Dining partners. It is good to have them. I thought I had a dining partner/nutcase for this Sunday but alas, he couldn’t make it (and for the first time ever had a forgivable excuse). I could not find a replacement either. Not that I tried any harder than a tweet and a Facebook post.
So then I had to decide, does one go by oneself, or does one cancel and let down my 17 readers? Yes, 17 readers – my readership is growing exponentially. Ish. Go on, tell all your friends.
I don’t mind eating by myself and I quite like the mission, especially if it involves a bit of an adventure. And I definitely had an adventure, thanks to Google Maps.
I got the tube to St John’s Wood – it saves me £1.60 by not going into evil zone 1 and I am a tight bastard. From there I walked through Regent’s Park. Wonderful, just like goose fat roast potatoes in gorgeous, thick gravy, over and over and over.
And then, past some absolutely gorgeous housing, just like the most magnificent rare rib of beef.
And then, someone gave me peas – Wetherspoon’s peas at that. Google took me through this council estate. Thanks, Google. Picture courtesy of Google as I was…too scared…actually no I’m a hard Northerner…I was…hmmm, aware of my surroundings.
Thankfully, I then made it into London’s most polluted street and all was good. Or is that the UK’s most polluted street? Europe’s? All by myself.
I arrived into my destination – The Harrison at King’s Cross, again on the edge of an interesting estate – part pub – part hotel. Also a live music venue – my fears were raised when some kind of musicians plonked themselves and some equipment on the table next to me.
And it claims to have the “Best Sunday roast in town”. Quite a claim. Was this going to be my best roast dinner so far in London? Though being the 9th roast dinner I have reviewed, it wouldn’t be so difficult.
The options were beef, chicken and lamb – with two vegetarian options for short-haired lesbians (which actually sounded really appealing, in a “if they didn’t have any meat left” kind of way). The meat priced at a reasonable (for London) £13.95, vegetarian at £13.00. Menus can be viewed here. I ordered the lamb, a beer and went for a piss.
As soon as I came back from urinating, my dinner arrived. Now, I do not have the largest bladder in the world, but that was quick. Which could only mean one thing…
Well, I was not expecting that to come up on a Google search. Maybe Corbyn is onto something after all – down with capitalism. Down with choice. Down with being well-off. Down with having to work. Down with having a strong and stable economy. Let’s make every day a fucking bank holiday if that really is the solution.
Despite the microwaving, the roast dinner looked…strong and stable. So I tucked into the carrots first. Only a few of them but really, really good, soft carrots – plenty of herbs and garlic, possibly a hint of honey too though I’m no taste-magnet.
There were two little bits of broccoli – rather strong and stable – spot on in terms of texture.
Hidden away under the meat was one tiny piece of roasted parsnip, though so small that…
Whoa…peas. Peas on my fucking dinner. But there is no need to worry – these were peas locked inside a strong and stable safety case so they couldn’t go wandering like I did as a 5 year old on holiday, worrying my parents sick. I really was not a well-behaved child. I still am not. My mother wants to be a grandmother. I do not want children, or even a girlfriend. I find it difficult enough to have a relationship with a cardboard cutout.
Though having a girlfriend would mean no more solo-dining. So there are advantages of having your freedom to fart in public curtailed, but I’m not sure I have a particularly good offer. “Hi, I’m, fat, ugly with a very small penis, I like farting in public and I am obsessed with lesbians. I offer you my love in exchange for occasional blow jobs – oh and very importantly, you must join me for a roast dinner every single Sunday”.
Any takers? Despite being happily single, I would quite like a European immigrant wife as my way of saying FUCK YOU to everyone that voted for Brexit.
Any European takers?
Shall I just get back on with talking about peas? Oh, I haven’t even put a photo of the roast in, here goes.
So, peas. Sugarsnap peas -strong, stable and crunchy with that alien-splicing pea taste.
So far good, the opposite of my sex life.
And then I had the roast potatoes. The microwaved roast potatoes. No matter what you do, roast potatoes will always be fairly crap at best once microwaved, and these were no exception. A shame, as they were arguably the best microwaved roast potatoes ever – delicately crispy on the outside, but cold and quite hard on the inside.
I accept that if you are a small pub, doing roast dinners for 9 hours, you are not always going to have freshly cooked roast potatoes. It is what it is.
Thankfully the Yorkshire pudding was back on standard, a fluffy, slightly sponge-like creature. Not perfect, but very good, strong and…you’ve got it…stable.
And the lamb was excellent. Leg of lamb, nonetheless – probably my favourite cut – either that or a good ol’ shank, this was tender, plump and a touch juicy. But, and this is a fair-sized but – not quite Beyonce size but reasonable.
There was just one slice of lamb. Now I know I have “only” paid £13.95 for my strong and stable roast dinner. I know, I know, zone 1 yadda yadda. I get it. But it just felt a bit 0.7 gram dealer stingy. It was really good coke, I mean, lamb, but a little more really would have made me happy.
Finally, the gravy. Predictably top-notch, a mint-infused thick gravy – better than most I have ever had, I was really, really impressed. Very strong. Very stable. Long term gravy plan.
Overall I am very disappointed. Because this could have been the best roast dinner in town. Well, the best I have reviewed so far. If there was more meat and the roast potatoes had not been microwaved (or I had booked a table for shortly after they had come out of the oven) then this would have been in the mid to high 8’s.
I’m going to give it a 7.99 out of 10. Just to show how it has missed out on greatness – just how close this came to being a great roast dinner. Which I guess means I have to mark all roast dinners to 2 decimal places now.
Ahhhhhh. Such is life. So I do very highly recommend The Harrison for a roast dinner, if you are in or around King’s Cross. Speaking of which, there is a little Italian place called Casa Tua just around the corner (they have one in Camden too) which you must, must visit. Not for a roast dinner, sadly.
Next weekend is review number 10. My two most reliable accomplices are in place and I might just go somewhere special. Though I might not.
Oh – bathroom tiles. Pretty ordinary. Yet strong and stable. I’ll get my coat.