SCHNITZEL! belongs on a roast dinner because I said so. So does spicy chicken. So do sausages. So do sausage rolls. Seriously…I’ve had a lot of fucking roast dinners, let me write about something different. Hell, I’ve even got to spend the next four years regurgitating moaning about the same orange moron once more.



Speaking of orange things, the carrot was decent, very marginally on the crunchy side though tender too. Apparently maple-glazed, cannot say I noticed it.

Likewise the cavelo nero was respectable, quite soft but otherwise unremarkable.

The celeriac puree was more interesting, it had a fruity flavour to it, apple we assumed, and a hint of smokiness to it. Not much on the plate, but I’d argue the more interesting vegetable.

The Long Man



I’ve long learnt that I don’t need cauliflower cheese, plus I’m on a healthy living until I cannot cope with the morons in charge diet scheme thing, so…I ordered a side of cauliflower cheese.

Yeah I know that doesn’t make sense but neither does voting Trump for cheaper eggs.



It had quite a mustardy tang to it, and actually was really quite good. The cauliflower itself was a little on the tough side but acceptably so, and it actually tasted of cheese – there was melted cheese on top, and cheese in the cream itself.

Albeit an oily topping, which is less attractive, but hey.



The roast potatoes tasted like chips, which is not a compliment. It’s kind of tricky to tell if roast potatoes have seen an oven or a deep fat fryer, but inside they had that soft yet smoothly solid vibe of deep-fried chips, and did taste a bit of oil.

Oh and no crispy outsides. On balance, my suspicions are of the deep fat fryer. Were they edible? Sure, I’ve had far worse, including from ovens. Were they good roast potatoes? Nope.

The Yorkshire pudding had seen an oven, for too long. It was quite burnt – not overly so, but I didn’t enjoy it, and it was a tad on the floury side.

SCHNITZEL! It should be illegal to say the word SCHNITZEL! without it having some kind of inauthentic German scream to it. This was superb, and I don’t give a flying fuck if you think fried chicken shouldn’t be on a roast dinner. Who is Lord Gravy? I am Lord Gravy.



Yeah, same photo as early, giving all those fucks too. Granted I should probably use one of my accomplice’s who sent me 10 photos of the same meal, but her yorkie was less burnt so it might confuse you. Anyway, golden breadcrumbs – melt in your mouth standards, nicely plump yet flattened chicken, and lots of it. This was really good and I don’t care what you think. SCHNITZEL!

Finally, the gravy was pretty good. Nothing outstanding in terms of flavour, kind of a balance between being a bit tomatoey and meat stock-ish, some consistency to it too. And it helped round out the whole meal.

The Wilmington

The roast dinner at The Wilmington was a pretty mixed bag.

A burnt yorkie and fried-esque potatoes made me want to squeal a bit. But SCHNITZEL! made me want to scream in delight.

Dry January means I have no idea what the beer choice is like at The Wilmington, but the apple juice was decent, and they had some mocktails if that is your bag. I should clarify that Dry January only counts for when you are in the UK, and I shall enjoy a nice glass of red at Capitaine in Paris on Wednesday – yes, I’m going to Paris just to go for a nice lunch. Because I can.

Service was pretty good, they were friendly and more or less took care of our slightly awkward demands, like no more than one cube of ice in a drink.

The vegan accomplice scored it a 9.50 out of 10. Yep, she had the same roast potatoes we had, but fried potatoes are a good thing in her world. Foreigner.

Others had the SCHNITZEL! also – a score of 8.50, and another of 7.80 from my regular accomplice.

My score is a 7.56 out of 10. A better than average roast dinner at The Wilmington, and I have a little more hope for the future than I did after the previous roast (granted all hope for the future may disappear come Trump’s inauguration).

Exciting prospects for next Sunday – for the first time ever, I’m going back to re-review somewhere (Blacklock doesn’t count). Exciting but nervous…what happens if it is nowhere near as good as it was, when Trump was last in power?

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• The Hare & Billet, Blackheath

  Published 6 January 2025, 7:12 pm

And welcome to another perfectly normal year of reading about some bloke who goes somewhere different for a roast dinner every week, despite slating half of them. This week it was the turn of The Hare & Billet in Blackheath.

Well, at least I’m at step up the rung of normality from this fuckwit.



Ahhh 2025 has arrived, time for detox, resolutions and worrying about news of a virus…the woke mind virus, of course.

Do you want to know what my goals are for 2025? Meh, well I’m going to list them anyway.

1. Travel more. By which I mean Croydon to Blackheath, which was a fucking mission.
2. Lose some weight. By which I mean I mean have a vegetarian or vegan roast dinner. One week. Just once.
3. Be an explorer. By which I mean eat some roast dinners in other countries, for Roast Dinners Around The World.
4. Re-develop this website, as it is creaking a little bit. By which I mean…erm…copying the codebase for the newly re-built Roast Dinners Around The World (built with Astro, for those who are tech-curious).
5. I might relaunch a mailing list. I had an automated one for a while, but then Mailchimp decided to charge for automation…and I make zero money from this blog to pay for it, so it stopped. Maybe a monthly newsletter on the world of roasts…we’ll see.
6. Try not to get too pissed off with shit roast potatoes that I sack off the whole shebang. I might need to mix up my life…and maybe review something that isn’t a roast dinner. Whoa. I know.
7. Don’t forget to moan about Brexit. There is more to moronity than one billionaire. By which I mean Elon Musk is a threat to democracy, but Brexit has already made us poorer.

Chant Your Way to Inner Bliss

I hope your New Year goals are just as wise as mine.

So, Blackheath is not the easiest place to get to from Croydon (or from anywhere other than Lewisham really) but I am Lord Gravy, reviewer of roast dinners for the whole of London, and I’d never been to Blackheath. Or even Lewisham.

I kind of assumed Blackheath would be like Croydon, from association with Lewisham, but actually it was almost village-like and picturesque.

The Hare And Billet is on the edge of the rather large green area which extends all the way to Greenwich – as long as you forget that there is a bit of a road cutting through it called the A2. One assumes in ye olde days it was called “the black heath” for some reason that Wikipedia might answer, if you care, and social media absolutely won’t.



Oh my, I’ve had longer holiday romances with a bag of ketamine.

