The Junction Tavern, Kentish Town

Normally my high level of genius and ingenuity mean that words flow from mind to page, but today I am stuck. How do I start this roast dinner review of The Junction Tavern in Kentish Town?

Gravy? Politics? Boobs? At least I have got my key search term in the first paragraph – my SEO plugin will be happy.

Sadly my world-renowned genius did not stretch to saving the file I was working on today. This could therefore be quite a very fucking sweary review – good job I don’t rely on the communists at Google AdSense who don’t like you fucking swearing in your posts, to finance my blog. Nobody reads it anyway, nobody shares it, nobody would click on advertising. So I can be as fucky fuck shit bumhole rectum as I like.

Bracknell.

I’ve been to Kentish Town before. Just the once. It kind of looks like it should be next to Shoreditch, but just doesn’t have any edge to it at all – just a bit uncared for and totally non-cool (cooler than Shoreditch though which is nowadays just full of vomiting tossbags). I kind of like the area, it has some form of potential – though my previous roast dinner at The Oxford was respectably decent, it didn’t shake the world up.

The pressure was on this week as it was my sister’s birthday, and I had to find a good roast dinner in North London.

This introduction just isn’t flowing is it? It has to be one of the shittest starts to a review in the history of reviewing roast dinners. Maybe I might get lucky and over-write it at the end and have to repeat my whole work again tomorrow because I seem to be well fucking qualified at that today.

I’m not going to make it as a famous roast dinner reviewer am I? Maybe I should give up and become a cheese model. I could sit on a bench all day eating blocks of cheese.

There were three options available for the roast dinner. Sirloin of beef at £16.50, lamb shank at £16.00, and chicken with stuffing at £15.00. I wanted the chicken but I had it last week, so chose the lamb shank instead. My sister had the beef, and our other accomplice chose the…fishcake.

Yes. Fishcake. Fishcake on a Sunday. Fishcake at roast club. Fishcake instead of a roast dinner. Fishcake instead of a roast dinner, on a Sunday, at roast club.

At least she asked permission to do so. And she is the only other regular reader I have. So I granted permission. Unlike today, I was not up for an argument. Yes, I just meekly accepted. I might be a traitor for daring to still argue against Brexit but at least I don’t have fishcake on a Sunday.

Fucking Brexit.

Dinner took around 15 minutes to arrive, and my first impression was “that is a fine looking fishcake”. Oh and a burnt Yorkshire pudding – well, somewhat.

Starting with a few florets of centred broccoli. These were nicely-cooked – a good balance between soft but with some bite.

Then there was some pureed swede – or something similar. It was quite bland, either that or my tastebuds were on holiday – quite possible, but I don’t like swede puree/mash at the best of times.

A few strands of cabbage accompanied this but too few to be able to judge.

Then we had crispy roast potatoes. Very crispy roast potatoes. So tough and crispy that my steak knife (yes, steak knife for lamb) really struggled to cut them. 4 roast potatoes, all barely edible, even more hard work than trying to explain economics to a Corbynista, and generally miserably shit. Offensively so.

They really made my lack of achievements today pale into comparison. Pretty much the only achievement of my day was a truly excellent fart – almost volcanic in force.

Onto the Yorkshire pudding which was both hit and miss. The outer rim was quite burnt. The bottom was soft and plump, with a good texture and eggy taste.

RECTUM.

The lamb shank was quite ordinary. It tasted fine, and pulled away from the bone as you’d expect but there was just something not quite there about it. It was like a wasted effort – lamb shank should be at least a tad extraordinary – not just ordinary. It almost seemed as if it was a mass-produced lamb shank sold at a cash & carry. I could be wrong – it isn’t exactly as if I haven’t been wrong today.

Finally, the gravy was virtually invisible. The menu promised mint gravy, but there was no mint – and as our replenishment gravy for both the beef and lamb came in the same gravy boat, I think it is safe to say that I definitely did not have mint gravy. The gravy itself was effectively water, with the barest amount of gravy granules.

So I failed. I failed to find a good roast dinner for my sister’s birthday. I fucking quit.

Still, at least I didn’t fail as much as the guy in Australia that left his name and phone number on a bag of MDMA. And is now due in court on 29th September.

And sadly, The Junction failed in their roast dinner efforts. A shame, as I wanted to like the place – I had a good feeling from the staff (not that kind of feeling), the beer was reasonably priced for London – £4.90 for a Heineken is good, the pub itself was a decent place – a restaurant area, a bar area, a conservatory and an outdoor area. It’ll never win best pub of the year award, but it felt homely enough, and was busy enough to suggest that it is a successful venue.

Did I just say £4.90 was a good price for a pint of lager? I have lived down here too long.

Anyway, it gets a 5.11 out of 10. There are many better roast dinners in London.

Next week is review number 25. So it has to be special. It really does need to be a special one. Though there is a chance given my current foul mood that I may be in prison by then for stabbing someone for standing on the left side of an escalator. Last weekend – I had a whole escalator of left-side standers. A whole escalator. Really fucked up my feng shui.

Oh, and fishcake lady said her dinner was great. Bye.

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