So I’m back from the penis-comparison excursion (also known as a stag do) and ready to roast.
Well, I’m psychologically ready but financially as fucked as the average liver/kidney/nose after last weekend. What to do about it?
I refuse to blag freebies, even for when I’m on my period.
Like who puts that much make-up on when they are in bed enjoying TIME OF THE MONTH, displayed, of course, in movie style lettering on the side of one’s bed? Let alone having a duvet cover featuring not Thomas The Tank Engine…but…yourself.
Now I don’t mind doing the odd freebie (hello Ben’s Canteen!), as long as the venue is understanding that I don’t bullshit, but what really would be ideal is if I had a website sponsor.
A while back, I wrote to the European Union and asked about applying for funds for my research project. I mean, if a blogging donkey could get £6.3m (Daily Mail link…get over it), then surely a blogging tosser with a small nob could get a few quid.
I appreciate that we are allegedly leaving the EU and taking back control, which sounds ever so exciting, however I would like to enquire about the possibility of receiving EU funding for my roast dinner research project.
Currently I review roast dinners in London, which is a creative writing project that espouses fundamental European Union values such as solidarity, liberty and gravy.
As a remoaner (so funny these Brexit types, aren’t they?), I have long argued the benefits of staying in the European Union, and have on occasion, used my creative writing to enhance the reputation of the European Union and attempt to spread the values of this wonderful organisation across the land.
It isn’t too late to stop Brexit and I could assist in spreading European Union values further across our green and increasingly unpleasantly ignorant land with European Union funding.
This would allow me to concentrate my efforts in advertising my cultural achievement across London, and hopefully the United Kingdom. And subtley spread the values of the European Union.
I know this sounds like having my roast dinner and eating it but I do feel that we could be constructive partners.
I look forward to hearing further from you with regards to my proposal.
PS Nigel Farage is a tosser.
And yes I am extra-sure, having seen more penis last Sunday than in all the pornographic films that I have ever watched combined (granted I only watch lesbian porn) that I do definitely have a small nob. But that’s OK because I have a sense of humour and that is what most women really want, isn’t it?
You have read my blog before, haven’t you? It’s about roast dinners. In London. Yeah I got as much response out of the EU as I do Plenty Of Fish.
So you know the bit at the end of my blog where I tell you where I give you a hint as to where I am going the next Sunday and then don’t actually stick to the plan? That happened again. I was planning on going somewhere that I suspect could be a top 5 entry…but I was cancelled on…I mean…postponed on…probably postponed.
I had extra complications this week too with it being my sister’s birthday, having no Metropolitan line and very little money. The random number generator wasn’t helping me – picking places that are too hard to get to, fully booked (Coal Rooms for example…sob) or expensive places. In fact, rarely have I spent so much effort in working out where to go.
Eventually I settled on The Green in Clerkenwell, which I had heard about both in Time Out, and also by recommendation – apparently they do an awesome beef wellington.
But by time we got there, guess what?
They still had some left.
The Green is situated in Clerkenwell, just above the cutaway where the Metropolitan line sometimes runs (not this weekend, shock horror). You could potentially throw a roast potato from the front of the pub and hit a passing tube train if you got lucky…though I’d advise you not to as the transport police actually exist. I think my mother has forgiven me. It was 25 years ago. Fuck. 25 years since I got caught trespassing on railway lines. Seems I’ve always been attracted to lines of one form or another. Now that is a line. Is that the first use of italics on this blog?
This area of London is kind of desolate on a weekend – with the weather being nice I walked from Holborn, and pub after pub was closed. The Green was like an oasis of beer. Even better, there was a seating area outside the front of the pub, in 25’C glorious sunshine with available tables. Plural. Because who goes to Clerkenwell on a Sunday?
The shop frontage was charming, almost as if I was venturing into an oversized gelato stall. And the pub was fairly busy too. It was nicely laid out inside, blue being the theme (obviously given the name of the pub) – even the staff uniform was anything blue.