The Hare And Billet was a pretty ordinary looking pub with some slightly annoying features – for my overweight take on life it was too hot sat next to a radiator but your mileage may vary. It definitely was rather loud in the dining area at the back – a lack of soft furnishings meant the sound bounced off the walls, and it was tricky to hear people on the same table at times.

Plus the table was wobbly, and the walk to the toilets up the quite thin staircase was also the same route that waiting staff were hurriedly bringing down plates of warm food.

Chant, Dance, and Feast: The Joyful Life of Lord Gravy

Of course, it being the beginning of January, I’m also back to a world of apple juice.

Except I wasn’t, because they’d run out of apple juice.



Options on the menu included beef at £21.50, chicken at £19.50, porchetta at £20.00, leg of lamb at £24.00 and a vegan wellington at £19.00.

All served with roast potatoes, mixed kale, maple-roasted carrots, mulled red cabbage, Yorkshire pudding (excluding vegan roasts), and gravy.

But why am I writing what it comes with, I never do that?



Well, the above is last week’s menu. All served with roast potatoes, mixed kale, maple-roasted carrots, mulled red cabbage, Yorkshire pudding (excluding vegan roasts), and gravy…

Ringing a bell?











Erm…

You know how I have the same meal every single Sunday?

A Movement for the Soul: The Lord Gravy Way

Well, I was torn between the porchetta and leg of lamb last Sunday at The Victoria Inn (was that really only a week ago?) and had the lamb, so at least now I could try their porchetta.

Though we did also receive the sage advice from the waiter that “nothing was horrible”, whilst considering. Well…I’ll be the judge of that.



Starting with the carrots, because it is 2025 and I’m doing everything exactly the same as 2024, when I did everything exactly the same as 2023, when I did everything exactly the same as 2022, when I did everything…actually let’s not remember 2021.

So, the maple-roasted carrots had no evidence of maple, but they had been roasted and were quite fresh, if lacking flavour.

The mixed kale was only one type of kale, that I could tell, and was fairly soft, if lacking in any seasoning.

Then there was a small pile of mulled red cabbage – if it was mulled in anything other than water, then I’d be curious to know, as again – it tasted of very little, and certainly didn’t taste mulled.

As per the week before there was a tiny dab of mystery puree – two of my accomplices couldn’t find it, my other accomplice couldn’t work out what it was either.

Lord Gravy: Love for All, Peace Within



At first glance, I thought we’d been served new potatoes, but they were more baked potatoes that had been roasted. They were soft inside, and edible, but otherwise there was nothing to compliment them on.

The Yorkshire pudding was freshly made, but it tasted like too much flour had been used. Urgh, but at least something tasted of something I guess.



You’ll be pleased to know that the porchetta also tasted of something. Alas, I wish I had photographed the other side of the porchetta, as I had been served the end part – and it was burnt on the other side.

The bottom-left 10% of the porchetta was nice, juicy pork and some porchetta-style herby stuffing. But then the rest of it tasted of burnt. Also the crackling was soggy and almost jelly-like, but I’d given up on life by this point.



I also have a photograph of the beef (I think said accomplice might need to wipe her camera lens) which actually looks more miserable than what I endured – and she confirmed that it lacked flavour, and was chewy. Her highlight was the horse radish, which was almost certainly from a jar – but at least it had flavour.

Finally, the gravy was relatively thick, but utterly, utterly bland.

The Hare And Billet

Shall we have a look at what some Google reviewers said about The Hare And Billet?

“The Sunday roast is delicious and value for money”.

“Best sunday roast in south east london”.

“The food here is absolutely delicious”.

Hmmm. I didn’t really like anything, but the carrot and kale offended me the least.

Was anything at The Hare And Billet horrible, despite the assurances of the waiter? Most of my loathing was just for a complete lack of seasoning and flavour (even those advertised on the menu), especially in the overwhelmingly bland gravy. But the porchetta being burnt on one side was horrible. Nor did I like the Yorkie or the roasted potatoes.

We could look on the bright side though – my first roast dinner of 2024 was actually worse.



Scores around the table were a 6.00 from the chicken-eating accomplice – apparently it wasn’t moist enough, a 6.00 from the lamb-eating accomplice and a 5.50 from the beef-eating accomplice.

Service was reasonably friendly and efficient – no complaints there. Well, except for reporting that there was pepper in the salt pot, for which the waiter explained that it was probably because they were busy over Christmas. One might have thought he’d take it away to fix it. Maybe that happened once we left. Maybe.





For my score, I’m not sure I can be arsed to even give a score in the 5’s, my loathing for this bland roast dinner is increasing at a similar rate as my loathing for Elon Musk, though those scored in the 4’s are especially bad, so I’m giving a score of 5.01 out of 10.

I won’t be back next week, as someone has agreed that I’ll be in a different town. But I will be back the week after, arrangements still to be made.



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• The Victoria Inn, Peckham

  Published 30 December 2024, 8:29 am

And for the final roast dinner of the year to be mostly known for watery gravy, it was time to head to The Victoria Inn, Peckham.

But first, I’d like to declare Moron Of The Year.

Can you guess who won?

I feel like I should do this every year, and quite possibly I have done, but have forgotten about it. Let’s pretend this is not the inaugural Moron Of The Year award – previous winners would/could/should have been Boris Johnson, Piers Corbyn, Jeremy Corbyn, Nigel Farage, Donald Trump, Liz Truss, etc.

Have you guessed who is Lord Gravy’s Moron Of The Year for 2024?



Aha, Sissy SpaceX owner, President Musk.

Angie Watts

But how can I portray Elon Musk as a sissy? He’s a hard man and he’s going to war. And you cannot possibly comprehend.



Ohhhhhhhhh.

Billionaire who took control of the election and wants more immigrants (though only for the companies he owns), meet MAGA devotees who want deportations.

I have to say this was an excellent Christmas present to wake up to…MAGA and Musk going to war.

By the way, did you have a nice Christmas? On the off chance that you are reading this immediately after Christmas 2024.

Look what my mum bought for me:



Is that Gravy Boat Of The Year, or what?

Debbie Hopkins

So The Victoria Inn was to be a solo dining effort for the final roast dinner of 2024, which suited me fine. My mood is similar to the weather (we are currently in what feels like the 87th day in a row of fog, for those reading in the future), detox quarter is approaching, my bank account is almost empty and the random number generator wanted me to go to Peckham.

