Bull & Gate, Kentish Town

Please note that due to Copyright Trolls, all images have been removed until I can manually review them, one by one, and ensure credit is appropriately displayed. So if the story suddenly makes no sense, then...well...soz.

This is a long process, so please bear with me...it will likely take until the end of 2024 until all images are reviewed and displayed correctly. Sigh.

Skip The Nonsense

I had a complaint this week from a member of the LGBT community. I was thanked on my inter-racial lesbians from the previous review, but requested that I featured two men next time. Do you really think the internet is ready for two men in lingerie? It being Sunday, I was ready for my Sunday roast at the Bull & Gate in Kentish Town.

The Bull & Gate had been chosen by the random number generator a couple of times recently, however my most regular accomplice banned me from going until she was available. She was available so I told her to book a table.

I think it has relatively recently been converted from a bit of a dive pub to a typical Young’s gastropub – it had the usual teal paint, stripped-back walls, wooden surfaces and occasional touches to give it “character”…though not enough character for me to remember what they were. Plus I was informed that the main restaurant area, which was brightly lit through the skylight, used to be a dancefloor.

There was no dancing from me the night before, but certainly plenty of drinking. And I was most definitely not ready for nearly three hours on a boiling hot Virgin train from Manchester to London, replete with the sun shining in my face all journey (bar the occasional tunnel). Yeah, I was drastically hungover too.

Nor was I ready for our table at the Bull & Gate to be directly in view of the sunlight from the aforementioned skylight. I tried to pick the chair which would see least sunlight, alas I managed in my stupidity to pick the chair which saw the most sunlight. All meal – only finally ending this part of my suffering once the bill arrived.

So we were not off to a good start…yes it was totally my fault. Though I’d also read the TripAdvisor reviews, which I don’t normally do. And I wasn’t expecting a good roast either.

Having a roast dinner at the Bull & Gate with no interesting heading yet

Service was as bright as the sunlight though not so unwelcome – both of the people (that I noticed) that were taking our orders were efficient and perky. And I don’t mean perky in a tits kinda way…you could have plonked some cracking boobs in front of me and I would not have been interested, such was my state. I was barely interested in food or beer. But I was. Just about.

On the menu was sirloin of beef with brisket croquette, corn-fed chicken, rack of pork and a buttern…veggie wellington. I was fairly full from an unbelievably tasty train station sandwich (unbelievable in that it was actually tasty, as opposed to unbelievable in how tasty it was), so I fancied neither beef or pork. Then I remembered that I’d had chicken the week before – and one of my few rules is a different meat every week.

Well, if Boris Johnson doesn’t believe that he has to respect the law, I’m not entirely sure why I should respect my rule of not having the same meat two weeks in a row. Otherwise I’d be eating the vegetarian!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I should really copy and paste chunks instead of holding it down forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I did very, very, very, very briefly consider the vegetarian then ordered the chicken at a princely £17.00. Where is my cheaper food that the 52% voted for? I guess it did come with a ball of stuffing.

There were six of us at the table, and two desired salads – which were not at all catered for. Three of us opted for a roast – a mix of beef, chicken and pork options.

Dinner took around 20 minutes or so of the sun beating down on me as I slowly realised my seating error. Still, at least I managed better photographs this week.

Oh by the way, there is a somewhat NSFW image coming later.

Yes, there were carrots

Carrots or cabbage? What do you want to hear about first? Also, how can I fluff up yet another sentence about carrots for the 118th ish time? They were nicely roasted. Quite small.

Allegedly there were parsnips and they were nice – if I had any then I didn’t notice.

Things soured on the cabbage side – the green cabbage was undercooked – way too crunchy for me. The red cabbage was a little more cooked, however was really rather spicy – quite a tang to it. I’m not a fan of red cabbage as regular readers know, and I couldn’t easily separate it from the rest of the vegetables…appreciation for adding something extra in terms of flavour but it wasn’t for me.

