Booking Office 1869, King’s Cross

Skip The Nonsense

It was time to make the most of our Brexit freedoms, and have a roast dinner. This week at Booking Office 1869 in King’s Cross.

Just imagine the scenes in European capitals when it comes to the next election for the European Parliament, when French, Spanish and Italians find out that one of the many advantages of Brexit is that in the UK we are now allowed outdoor drinking in cafes and bars.

They will be clamouring to leave the European Union so they can also have such Brexit freedoms.

Roast dinners…how many of them have you seen in EU countries?

Exactly. And that’s clearly yet another Brexit freedom. Every single roast dinner review I’ve done in London has been since the Brexit vote.

And look – the next new newest next-ish Margaret Thatcher has got us another trade deal – this time with the wonderful country of Texas, which of course isn’t a country and nor is it a trade deal, but you know what it is?

BREXIT FREEDOMS.

Tell me how many other EU countries have trade deals that aren’t trade deals with countries that aren’t countries?

Book Me A Train Out Of This Stupid Damn Country

As tempted as I was, being in St Pancras to just jump over the barriers and catch a train out of this stupid country, I was here for the floor tiles.

Zig a zig ah. As soon as I heard that Booking Office 1869 was opening and it was going to be serving a Sunday roast, I was much intrigued. One of those restaurants that I’d love to visit for the experience, for the design of the space, for the feel of being in there – rather than than for the food itself. Of course, I hoped for a good roast too.

On the looks side, it really didn’t let me down:

Perhaps I let it down, wandering in hungover with badly creased denim shorts, my hair scruffier than normal, my eyelids drooping.

Yet it really was a rather grand space inside – apparently styled after the original 19th century ticket office (in 160 years time I guess we’ll be styling restaurants after the 21st century Euston concourse), there was a feeling of opulence about it though without being in your face posh. Booking Office 1869 is accessible grandeur, assuming you find paying £35.00 for a Sunday roast accessible, of course.

Once you amble through the hotel lobby into the restaurant, there are multiple people to greet you – there are quite the plethora of staff, all very diligent and quick to do their role. One of the greeting ladies had an impressive fringe, though also kind of reminded me of a Bond villain.

Book Me A Flight Out Of This Stupid Damn Country

Of course, such grandeur comes with a £35.00 price tag for a roast dinner, whether that be sirloin of beef, or corn fed chicken. Should you take the vegan option that comes with your Brexit freedoms, then there was celeriac for £28.00.

Celeriac for £28.00.

Celeriac for £28.00.

Celeriac for £28.00.

I went for the chicken, which for some reason doesn’t seem to quite require repeating the price to you multiple times. What I do want to moan about is the price of a beer – you might think a bang average pale ale for £6.50 is fine, yet these were served by the schooner, not the pint. Ouch.

It was one of those plate it yourself offerings, so if you don’t like the presentation, then firstly blame me, and secondly stick your blue passport up your rectum.

The carrot was roasted and was pleasant enough.

Get Me On A Tractor Out Of This Stupid Damn Country

I’d sacrificed one of my parsnips to my vegan accomplice, who was unable to eat her Yorkshire pudding, despite the waiting staff insisting that it was made with flour, milk and eggs and was therefore vegan, at least for a good few seconds before he decided to believe us.

My sacrifice was almost as meaningful as sacrificing our right to live and work in the EU for taking back control of immigration and subsequently more than doubling it, for the parsnip was quite delightful. Perfectly cooked in terms of tenderness, and plenty of parsnippy flavour. Regular readers will know that I was overdue a full-on Brexit moan…it’s here, babes.

The red cabbage was nice, sweet and fruity though with a risk of purple pollution – not that there was much gravy to pollute at first, though far more gravy arrived later.

The two roast potatoes were respectable. Not exactly crispy on the outside, but on their way, fairly soft in the middle, relatively freshly cooked – if a little on the cold side.

My Yorkshire pudding was a bit of a tearable, cardboard-ish texture – again relatively freshly cooked but on the cold side. However the extra “vegan” Yorkshire pudding that my vegan friend couldn’t eat because it had milk and eggs in was much softer and fluffier inside.

Oh well, at least I haven’t had my happiness stolen by pylons.

One assumes some government taxpayer compensation for the shocking idea of pylons that deliver electricity to the rest of the country will miraculously regain her happiness. Sigh.

Whilst we are stealing happiness, my vegan accomplice’s celeriac was undercooked in places, plus there was no vegan gravy. I guess you make your bed, you choose your diet – but offering a roasted vegetable that you haven’t roasted properly as a vegan offering always seems very weak to me.

Give Me A Jetpack And Get Me Out Of This Stupid Damn Country

What else do I need to talk about?

Oh the chicken, which had been spatchcocked and chargrilled. It was pretty good quality chicken, even if the chargrilled flavour did remind of eating chargrilled chicken at a Beefeater in Reading in 2005. The breast was fairly plump, if a tad dry, the thigh was fairly juicy.

I think it was the right choice – my beef-eating accomplice described hers as “just beef”. It looked pretty ordinary.

And finally, the gravy, which was a bit too salty for my tastes, but otherwise was a solid effort. Slightly rich, slightly meaty but mostly quite salty.

Shall we have a look at Pylon Of The Month?

Look at those stunners. Though I’m more a fan of February’s entry – this beautiful D90 tension pylon – just look at the strength and power of the left arm there.

Pylons – bringing beauty, electricity and happiness to almost everyone in the UK.

Booking Office 1869. Book me a flying pylon outta here.

Booking Office 1869 was pretty much as I expected – stunning inside, with pretty average and very much overpriced food, if you are basing your judgement of value on just the food alone. For having such grand surroundings and plenty of staff costs money.

It’s not a bad roast. I didn’t really dislike anything – the gravy was a bit too salty, one yorkie was a bit tearable, but otherwise everything was fine.

Likewise there isn’t much to behold the pylon joy of – the chicken was good quality, and I really liked the parsnip.

My beefy accomplice scored it a 7.10, my vegan accomplice scored it a 7.00 – and I’m scoring it a 6.98 out of 10.

I think if Booking Office 1869 want to be renowned for food, then they will need to up their game. But until then, they’ll be able to serve respectable food at fairly eye-opening prices to those passing through, those staying at the hotel and those, like me, who just want to gawp at the rather opulent inside.

I’ll be back next week, and it will be somewhere that I dearly hope Donald Trump is on his way to.

Confirm I fucking well own that.