So I’d been away for the weekend and the logistics didn’t quite work for a roast dinner (well, I could have eaten in Harrow at 5/6pm, I guess). Except here’s one I’ve never posted until now – a review of The Cock & Bottle, Notting Hill.
Hungry?
Yes, I wasn’t the only one this week with abortive travels along the M4 – as we took the wrong turning after arriving into Wales, only to find ourselves on a different bridge, going back to England. Oops.
Just think, in a parallel universe, Jamie Oliver is leading a gang of convicted TV license dodgers and paedophile ex-BBC presenters to possibly overthrow the government, or at least occupy Channel 4 and threaten to throw Lucy Frazer in a pool of custard. Too niche? She’s our current Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport. No, I had to look it up too.
Yevgeny Prigozhin I had heard of and I’m sure we’ll keep hearing about him until he mysteriously falls out of a window.
And Wales, you’ve all heard of. It’s that country over the border that speaks English, writes in English, looks like England and has crap towns like England. Someone actually said to me at the weekend, “oooh I’ve been meaning to visit Newport, I’ve heard its really cool”. Maybe something has changed since I visited in 2001.
We actually visited Abergavenny one night, had some seriously average food, then went for a walk to listen to the delights of a Friday evening out in Wales – one very young lady out on the town requested from a younger lad out on his bike, to do some tagging for her – for which he requested payment in form of a kiss. A unique exchange, though sadly we didn’t see it come to pass. Kind of would have been paedophilia anyway, assuming she was actually 18, which would be generous in scope.
Abergavenny is about the only word that sounds Welsh when I try a Welsh accent though.
The Cook Has Bottled The Coup
OK, there’s some gorgeous scenery there, some really good country pubs and I had one meal out that I actually enjoyed. Plus the Welsh are welcoming and friendly…it always feels kind of homely when visiting Wales.
Fine. I feel your retinas burning. I know what you want. Dydd Sul Rhostio.
Actually, this isn’t a Sunday roast review. It’s a bank holiday Monday roast review.
Trying to find a bank holiday Monday roast isn’t something that is easy – and thankfully isn’t something that I often have to do.
Pubs often don’t update their socials or their websites, I assume that they just hope that all the customers they need just magically appear. Often they do. There is seemingly no sign of a recession every time I go out.
Twitter is pretty much a bot-infested wasteland now Elon Musk has got rid of all the bots, but occasionally a post sneaks through that says “Monday roast” that doesn’t feature a penis twice the size of mine in a photograph below.
Zouk Tea Bar & Grill looked promising, but then I saw that it was in Manchester – which is too much of a mission for me and anyway, Manchester still won’t be a part of London even when HS2 connects the two cities in 2067.
There was no way that I was going to somewhere in south-east London that I’d never heard of – despite the attractive young lady giving me that look. You know. The look of, “come and lick the gravy off this plate, baby”.
Plus it is a Young’s pub and I’ve had enough disappointments from them – I know they have a few diamonds with freedom from central command so I haven’t totally written them off.
The Cock Bottles The Review
So then it was over to Instagram’s search engine. Lol. Instagram’s mysterious search algorithm which provides posts from 2 years ago before posts from 2 weeks ago. I’m not sure you could invent a worse search feature than that of Instagram. Even the search functionality of my kitchen drawer with all the random crap like pineapple corers and mango slicers is more productive.
That said, I could still perhaps assume that pubs that served roast dinners on previous bank holidays maybe would on this one too. And I had two in mind that I’d found on the Grim.
It was a sunny day, so I walked from Hammersmith, along the river, past multiple pubs with free seats in the sunshine that probably did good enough food, up through into Chiswick past not an awful lot.
Through Ravenscroft Park and into Brook Green – and eventually a pub called The Havelock Tavern, which previously had served Monday roasts – I enquired about their menu, but it was just a standard menu. I sat in their garden and had a beer, with half an arm in the sun, trying to decide what my plan should be, only to find I had no mobile signal and they had no wi-fi.