I like Peckham. A lot. Even more when I saw these amazing art deco lampposts outside The Victoria Inn:



Peckham is what I’m hoping Croydon will become in due course, though there is probably more chance of Elon Musk, the free speech absolutionist (and Moron Of The Year 2024) practicing free speech when he doesn’t agree with it.

Have you got the popcorn ready?











Yeah I know who Laura Loomer is, and am well aware of her history of racist insults, to put it mildly.

But it’s just so fun to see MAGA vs Musk, still weeks away from the other man baby becoming president.

Eddie Royle

And to think I was worried I wouldn’t have much content to fill the blog up once Kier Starmer became Prime Minister.

Let’s get down to business. So The Victoria Inn itself was a pretty ordinary looking pub, with some occasional Peckham-related artwork on the walls.

Beer choice was marginally better than ordinary, and I opted for…hmmm…I don’t actually remember but it was a decent enough pale ale, and one most beer drinkers in London will have heard of. It was Gypsy Hill level of “craft” beer along with your more mainline lagers.



Options on the menu were beef at £21.00, porchetta at £19.50, leg of lamb at £23.50 and turkey at £19.00. All roast dinners came with a Yorkshire pudding, except for vegan roasts – yet there are no vegan or vegetarian roast dinners listed.

In a hipster area of London. Mouth opened nearly as much as when Laura Loomer discovered Elon Musk doesn’t believe in free speech, except his own.



I know, but it’s just so beautiful to see morons hate on each other for what I hate about them.

I ended up choosing roast lamb – it was a toss up between lamb and porchetta, and the waiter made a positive noise about the lamb, so that sufficed. Oh and quite why anyone would choose turkey for a roast dinner just 4 days after Christmas Day is beyond me.

Laurie Bates



Though maybe some people would question why I would want such a large plate of food 4 days after Christmas also. Not my fault there is so much food on this plate though!

It was easily one of the biggest roast dinners of the year, just when my mind is turning to salad and other lower calories foods, but hey. Maybe you need to see some of the veg also.



There was a feast of vegetables – starting with the carrots which were weirdly cold, yet ultra soft to the point where I could have mashed them on my plate. Also with a maple flavouring – overall I liked them, but…cold.

The red cabbage was actually quite decent, mulled red cabbage according to the menu – and if I was the kind of person who preferred drinking mulled wine whilst freezing cold in a shit over-priced German market to drinking good beer in a warm pub, then I’d maybe understand if this was good mulled or bad mulled, but I can tell you it was quite fruity and had a very mild punch to it.

I cannot remember the last time that I had Hispi cabbage – it’s my favourite form. This was chunky, soft enough and rather smokey. Was quite delightful.

Peggy Mitchell

Yep, more veg and this time of the kale variety – I think a mixture of cavelo nero and normal kale, which was rather damp and probably could have had the water squeezed out more – but I enjoyed it, and it seemed to have a pepper influence though maybe that was just the gravy soaked into it.

And there was a tiny bit of puree, but I’ve no idea what it was. Sorry. Maybe go read Jay Rayner or someone if you want to know what food tastes like.



By this point I felt like I’d had a meal already. The roast potatoes (London standard amount of three) were alright. No crispy sides, a bit dry inside but relatively freshly cooked and tasted quite decent. This may sound quite poor, but I spent an hour discussing roast dinners with my regular accomplice in a really, truly, grotty dive bar in Hull at Christmas, and these come nowhere near the worst roast potato of 2024. Nowhere near the best, either.

We were back to cold food for the Yorkshire pudding, yet if you could get over that aspect then it was a really good yorkie – freshly made, properly soft in the middle, some crisp to the outside.

It is a bit disconcerting to get a mixture of cold food and lukewarm food on a plate…but I feel like I’ve been offended so much this year by whatever gash pubs/restaurants feel like serving that this just feels minor. I can think of one or two people I know that wouldn’t be able to get over something being cold on a roast dinner.



I would have liked to have seen the lamb a little on the rare side, but otherwise it was hearty (pretty sure I describe lamb like this every time) and packed plenty of flavour, as you’d expect leg of lamb to do. 4 chunky slices too, which is rather on the generous side.

Finally, and for the final roast dinner of this year of watery gravy, I was served proper gravy. Woohoo! Let’s celebrate. A reasonably meat stock kinda gravy, I felt like I could taste some beefy influence in matters, there was some pepper involved and it had a proper consistency yet there was enough on the plate.

Good gravy to finish 2024. Well, I never. Thank you.

The Victoria Inn

I’m mostly pleased that the final roast dinner of 2024 was mostly good – though there is a little bit of me questioning the sanity of having spent approximately £2,500 this year on roast dinners, with diminishing joy at times and maybe if The Victoria Inn had been shit then I could throw a strop and sack off the blog. Except that I’ve already booked the first roast of 2025.

So, it was mostly a good roast dinner. Exceptions were for cold carrots and a cold yorkie, and roast potatoes that were a bit dry, though nowhere near the state of some this year.

Positives, well the yorkie was really soft and properly cooked, gravy was pretty thick, the Hispi cabbage was nicely smokey and there was a hell of a lot of food.

It deserves a fairly high score, though I cannot break into the 8’s without a proper crispy roast potato, so let’s go for a 7.79 out of 10. Service was good too, though I was pretty much the only person when I arrived – the woman who brought my roast seemed to have such a lovely, warm vibe.

Well, that’s 2024 over. If I can be arsed, I’ll write some awards in January/June or whenever I get around to it.

Overall in 2024, I’ve had 40 roast dinners in London, just 7 of them I would highly recommend, though 8 others I would also highly recommend…avoiding. The average price paid is just below £25.00 (a 10% increase on 2023) and my average score is around 6.95 – the joint second-worst year.

Oh well. Shall we laugh at MAGA vs Musk a bit more?



And suddenly Elon Musk apparently hates racists, despite spending the last two years promoting their accounts on X, promoting the far-right AfD in Germany and allegedly discussing giving money to #FarageRiots. Yep, totally hates racists.

I’ll be back next week, apple juice in tow. SAD. And it’s a fucking mission to get to.

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• Mare Street Market, King’s Cross

  Published 23 December 2024, 9:01 am

It’s the last roast dinner before Christmas, and this week I went to Mare Street Market – the newly opened one in King’s Cross, not the original Mare Street Mare Street Market.