I did, however, enjoy the slices of butternut squash. Softly roasted with a sweet yet nutty flavour. I think.

Guess what the roast potatoes were like? Yeah, pretty crud. Rather rubbery on the outside and somewhat anaemic on the inside…though they were edible. Just not that good. I did note a hint of rosemary flavouring, though not of garlic.

My Yorkshire pudding was tough and unappealing. The bottom was reasonable once it was soaked with gravy, but the sides were just…urgh…why was I even eating this? Why was I served this? Are double-egg yorkies actually an improvement on single-egg yorkies or is this just marketing bullshit on the menu at all Young’s pubs?

I certainly wasn’t ready for the amount of cutting that I’d had to do for the chicken. Not that it was tough – just my hangover exerting itself and I really could have done with something easier…like the, erm, vegetarian? That said, the chicken was reasonably plump – I couldn’t notice the lemon or thyme seasoning, but that could well be me. It wasn’t amazing, but it was decent enough.

The gravy was weird. On the plus side, it was not quite as watery as many gravies have been recently (often at Young’s establishments), yet this seemed tomato-based which is an odd choice. Whilst not especially off-putting – much preferable to it tasting of road resurfacing tar, for example, it wasn’t the flavour I wanted on a roast. It also came with a scattering of bits to make it look like lots of effort went into it…which it possibly did and I’m just feeling extra cynical post-Theresa. What? The government is tracking me on their websites through cookies? How dare they! Though I’d prefer more effort into thickening gravy and making it more like…well…gravy.

I like my gravy to be gravy

[don’t forget to write about the stuffing]

Oh yeah, the stuffing ball. Fruit on savoury is an absolute no-no for culinary-backwards neanderthals such as myself. However, this sausage and apple stuffing was nicely done – the flavours worked and the texture was appealing. I’d prefer sage and onion…but I’m not complaining. Honestly. I’m not complaining. About this. I do have lots of complaints to write to people. Particularly to Sophie Bancroft who is the Head of Metropolitan Line Operations, who quotes on her LinkedIn summary as having a “successful employment tribunal record” which I guess says everything about the public sector. VOTE TORY! Oh, actually, not at the moment though. VOTE TORY AT SOME POINT IN THE FUTURE WHEN THEY ARE NO LONGER RUN BY CUNTS.

It clearly wasn’t the best roast dinner ever. Kudos for trying new flavours – but also scorn for trying new flavours. I’m all for a little ingenuity but a tomato-based gravy? No thanks.

Some of the vegetables were good and so was the stuffing ball. Alas, there were more misses than hits – particularly the crud roasties and the tough yorkie. With a 1:30pm sitting it wasn’t like we turned up late in the day so things should not have been sat around forever.

I was too hungover to lead a discussion around the table for the opinions of the others, however the young child with us left pretty much her whole burger, and my accomplice that had the bangers and mash rated hers a 5 out of 10 (lumpy mash).

My most regular accomplice rated her beef roast dinner a 6 out of 10 – the brisket croquette was apparently “interesting” – I think interesting was a positive.

I’m scoring it a 6.03 out of 10. I feel like I should rate it a little lower, but all the roast dinners lower down on my league table were worse than this. I didn’t leave offended, though I was distinctly unimpressed.

No service charge which is small piece of joy to end with…and the plate didn’t lack in quantity.

It might be a while before I venture to a Young’s pub again for a roast dinner.

Remember what I said earlier about the internet being ready?

However, I do believe that the internet is now ready for one man in lingerie.

Next Sunday I have no plan. No accomplice and yet another Metropolitan line closure for engineering works on the fucking Piccadilly line and nowhere near the Metropolitan line, to deal with. I might not go for one. But I’ve said that before and I don’t want to Boris you…I probably will go for one somewhere.

Oh that is not me, by the way. Though I do want those sequin pants. I might have a small penis but that wouldn’t matter in those sequin pants, would it, ladies?