The three of us sat inside. I had done my research, and they always serve the beef wellington each week, and one other roast on rotation, along with a variety of other meals for weirdos. Two of us ordered the beef wellington, including myself – there was no way that I was going to avoid my first ever beef wellington roast dinner…all hail the inventiveness. Our accomplice went for the chicken. Apparently I’m supposed to take the piss out of her here for asking for no roast potatoes, and extra vegetables, but I cannot think of anything to say. It is far easier to take the piss out of myself. And bloggers. Oh but you really work so hard on your blog.
Dinner took around 20 minutes to arrive, though we did get some “free” bread as a starter, with their tasty homemade garlic butter – obviously isn’t actually free as £18.50 for a roast dinner is hardly a bargain…the chicken was £16.00 by the way. There is no Sunday menu online, nor did I photograph it.
When it arrived, I was struck by the brownness, and also thought there was a bit of a lack of food going on. I sat there and waited for the gravy and vegetables to turn up – but only the gravy did.
The vegetables were already on the plate.
And what is this? It is ratatouille. On a roast. Something that until recently I thought was a Disney movie, but no, it is an actual dish. It was tasty too – the tomato flavouring particularly came out, along with aubergine and onion. It isn’t the most attractive item that I’ve ever been served, and from an Instagram point of view I cannot see it being a winner. Oh crap, I just remembered that I put a pan of water on the stove 20 minutes ago…I get that carried away with writing these linguistic masterpieces.
I so like a bit of controversy on my roast (except when it comes to gravy), and I appreciated the ratatouille. That said, it was rather sad that it was the only vegetable – some broccoli, sprouts, green beans…anything not brown would really have been appreciated.
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So straight onto the roast potatoes and they were crispy. Yes, crispy roast potatoes. Alas, too crispy…well, too tough to cut anyway. They were quite large, one I would say was good, the other two just too tough and also way too hot for me to be able to enjoy them. Yet they were much better attempts than so many of the gastronomic disasters of yore…I don’t want to be too critical.
The Yorkshire pudding was small – but excellent. Fluffy and delicately eggy, it was almost more a ball than a pudding.
Gosh we are onto the meat already. I should probably think of some bullshit to fluff this up a bit or maybe put a picture of a cock in.
Do you know those occasions where you choose the wrong meal at dinner and it plagues you for years? Maybe it is just me and my inability to get over things (ahhh the life of a remoaner) but a while back (a few years ago) I went for dinner with my family, and I ordered the steak, whilst my sister ordered the beef wellington. My steak was good, but my sister’s beef wellington looked amazing and was seemingly the best thing that she had ever eaten.
I am still upset about this. Yep, I’ll be banging on about Brexit well into my viagra-snorting old age.
This was actually the first beef wellington of my life, as far as my memory serves. It was made with rib-eye beef, though I cannot say that this was apparent. The pastry had puffed up sufficiently on the outside, and on the inside it appeared to be more a layer of pancake – though perhaps that was just softened by the juices from the beef as it cooked.
The layer of mushroom was noted more by appearance than taste, and the beef itself was good. In places it was quite tough – not detrimentally, but it could have been more tender.
I was hoping it would wow. It didn’t. It was decent, verging on good, but no more.
And the liquid masquerading as gravy? Pah. It was browned and sweetened water – in fact, water has more viscosity. It wasn’t horrid, but it was just something for southerners. I WANT SOME PROPER FUCKING GRAVY.
Yeah that’s the end of the review already. Don’t look at me like that, love. I have a sense of humour. What more do you want?
Overall there was a theme of inventiveness here. It was a little unusual – something I appreciate on my 72nd roast dinner review in London, though it was definitely also very southern. The Yorkshire pudding was the best bit…which when paying £18.50 is arguably a little sad…but it was a fucking good yorkie. The pseudo-gravy was the only thing I didn’t enjoy…it is getting close to the point where I take a flask of my own gravy on my adventures.
I’m giving it a 7.18 out of 10. If you want something a little different in the centre of London, then it is worth a visit. It’s a charming pub too with available tables out the front, and some nice beers on tap. I have a feeling I’ll be back on a Saturday afternoon next summer.
My accomplices rated it a 7 and a 7.5, respectively.
Next Sunday I’m currently planning on going fucking miles away. However it is with my most cancelly of cancelling friends (who incidentally voted for Brexit) so this could easily not happen.