You know what it being Christmas calls for?



Aha.

It’s the time of year to make the boys happy.



Is it…

Is it what you are looking for…

Are you feeling horny yet?



Are you ready?

Are you ready for your Christmas present?

Just keep scrolling a bit…

Boobies

Tits

Jugs

Melons

Hooters

Knockers

Actually…



IT’S NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET. Mwa ha ha ha ha your soul belongs to me.

You Are All My Children Now

Mare Street Market wasn’t on the to-do list because I expected a great roast dinner – it was on there because King’s Cross is a useful location. You know, trains and stuff.

Also I thought it might be one of those cool places to visit – you may well have been to their Hackney branch, chandelier heaven, half-decent pizzas, vinyl shop and loads of drunken Insta women doing brunch.

Mare Street Market in King’s Cross is similar but way more spacious, and slightly too modern a feel. We were upstairs, which is where their massive collection of chandeliers is hosted, which kind of had hotel lobby vibes. Downstairs was a bit more lively, with more of the longer sharing tables.



I had my suspicions when I noted a glut of 1-star reviews for the venue, I even considered it taking off the to-do list, and probably would have done were it not for the location.

When our visiting friend wanted to go there, because of location, I booked it – but said, “I think their roast looks a bit crap by the way…just seen a photograph”.



Yep, that’s seriously what Mare Street Market put on their Instagram. Not even one “OMG loves so much give me freebie” comment.

“Oh I don’t think it looks that bad?!” replied said friend. Fine.

Expectations were low.

One, two, Elon’s coming for you…

For a few minutes, I thought a nightmare was coming to pass – no, I’m not talking about Nigel Farage accepting up to £100m from President Musk, as there is no way Nigel Farage or any of the Brexiters would accept foreign interference in our politics as they are fervent believers in sovereignty, and I’m sure the Daily Mail, Daily Telegraph, BBC, etc, will hold them to account on this.

And whilst we are on the subject of fucking hypocrites, how about the deputy Prime Minister spending £68,000 on a photographer, because “the public complain that they don’t see enough of her”.



That’ll be a £22,068,000 black hole then.

Ohhhhh, hang on, it’s Labour spending money so this is investing in the economy. Gosh, I do apologise. If only I was a Bank Of England chief economist like Rachel Reeves was, then I’d understand.

Anyway, the nightmare. I scanned the menu and didn’t see one single mention of roast dinners. You could order a side of pigs in blankets. Or anything from their brunch or pizza menu. Thankfully – they were also doing roasts but we had to ask for the roast dinner menu. Scare avoided.

Welcome to prime time, bitch



Options on the menu were beef rump at £26.00, half a chicken at £20.00, pork belly at £23.00 or polenta with mushroom loaf at £18.00 (another reason not to become vegetarian). I went for the chicken for no reason other than I had pork last weekend at Albert’s Schloss…though I did really fancy the pork.

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.

Would you like to see some peas?



Bastards.

And would you like to see some pigs in blankets?



Aha. We’ll come back to service later.

This… is God. Or at least the Lord, Lord Gravy

So starting with the carrots, which were a mixed bunch of orange and yellow carrots, really soft and really quite sweet. Honey, for sure, perhaps there was something else going on too that I couldn’t quite make out. They were really good.

Of course, before I could start eating I had to spend 10 minutes de-pea-ifying my roast dinner. Most of which were hidden instead the mound of cabbage, but I found one stray pea near a potato.



Scoff all you want, but you cannot trust peas. They have a lack of discipline and get everywhere, including one which jumped from one accomplice’s plate onto the other’s treasured cardigan.

The cabbage itself was quite nice, though not especially easy to eat in my current toothless predicament.

The usual three roast potatoes had definitely been cooked a fair while earlier, and were on the tired side. But they were edible, they tasted pleasant enough – they just weren’t recently cooked and had lost any crispy edges they may or may not have had once upon a time.



Likewise the Yorkshire pudding had been cooked somewhere earlier, and was notably dried up and Quaver-like in texture. Perhaps it had even been cooked the night before. Shit might be too strong a description, for I ate some of it, but it isn’t too far off.

The chicken was a bit of a surprise as it actually tasted really smoky – not a mention of this on the menu so it was a pleasant surprise, as was the amount of garlic in whatever rub they’d used. The chicken itself was plump, the skin crispy – there was loads of it too. I was pretty impressed to be fair.

We paid extra for the pigs in blankets, of which they had apparently run out yet they still arrived. Some didn’t have blankets, one was burnt, the others undercooked…but hmmm sausage.

Of course, the gravy didn’t impress. We’ve really gone backwards in London this year in terms of gravy – this was quite watery but also more of a tomato-based gravy which is never my preference, and a tad rich. I didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t for me.

Mare Street Market

So a bit of a mixed bunch – a shit yorkie and tired roasties, but with really nice carrots and plump, smoky chicken.

Half of the roast dinner was really good, half of it was really poor.

I did say that I’d come back to the service – for it was rather withdrawn. Everyone was very pleasant, but every time we wanted anything, it was always us chasing. We had to ask to get served drinks, we had to ask to get served food, we had to clear our own plates away, nobody asked us if we wanted dessert…I’m pretty sure we could have sat there for two hours and not eaten/drunk anything if we hadn’t prompted.

This kind of voluptuous venue is a huge undertaking, so it probably isn’t a surprise that there are teething problems, but a quick flick through the reviews on Google Maps will show that there are rather a few issues, of which we encountered the most common.

Yet mare Street Market is a really nice venue, in a great area – plus they had a Verdant pale ale on, not one of my favourites from Verdant, but Verdant are one of my favourite brewers so props to them for that. I’ll definitely be back here for drinks at some point…someone I know will definitely end up having a birthday/leaving drinks/dog’s wedding party here.

I think we can scrape to the happier half of the scoring, just, given the excellent chicken and carrots, and my score is a 7.02. My accomplices both scored it a 7.00 out of 10.

I’ll be back next Sunday for the final roast dinner of the year. No plans, though I do plan to bang on about President Musk.

Oh yeah, some Christmas boobs…I nearly forgot.



Merry Christmas!

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• Albert’s Schloss, Soho

  Published 21 December 2024, 11:46 am

It was not quite the last Sunday before Christmas, but it was to be the pre-Christmas Sunday Funday and where else on my to-do list could be more fun than Albert’s Schloss in Soho?