So I read a long article in The Economist about why Donald Trump will almost certainly win the Republic primaries next year. Yay.
Apparently he doesn’t even need Putin this time to win, which could well be useful not having to rely on someone who is relying on a corrupt army with Playmobil tanks to protect himself
Don’t Put Your Cock In A Bottle
I then ventured to Notting Hill, walked past last year’s best roast dinner venue, The Ladbroke Arms, but decided I was too alone and too pleb-ish to go there – it was busy with the jumper over the shoulder crowd and I wasn’t feeling being judged for a lack of wealth.
The plan was to go to a pub called The Cock & Bottle, and you’ll have established by the title of the post, that I achieved my goal.
But I nearly didn’t. The pub was quiet, quieter than all the others I walked past, and the beer choice was crap – Beavertown for the IPA lovers amongst the group of one. Nothing advertised Monday roasts, but I went in and enquired, took a look around, decided that it was a bit of a dump of a pub, ordered a roast and hoped for the best.
The Cock & Bottle was an old school pub – mixing clutter and a lack of design with some proper tables and chairs, and Union Jack bunting.
There was a little garden out the front, but no space left – and it was a little warm inside – one imagines it might be a tad stifling on a proper hot day.
On the menu was ribeye of beef, leg of lamb and rosemary & garlic chicken breast, priced at Β£21.00, Β£19.00 and Β£17.00 respectively, plus veggie/vegan roasts too.
I was tempted by all – it was particularly pleasing to see a pub offer ribeye of beef as a roast in 2023 (can we leave topside for Toby Carvery please?), though I went for the leg of lamb, as I’d not had it in ages…all year in fact, although I also said that in the review last week.
Message Not In A Bottle
An old school roast in an old school pub – and I can be happier with an old school roast than a new school one. Don’t worry, it shouldn’t take long to write the rest of it as it was 4 weeks since I’ve eaten it, so I’m relying on my notes.
The carrots were very soft, perhaps re-cooked from the Sunday – they had that feel to them.
I did really appreciate the broccoli – likely boiled/steamed, a bit of a crunch to it and fresh too.
Unfortunately all I put in my notes for the parsnips was “same with parsnips”. What does this mean? Is this a compliment? Were they the same as the fresh broccoli or the same as the re-cooked carrots? Oh well, you judge on the photographs anyway, one assumes.
They provided 4 roast potatoes! All super soft and squishy, one was almost a new potato. Were these from yesterday too? Hmmm.
The yorkie was fairly fresh – certainly from that day and really rather fluffy.
The lamb was nice, thinly sliced but nothing out of this world.
Finally, the gravy I really liked at first, thick, bitty, lots of herbs and bones and maybe a hint of mint – but actually it did tire a little on the tongue towards the end. Told you this part wouldn’t take too long.
The Cock & Bottle
So my adventure to eventually find a Monday roast was somewhat more of a success than Prigozhin’s adventure along the M4 to Moscow.
I managed a roast and didn’t get poisoned, he managed half a road and hasn’t yet been poisoned.
Nothing really stood out as exceptional at The Cock & Bottle, but I guess the yorkie and the broccoli were my favourites. And apart from the probable reheating from the day before, nothing really stood out as disappointing either.
The gravy was nearly admirable…but as I mentioned, it did tire after a while. A bit like my reviews, I guess. Fuck knows why I still have readers.
A score of 7.11 out of 10 for a middlingly respectable roast dinner seems fair to me.
Normal service resumes next week – a proper pub is booked.
“And this is where we prepare the evil peas…but Lord Gravy still won’t eat them”
Summary:
The Cock & Bottle, Notting Hill
Station: Notting Hill
Tube Lines: Central, Circle, District
Fare Zone: Zone 1
Price: Β£19.00
Rating: 7.11
Loved & Loathed
Loved: Well, they served a Monday roast. Yorkie was fresh, broccoli was good.
Loathed: It seemed like some things were reheated, like the super-soft potatoes and carrots. Beer choice boring.
Where now, sailor?
Random roast review: Number 90, Hackney Wick
