It was time to step foot into The Boot in King’s Cross, for my latest roast dinner review.
But first, an ode to David Cameron.
For if it wasn’t for David Cameron, I wouldn’t have been to my first ever lesbian wedding this weekend, and if I hadn’t been at the wedding, arriving back into St Pancras in mid-afternoon, tired and hungover, not especially hungry but needing a roast dinner, with nothing booked – then I wouldn’t have gone to The Boot.
Yep, this was the same wedding where there was a ballroom dancing class the night before – I wasn’t interested, until I clocked how many attractive women there were – one of the brides originating from the Mediterranean was always going to help.
Alas, it became clear that there was only one possible dancing partner left. A guy. A taller, well-built guy. We both confirmed to each other that we weren’t gay, said “fuck it” and followed the instructor. Foxtrot. Oscar.
Speaking of Foxtrot Oscar’s, it’s been unsurprising to see the usual shills announce on Twitter that we should wait and see the results of the investigation into Alexei Navalny’s death – my money is on the first ever lightning strike in temperatures of -26’C. I guess a CIA laser weapon attack is perhaps more realistic. I wonder what Elon Musk thinks? He condemned Putin’s murder of Navalny, right? Right?
The Boot Is On The Other Foot
We definitely stood out like lost tourists with our little suitcases in The Boot. It’s not my natural type of pub – I didn’t feel like I fit into The Dorchester in Park Lane when I went there a couple of years back in my pink shoes. Likewise The Boot.
The Boot, of course, is at the opposite end of the scale, though my pink shoes were in my suitcase, and definitely not on my feet. If only because they were muddy from trying to push someone’s car out of a muddy field. A tip for you – make sure you are driving the right direction when pulling out of a car park in the countryside after a few drinks.
The vibe in The Boot was very much Lads Lads Lads – I don’t remember any other roast dinners with such a plethora of manly grunting. There was a pool table, a darts board, fairly grim toilets and Spice Girls videos on the screen. One assumes they might show football games – but there is no website to check any facts against. Maybe ask Elon Musk. Or Londonist.
There is an Irish vibe going on, and a few Irish accents around.
Menus were on a little blackboard on the tables – leg of lamb, roast beef, corn fed chicken, pork loin or pork belly (not on the board but mentioned by who I assume was the landlady). We guessed a price of £18.50 – two roasts, with a pint and a half came to £47.45. Yes, you did read that Dry February fans – but there was no way that I was drinking nosecco at a wedding with plentiful attractive women all weekend. Apple juice shall return forthwith.
I chose the pork belly, my accomplice the pork loin. I would never risk beef at this kind of venue, I had a chicken roast the day before – I possibly should have ordered the leg of lamb, but hey. I love pork belly. Albeit my belly didn’t need any food after breakfast:
Normally I have like a piece of fruit for breakfast before a roast dinner. But when one has already paid for one’s meals as part of the weekend, one is not going to only order a satsuma.
Sticking The Boot Into…
Our roasts took around 20 minutes to arrive.
The most interesting of the vegetables were the green beans – somewhat floppy, but garlicky – if perhaps only because they had added garlic sprinkles to them, and not actually cooked them in garlic. A victory of sorts.
Both the carrots and parsnip had been roasted – the carrots pleasantly so, the parsnip a little under-done and fairly flavourless.
Parsnip crispy shavings did add a little joy.
Broccoli was just broccoli – but not too soft or too tough.
Lace Up Yer Boots
Behold the roast potatoes:
Congratulations to The Boot for winning the best roast potatoes of 2024 in the Roast Dinners In London Awards, which will be published around November 2025. Yes I haven’t started 2023’s awards yet.
Crispy par excellence on the outside, soft in the middle – yet there is a but. You’d need to enjoy your roast potatoes tasting very much of the fat that they were cooked in. Hmmm. I’m taking the victory though. Cheers, Dave.
The Yorkshire pudding was thankfully pointless, considering I’d had a fry-up that morning, and the day before I managed Eggs Royale, Cypriot cheesey things, a chicken roast dinner, fish and chips, wedding cake, normal cake, cupcakes and toast. Oh and some chocolates. I did not need this Yorkshire pudding – it was dry and floury anyway, and pretty duff.
The stuffing was probably from a packet – but who cares, because all stuffing is good stuffing, and could cure world hunger. I’m sure there is an Elon Musk post somewhere stating “exactly” to this fact.
Alas, the pork belly was more regrettable than holding hands with a bloke, dancing around a room with lots of hotties. Some of it was inedible – quite why the bones were served with it was a mystery. But also it had been horrendously overcooked – which is why I don’t risk ordering beef in such home-cooked venues, as I know home-cooking often means home-over-cooking, and this isn’t just a me putting meat in the oven thing, but it is also a me putting meat in the oven thing.
Generosity protruded with two chunks of pork belly, but it was tough, dried-out and very much hard work. Shit really.
The crackling itself was separated, chewy and pretty much impossible to eat.
Finally, the gravy. Which was really good. Meaty and herby, with a good level of consistency – even if it probably had been warmed up in the microwave, as it had that slight “ouch” level of heat to it at first.
You want to know if the mass-produced roast dinner at the wedding in a gothic country hall in Yorkshire was better, don’t you?
I told one of the brides that it was an 8.30. I think she was happy.
Sticking The Boot In Or Big Boots To Fill?
This was a strange roast dinner.
Some of it was really good – and some of it was really tragic. Mostly the pork belly, which was just a crime to meat – I’m so offended that I might have a vegan roast dinner next weekend. Also the yorkie was duff.
No, I didn’t realise that Tucker Carlson had interviewed Margaret Thatcher either. She might have been a closet lesbian.
Yet I had no complaints on the vegetables, the roast potatoes were banging (albeit oily) and the gravy was not a million miles away from excellence. The Boot offer a proper home-made roast dinner, replete with the expected over-cooked meat, short-cuts, generosity and proper gravy.
My accomplice enjoyed her pork loin – two out of three thick slices were nice, apparently, and her score is a 7.50 out of 10.
My score, is a 7.26 out of 10 – I’m broadly equal in condemnation and commendation towards the roast dinner at The Boot. If you are looking for an affordable roast dinner, with the lads, on a Sunday afternoon in central London, you could well consider it.
No plan for next Sunday. Though I won’t really be having a vegan roast dinner.
Summary:
The Boot, King’s Cross
Station: King's Cross
Tube Lines: Circle, Hammersmith & City, Metropolitan Line, National Rail, Northern, Victoria
Fare Zone: Zone 1
Price: £18.50
Rating: 7.26
Loved & Loathed
Loved: Roast potatoes would be award-winning, if they weren't overly oily. Really good gravy too, meaty and herby.
Loathed: Pork belly was offensively overcooked - ruined meat. Yorkie was dry and floury also.
Where now, sailor?
Random roast review: Mr Fogg’s Tavern, Covent Garden