But first, we need someone sparkling with enthusiasm and joy to really kick off this Christmas special.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tMI1hZPwv2I?start=9&feature=oembed&w=500&h=281]

Yay. Tidings. Noel. Well, at least something works in this country.

Many of these roast dinner reviews (313 now) are just me and my sister (the “regular accomplice”) on an adventure through our adopted city that we like to think we now own…at least on a Sunday. Some adventures are on my own, some are with additional friends – but there’s a few occasions where a larger group of us will get together, and the roast before people travel for Christmas is one such event.

We’ve had some great ones – The Coal Shed and The Black Lion (oh my that gravy) were both excellent, but last year’s at the Old Fountain in Shoreditch was almost as much a shambles as my parent’s Christmas tree.



If my mother even thinks about telling me not to touch it in case a needle falls off, there will be raised eyebrows this Christmas, I tell thee.

Cauliflower Citadel

I admit that I was a bit suspicious of Albert’s Schloss when I heard it was opening – a large beer hall near the central London dive of Piccadilly Circus – quite why tourists go to Piccadilly Circus I have zero idea. I had images of Revolution bars in Essex from the mid-2000’s, with the vodka shots replaced with German lagers, and the same boorish behaviour (curiously the company that owns Albert’s Schloss was founded by the same two founders of Revolution…not a fact I knew when I wrote this sentence!).

But I went one night, there were no stag groups, and they had a “push for gravy” button.



I pushed for gravy, and a bloke turns up from Hull, which is my home town (and explains why I think Croydon is “quite nice”) and therefore seemed very apt.

Plus they had women in stockings and suspenders dancing on the tables.

And men in stockings and suspenders dancing on the tables.

What would Elon Musk say?



Turnip Tower

Anyway, I had concluded months ago that I liked Albert’s Schloss, and thought it was worth a crack for the Christmas roast Sunday fun day.

We found ourselves on the long table next to the stage, which had the advantage of having the best view if there were burlesque dancers on.

Alas, it also had the disadvantage of having the best view, if a charisma-free beige band of Christian singers came on to regurgitate the same 90’s pop tracks which were on repeat every single fucking hour that I worked in Booker’s Cash & Carry in Hull when I was 18 (“I’m like a bird, I only fly away…” – that level of 90’s bilge).

You can take a guess as to what entertainment I was treated to. Also, it did mean that you could only really hear the person next to you. Given that I was moaning about the music, this was probably an advantage to 6 of my accomplices.

I moan, but I always do if I’m not in control of the music – and actually there was a good atmosphere, and it didn’t take long until some of the group were dancing on the benches…us men folk studiously stayed seated and talked about the football. Chelsea’s to lose, right?



We had the Sunday Luncheon menus also. There’s only one choice here. It’s a German beer house. The only correct action was to order the schweinshaxe, or the roasted pork knuckle to you and ich bin ja.

Gravy Boat Garrison

Fine, there were other options – beef rump and chicken, along with a nut roast. Two courses were £28.00, three courses £34.00 – I’m not entirely sure what one course would cost, as some of us had dessert, and some had starters too.

But the pork knuckle was the only option, in the same kind of way that there is no debate that sandwiches are real food.

At least we now know two things about Kemi is it Badenough yet – she wants tax cuts for rich landowners like James Dyson, and doesn’t think sandwiches are real food. Guess if I do ever get around to launching Toast Dinners In London, she won’t be reading.



See what I mean about there being no debate?

Our roasts took a while to arrive, partly behind some people ordered starters but also because Natalie, our hostess, wanted to play a pull the cracker game with us. Which was like Euro 2024, except with crackers, and the winner got a free drink…I think. I went out on the first round.

There was more to the roast than that – greens came in a bowl of broccoli, peas and shredded cabbage, and we had bowls of pigs in blankets, and cauliflower cheese arriving – both of which we’d ordered separately as sides, but we received twice as much as we expected.

By the time I’d finished loading the plate, I was arguably overloaded.



Carrot Castle

Starting with the…broccoli, because it’s Christmas. It was pretty ordinary, seemed to have been steamed or boiled, there was a bit of a crunch to it, but also a bit limp on the outer edges. Plus it came in a bowl filled with peas, something more evil than enforced paper hats at the Christmas table, but thankfully no peas made it onto my plate.

There was a root vegetable mash, of which I mostly tasted carrot, though someone else said she mostly tasted sweet potato. Again it was pretty ordinary, lacking seasoning, lacking a bit of creaminess or something to give it some pizazz.

Finally for the vegetables, the cauliflower cheese, which we’d ordered as a side. This was decent enough – alpine cheese on it, allegedly, of which I’m sure it was cheese, but I’ve not had enough Alpine cheese in my life to be able to distinguish it from, say, Gouda, especially when it is on a cauliflower and mixed with cream. The cauliflower was a tad crunchy in places.



Fairly small roasted potatoes were supplied – note the difference between roasted potatoes and roast potatoes. These were cut potatoes that had been whacked in an oven without care to make them crispy (assuming an oven is perhaps kindness).

Were they bad? In the grand scheme of things, no, but this may just be the plethora of shit potatoes of 2024 that has ruined my judgement. They were edible, quite soft, tasted of potato – cooked earlier in the day for sure, but I’ve had far worse.

The Yorkshire pudding was reasonably fresh, if cold.

Alas it became a soggy mess – our dear waitress poured gravy into it, which is a good idea, except if the gravy is more like water.

I quite liked the pigs in blankets – not entirely sure they were made here, the bacon was notably crispy and the sausage was a bit Frankfurter-ish in flavour, though possibly my imagination.

Gravy Schloss

So, tell me about the big chunk of pork.



Things were pretty middling by this point, and if I had ordered the unimpressive beef and compared it to those eating this monster of a knuckle, then my tone would be even lower.

However, I loved every minute of eating this, and there were very many minutes too.

The crackling itself was sensational, properly edible and gooey, with a crunch. Sure, there was quite a lot of fat inside – but it’s pork knuckle, not pork loin. Most of the pork meat itself was good, and on the tender side.

Mostly, I was in heaven.

But back down to earth with the gravy, which may have been half-decent when it was first made, but was notably on the watery side – almost as if it had been watered down. Like, there was some meat stock flavour if you tried hard enough to taste it, but I shouldn’t be trying to ascertain if my gravy tastes like gravy. And gravy should be the consistency of gravy…they have a venue in Manchester…maybe send the chef down here for a couple of weeks.

Veggie gravy was excellent when I tried it though…

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKCIFXqhLzo?feature=oembed&w=500&h=375]

Albert’s Schloss

It’s hard not to be happy at Albert’s Schloss, and I was pretty much in a dreamland after eating that pork knuckle.

I started asked people on the table for scores, and to my left my regular accomplice made positive noises and scored hers a 7.20, the veggie accomplice an 8.00, the chicken accomplice a 7.80, and a fellow pork accomplice a 7.20.

All felt about right to me.

And then I turned to my right, and my accomplice who was served a pretty miserable looking piece of beef, scored his a 7.00 – though I think he enjoyed it more than it looked. Two other pork eating accomplices scored it a 6.00 and a 5.80…and a final beef eating accomplice a 5.50.



I was a bit surprised as to the split, though we then had a not especially fascinating debate about scoring systems – whereas most people use a football player rating system, where a 6 is below-par, someone on the table uses a flat scale where 6 is above average. Which, to me, is fine, I’m not about to dictate how someone else scores something…but I shall not be changing away from the football player system after 312 reviews.

As to my score? Well, I loved my pork knuckle. It was better than probably any knuckle I’ve had in Germany or countries they once invaded with a Germanic vibe, though I’ve had sexier pork belly on occasion. Yet everything was was pretty bang average, and the watery gravy was bordering on offensive given they have a branch of Albert’s Schloss in Manchester.

Service was excellent to begin, our Natalie was great. But as it became busier, it became more difficult to attract attention – and drinks orders often had to be chased, one Expresso Martini ended up being free (their suggestion) as it had clearly been forgotten about, and turned up 30 minutes later.

Albert’s Schloss is a very fun place, and worth a visit, even if I only loved one thing about the roast dinner itself. I’m scoring the roast a 7.32 out of 10, which is probably slightly influenced by the good time vibes of the venue. But were it not for the joy of the pork knuckle, it would be low to mid 6’s. Choose carefully.



Oh I nearly forgot to mention dessert, and as you might be able to tell from the image, it was forgettable. Black forest brownie, I think it was called – the brownie bit was respectable, the kind of quality you might get from a pre-packaged brownie at Costa coffee, but this came with weird foam-like cream and two rather alcohol-fuelled cherries, the latter I appreciated, the foam I didn’t. I wouldn’t recommend it.

I don’t remember what anyone else on the table thought of theirs – perhaps they told me and the music was too loud, or perhaps I just didn’t care by this point.

Oh and drinks…they had a pale ale from Orbit on which was decent if somewhat more malty, and otherwise lots of more Germanic lagers like Paulaner. Quite possible I had an Erdinger also towards the end, oh and the Malbec was good enough for a second bottle.

That’s not quite it from me – I’ll be back this Sunday with what I suspect could be a pre-Christmas roast dinner of nightmares. We’ll see.



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• The Collab, Walthamstow

  Published 3 December 2024, 6:54 pm

I am… in a world of shit roast dinners, but I am alive. And I am not afraid. Not even of Walthamstow or The Collab.

Lord Gravy. Born to roast.

You want sucky sucky?



Don’t worry, I really cannot be arsed to moan about the MAGA fucks or anyone else morally-retarded this time.

I do want to complain about enforced condiments though.

Guess what condiments Lord Gravy wants on his roast dinner? Aha, gravy. Lord Gravy wants gravy as his condiment. Nothing else. Fine, put it by the side if you so desire – I don’t want to ruin people’s enjoyment of horse radish with their beef, mint sauce with their lamb or pornography with their head of a government department role.



He wants sucky sucky.

Feeding Followers Through Collaboration

Besides, it’s the festive season, we are all forced to be jolly – yay.

I volunteered to run a retrospective meeting at work last week, and insisted upon it being Christmas themed, to which my manager asked why we were doing a Christmas theme in November.

To which I asked if he’d prefer to run the meeting in his preferred theme.



You want sucky sucky.

The meeting remained Christmas-themed.

Anyway – enforced condiments on a roast dinner.



Two whole carrots masticated by enforced horse radish – though I shall be thankful that they didn’t force it onto the beef. But please…this is not a condiment dictatorship.

Serving Up a Collaboration Opportunity

The Collab (there is apparently a dot after Collab but it’s just going to confuse my SEO plug-in) is part of the Signature Brew establishment, one of the really damn fine breweries based in Blackhorse Beer Mile, though The Collab itself is nearer Walthamstow Central.

I remember going in here a couple of years ago, and it was very much a bar – now The Collab is very much a restaurant, but with Signature Brew beers on tap. It’s so much a restaurant that it is table service only.

We were sat in the window with a great view into the centre of the increasingly la-di-da Walthamstow – and, yes, as a citizen of Croydon I am very jealous of gentrification. Gregg’s is classed as chi-chi in Croydon.

The space itself had a very open feel, open kitchen where you could see the bucket of roasties, exposed air conditioning, breeze blocks painted white on the side walls, other walls painted black – or near to. Some fairy lights too…of course.



Options on the menu included lamb shoulder at £24.00, pork belly at £22.00, beef short rib at £25.00 and a vegan wellington at £18.00.

Me so horny, me love short rib long time, 15 dollars. Yep – for the first time since teeth torture in Budapest, I was able to order the beef.

And actually I thought the menu was nicely written, I liked the extra touches “been making this since Wednesday” on the gravy, for example. Or even better for the Yorkshire pudding, “should only be served with beef really but if you are an absolute heathen you can have one”. As if I would ever be described as such.

Craving a Collaboration

This is my roast dinner. There are many like it, but this one is mine. Our roasts took around 15 minutes to arrive – the Yorkshire pudding a bit longer, to the point where we started to question whether it came with one.



Sadly two carrots had to be sacrificed to be a condiment dam, but the other two were reasonable, nothing special, some charring from where they had been roasted.

Tenderstem broccoli was fine, slightly more on the side of soft then crunchy – pretty much where I like it.

Alas, red cabbage wasn’t where I liked it…it was every freaking where, because that’s what tiny bits of shredded red cabbage do – they infect a roast dinner. In of itself, the red cabbage was reasonable, it was on the fruity side and wasn’t offensively overloaded with winter spice or anything.

But you know I’m a racist…when it comes to cabbage.



Yeah white cabbage rules.

I’m a content creator specialising in food and lifestyle, and I’d love to collaborate with you.

We had 4 roast potatoes – clearly the London potato police haven’t been to The Collab yet as 3 is the legal maximum in London (there is no maximum up north, fyi).

These were probably excellent at one point, or close to. They were still quite tasty, if a tad oily – but the outsides were tough by this point. It was probably some hours since they were excellent. C’est la London roastie vie.



The Yorkshire pudding, however, was excellent – one of the better ones on my roast dinner adventures this year. This felt freshly made, was quite eggy – crispy to the top, soft to the bottom.

Even better, was the short rib of beef. Fair to say this was pretty sensational – hearty to taste, so succulent and fell off the bone so easily. A mixture of tender beef, some gooey fat…and, well it was just holy shit glorious. Me love this long time.

My regular accomplice has beef most of the time, said it was one of the best cuts of beef she’s had this year.

And then upgraded to say it was the best.



Our other accomplice had the lamb – which I thought was excellent too from the small bite I had. Yes, I would have been jealous of the short rib, but also I would have been delighted with this.

Finally, the gravy – well, alas it was infected with bits of red cabbage so it tasted rather too sweet for my preferences, though had some consistency to it, underneath the upper more watery later. When drank straight from the jug, it was much more savoury and to my tastes.

Hey! Love what you’re doing at your place—how about a little collab? I’d happily swing by, snap some pics, and shout you out to my 21 followers, none of whom live in the same country, and are possibly all bots. Let me know if you’re keen!

Oh, and we had beer. I ordered the Haze Machine which was a respectable hazy IPA with a slight twist – certainly much preferable to some of the so-called craft beer by the likes of Beavertown and Camden Hells that I’ve had to cope with.

Service was pleasant at The Collab – one guy there, seemed French, was particularly affable and clearly knew how to build a short-term relationship with a customer.

Overall it was a decent afternoon out, much of the roast dinner was pretty unremarkable, but the beef short rib was sensational – the yorkie too.

Alas the red cabbage did infect things, the enforced condiment is annoying and the roast potatoes were definitely rather cooked earlier, if not especially criminally so.

Scores around the table were quite varied, the accomplice with the lamb scored it a 6.80, my regular accomplice an 8.00. I’m pretty much in the middle and my score is a 7.27 out of 10.

I’ll be back next week…if I survive my team Christmas do.



Actually this coming weekend I’m going to Somerset for an outdoor party…in December. So I’ll be back the week after, assuming I survive telling some farmers that, yes, James Dyson should pay inheritance tax on the land he has bought to avoid inheritance tax.

Me love you long time. Yes I did watch Full Metal Jacket Potato at the weekend.

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• The Rose And Crown, Clapham

  Published 25 November 2024, 6:39 pm

It was time to take a visit to the Roast Dinner Triangle Of Doom for the first time in this rather slightly doomed year – at The Rose And Crown, in Clapham, to give the area its more traditional if undeserved name, as it rarely deserves a clap.

Slow claps, perhaps – quite how the next place on the train line from where I live in Croydon takes an hour to get to is beyond me.

Speaking of doom, and I’ll try not to moan about Donald Trump and his clan of gargoyles too much, for there are other topics like FUCKING BURNT PORK BELLY to discuss, as you may have noted from the cover image.

So the most powerful nation in the world will have a defence secretary who believes woke is the biggest threat to the world. Not Putin, not Xi, not Netanyahu, not Khomeini…woke. Of course, he has sexual assault allegations to his name.

Then there’s a vaccine sceptic as health secretary, who believes wi-fi gives you cancer, that Bill Gates is trying to control the population of the world (because Microsoft wants less customers?) and seems to think covid-19 was targeted against white people.

The director of national intelligence seems to really be a director of Russian propaganda – quite why any country would share intelligence with the Trump administration going forwards is beyond me.

Oh and that prick who pretends to be a genius and somehow has ended up the world’s richest man. Alas the definite (alleged) peado isn’t going to be attorney general…as that really would have filled the criminal government bingo card.



The Planet Of Doom

Ah well, if you can’t beat them, maybe join them.



Apparently, if you are willing to work 80 hours a week for DOGE then you can be paid handsomely…in exposure. Aha, world’s richest man wants you to work for free.

And to think there was a time when I thought appointing Nadine Dorries as culture secretary was insane.

[getty src="1783824292" width="594" height="396" tld="com"]

Poundland going to have a lot of political books next year.

Anyway, Clapham. See, my liberal complaints didn’t take too long to read, did they? And I put some pretty images in. Almost as pretty as Clapham itself.

I remember first going to Clapham when I was living and working in Bracknell, back in the days when I was an international economist (well…credit controller) at a major telecommunications company, kind of similar to Rachel Reeves. I was quite amazed at how yummy mummy Clapham was, and how middle class – especially compared to Bracknell.

Doom Doom Doom.

Yet in my latter years, now I’ve climbed the greasy pole from only being able to afford to get wasted on Chekov vodka and Morrisons energy drinks, later upgrading to ketamine, and now kilograms of Peruvian cocaine – I’ve come to realise that actually Clapham is a bit wanky – Gail’s, Megan’s and various other over-priced dining establishments named after someone’s wife/lover, along with grocers selling single bananas nicely packaged for £11 each or something like that.

Oh. And most importantly, Clapham hosts the Roast Dinner Triangle Of Doom.



By the way, you can ignore the 8 at the bottom in Balham, as this is now an “authentic Spanish restaurant” run by Jack and Danny who may or may not be authentically Spanish, and would like you to “come dine with us and have a bit of craic”, that famous Spanish phrase.

Don’t worry, I’m going to get onto the burnt pork belly shit in a bit.

This week I was dining with an actual legend from the London food blogging scene, London Popups, who, if you don’t know, has a weekly newsletter listing all the interesting pop-ups happening in London, and is a good source of happenings in the food world – and quite often people trying to make their way into it.

The cuisine tends to be more interesting when I’m on his territory, such as Whole Beast’s deep-fried butternut squash empanada, as I slowly realise that vegetarian food is actually rather good, and not a waste of a dining opportunity. And the last time we had a roast dinner together, it was also from the hands of Whole Beast. If you are reading this in winter 2024/25, then they are currently at Exale Brewery in Walthamstow – and very much worth a visit.



Doom. Possibly The Only Video Game I Finished As A Child.

The Rose And Crown – yay onto the actual subject – was bloody hot inside when I arrived. Granted it was a mega 16’C outside, which felt boiling considering the Arctic plunge of the preceding week, shocking us all into the concept of winter once more – as if we weren’t already prepared for it by the 3 weeks of incessant gloom recently, which co-incidentally timed well with the US election. I’m sure it was sunny in Florida.

Not only was it too warm inside, but we had an awkward table in the corner, curiously right next to the serving till with a constant stream of waiting staff putting orders in tills – which did have an advantage in that I managed to procure some attention for a drink on arrival.

Alas, when my dining accomplice arrived, he had to wait and try much harder for some attention.

I think I’d been at The Rose And Crown for 30 minutes when someone came to take our food order. At which point I asked for a menu. Yeah, this wasn’t going smoothly.



The lack of space on our tiny table, combined with minimal elbow room meant the sharing roasts were out of question – we might have considered the roasted turkey for two, priced at £52.00. The other sharer was a porterhouse steak – £85.00 to share.

You could also have a sirloin steak roast at £42.50…eyes slightly popped at that especially given that I struggle to find a good steak at a steak restaurant, let alone a pub in Clapham. So that left rump of beef at £26.00, chicken at £24.00, pork belly at £25.00 and the veggie thing for £22.00.

I was in two minds between chicken and pork – but I went as per my belly and ordered the pork belly.

Doom Doom Shake The Room Can I Get Some Service Please

I clocked that the people on the table very close to us, who were discussing their next trip to Sicily and various other matters, Jasper and Casper (possibly), waited rather a long time for their roasts to arrive. The total time from stepping my foot inside The Rose And Crown, to taking a photograph of my roast dinner was 91 minutes. I’m all for a leisurely lunch, but an hour between ordering and receiving a roast dinner is pushing it a tad.

Though perhaps it was all freshly cooked to order? LOL.



Yep, you see darkness, but at least there was a carrot to help us see in the dark. Nothing special but perfectly serviceable – soft and roasted.

Next up was the red cabbage which was kind of cloyed together albeit in annoyingly small pieces that infected the rest of the roast to an extent – and for my tastes was pungent in the winter spice shiznit. My accomplice enjoyed it far more…horses for courses.

Then there was green cabbage, well, maybe more spring greens I guess you’d call it. Limp and lifeless – some edges almost yellowing, yet I didn’t mind the earthy taste.

Oh I’m In The Roast Dinner Triangle Of Doom



The roast potatoes were actually freshly cooked. Alas, they weren’t the best cut of potato – edges were crumpled rather than crispy, insides soft rather than fluffy – one was on the way to being burnt on the outside too. Potatoes don’t have a cut, do they? Breed? You know what I mean – these weren’t Maris Pipers is what I’m suggesting.

Likewise the Yorkshire pudding had been freshly made (at least within recent hours) – and this I actually liked. It was soft, it was fluffy, and it had a kind of soft crispness to the top.

Then…this:



Surprisingly, the middle part of the pork belly was actually quite soft and gooey – as you’d hope for. As you can see, the top was burnt to a crisp – the blunt knife certainly had no effect, and even when I do go back to Budapest to have my implants fitted, there is no way £11k of teeth are ever going to attempt to crunch such burnt shit. And the bottom layer was tough – as you’d expect for something that had spent far too long in an oven, or at least been in an oven at a temperature almost as wrong as recommending an alleged (sigh) paedo as attorney general.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgMb-WJAVpg?feature=oembed&w=500&h=375]

Finally, the gravy was respectable – a red wine gravy, the kind that you might expect in Clapham – for you ain’t getting proper gravy around here. A tad yacky but I was happy to pour more on my plate – without feeling the need to finish what was in the jug.

The Rose And Crown

So, we’d finished our roasts, and our plates were taken away surprisingly quickly – the first time anything quick had happened at The Rose And Crown.

At which point the bill arrives, “I would ask if you wanted a dessert but we need the table back in 15 minutes”.

Excuse me? I pointed out that it took 91 of our 120 allotted minutes to receive our food, to which the rather nervous young chap apologised but was clearly under orders – doing something perhaps a manager should be doing. I didn’t push it further given his rather seemingly nervous disposition, but I had a pint in front of me and I damn well was going to finish it.

Speaking of which, the beer choice at The Rose And Crown was at least a little less ordinary than recent weeks – sure, they had a plethora of crap lager, but they had a Peckham Session IPA, which was decent. A glass of Malbec wasn’t so decent – kind of similar to the stuff you might buy at Tesco Express but a grade better, let’s say.

Another annoying aspect was the enforced £1.00 “donation” on the bill. Appreciate this is perhaps seemingly curmudgeonly, but corporates claiming to have donated “x amount” to charity when really all they’ve done is added something to your bill without asking, or suggested you round up your spend on a self-service check-out, and then claim the glory, is a bit cringe for me. Granted I wouldn’t have given £1.00 to charity today otherwise, but also I have no idea what charity it is, or even if it is a charity – for all I know the £1.00 “donation” could be funding the owner’s mansard loft extension. Chill…I paid it.

For almost every review, the score I give is simply for the roast dinner itself, but today there was too much pissing me off in terms of the experience – from it being too hot inside, the tiny table, 90 fucking minutes to get our food, then being told we only had 15 minutes left pretty much as soon as we’d eaten, the enforced “donation”, the shabby Malbec. The roast dinner itself, I’d probably score around a 6.30 – the yorkie was freshly cooked and soft…erm…yeah that’s all the compliments.

The pork belly was burnt, and the red cabbage pungent – everything else on the plate blended into Clapham averageness. Given everything else that pissed me off, I’m scoring it a 5.30 out of 10. My accomplice, who also endured the burnt pork belly, scored it a 6.00.

Next Sunday the plan involves…aaaaaarrrrrggghh…Christmas shopping – which still might be less painful than this. And a roast dinner, of course.

Oh, I then managed to get the tube the wrong way on the way home. I do actually have fun doing this blog.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nJioyq3We8?feature=oembed&w=500&h=281]

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