The Gun, Spitalfields

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 will likely take until the end of 2024 until all images are reviewed and displayed correctly. Sigh.

Please note that this review is from January 31, 2020 and may be out of date...restaurants sometimes get better, get worse, employ a new chef or end up with new management.

Birthday roast weekend. And as my age now has a zero on the end – again, my Instagram manager agreed to arrange my birthday roast for me. Her choice was The Gun in Spitalfields.

Birthday roasts have been a bit mixed so far. The first was at The Oxford in Kentish Town. I probably over-rated it at a 7.20 then not long later it closed down (now re-opened it appears). The year after was The Prince Bonaparte in Notting Hill – credible at 7.09 but not really impressing my birthday companions.

Then last year was a real treat, The Little Blue Door in Fulham – currently rated as my 4th best ever roast dinner in London.

Awkward Sod

Having a birthday in January is a bit of a pain, but so am I – therefore I am slowly coming to relish being the awkward fucker having a birthday when others are still clinging onto their vague attempts at sobriety. And I was also ending my DryTwoThirdsJanuary with a gusto – this blog may take a few days to finish such are my recovery needs.

I started my adventure with a superb hangover, which needed some necessary medication so I met my tube-illiterate crazy friend at Paddington for a beer – though I forced him out of the Greene King shithole of a pub he chose, to go to the nearby Brewdog.

Upon arrival a little later at The Gun, we joked to the hostesses that we were here to snort crystal meth and had been injecting heroin into our eyes – the cute Italian lady tried to get me to dance to the table – yeah wasn’t happening…at which point I realised that my mum and dad were there.

Bang went my afternoon of crystal meth snorting at the table.

It’s at this point where I scanned my phone to see what notes I’d taken – hmm, two lines. As in two lines of text. My phone gallery isn’t much help either.

Wembley Park toilets, in case you are interested. I think you’ll need to be a man. Just to clarify, I am not from Somalia. My landlady is and I wish she’d hurry up and fix my oven – two weeks and still no word.

Give me an oven

I guess we should talk menu and I was a little disappointed to find only two options – beef or chicken. Granted – my birthday roast last year was beef and chicken too so I should stop remoaning.

As I had beef the week before, I went for chicken, priced at £16. Then I realised that didn’t come with a Yorkshire pudding, so I added one for another £2. And ordered some stuffing at £4. I contemplated ordering some cauliflower cheese too – but enough people around me ordered some, and it was my birthday so surely I’d receive some?

Oh I’ve got Somali cock. I mean, writer’s block. I’m not sure where to go from here? Do people still get abducted by aliens or was that a 90’s thing?

That randomness was a bit forced, wasn’t it?

I have an oven

Dinner took around 20 or so minutes to arrive. I did used to be fairly scared of the possibility that I would be abducted by aliens. Also – I now have a new oven – three days have passed since I wrote the introduction…one of those weeks/hangovers/coronaviruses.

Not exactly overburdened with quantity.

The carrots were quite silky on the outside though more crunchy than my personal preferences.

A scattered of parsnip shards were supplied – pleasurably tart.

On the flip side, the cabbage was quite dry and stringy – had I made a note in my phone about it, I would probably have put “OK”. It was something to get through.

Four roast potatoes! It must be my birthday – just like when I turned up to the tube station and the tube arrived that second. Otherwise I would have had to wait 10 minutes. They were fairly small – and more important quite tired and rubbery. Not the best at all.

The chicken was dry. Yes, dry chicken after I ended dry January – I appreciated the herby crust – it had good flavouring but was dry. Had it not been dry, I would be complaining about the minimal quantity. 3 and a half thin slices of a chicken breast is fucking tight.

Not exactly impressive. But wait – I’d ordered extras.

Juxtaposing the tight nature of the meal itself, the side dishes were exceptionally generous.

Gunned down

The sage and onion stuffing was pleasant – it seemed to have bread inside it, which is odd yet worked.

My Yorkshire pudding – which I remind you I paid £2 extra for – was a little burnt and crispy on top, but otherwise respectable. I could have lived without.

However, the cauliflower cheese was sexual. Perfectly cooked broccoli, a fairly strong, mature cheese – quite gorgeous. It kind of saved the roast from being a full-on turd.

In the same way that I don’t acknowledge the existence of the other alleged version of rugby to rugby league, I don’t tend to acknowledge the existence of vegetarian roasts – let alone vegan roast dinners.

However, if ever you wanted clarification that eating meat is the right thing to do, this parcel of vegetables – the same vegetables that the roast comes with – wrapped in burnt filo pastry, should suffice.

Though the vegan gravy was quite thick…and lumpy.

Our normal gravy was just inoffensive watery stuff – proper gravy is so much of a shock nowadays that I am almost accustomed to this, let alone having to ask for extra gravy which, of course, still wasn’t anywhere near enough.

Son Of A Gun

The Gun was one of the places in my head that I thought would be challenging in the 8’s. For some it certainly was – 3 people rated it an 8, one an 8.2 and another an 8.3. Two people rated it a 7 – and were willing to criticise, namely the carrots and roast potatoes.

Others were less impressed, in particular my friend who ordered the vegan roast who rated it between a 5 and a 6…she isn’t even a vegan, she’d just had too much meat over Chinese New Year celebrations.

My “easily pleased” friend rated it a 6.8 without any further elaboration other than this:

Homosexual loving

I’m delighted that almost all of my guests appreciated it more than I did, and I’m sure I would have enjoyed the beef roast more – all those rating it 7+ had the beef, I believe.

But I’m confused. It wasn’t that good. Were people giving it a higher score because it was my birthday? Was this some kind of group-think? Maybe everyone was having such a good time that they didn’t even notice the problems.

Alas I’d lost control of my guests and one of them had announced that I had a roast dinner blog to the people working there – something that is easier to deal with when I’m impressed – or distinctly unimpressed. So I did have to have a sit-down at the end with the waitress to elaborate on why I wasn’t too impressed.

Summing The Gun

Service was charming and attentive throughout – some really good staff working there, and was definitely a highlight. It’s a stylish-looking place too – if that kind of thing impresses you. It doesn’t me – but I appreciated the spacious feel. The other highlights being my white chocolate cake…from M&S. And the cauliflower cheese.

The chicken, roast potatoes, carrots, cabbage and gravy were all unimpressive.

My score is a 6.51 out of 10.

You could conclude that I am just too demanding. You could conclude that I made the wrong choice with chicken. Maybe I was just simply wrong in not being as impressed as most others.

Next weekend…well…you know what is happening. You know what will get done. And I shall reflect this.

You know, maybe I am actually an alien abductee and this is what life is like in the parallelly dimension.

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The Gun, Spitalfields

Station: Liverpool Street

Tube Lines: Central, Circle, Hammersmith & City, Metropolitan Line, National Rail, Overground

Fare Zone: Zone 1

Price: £18.00

Rating: 6.51

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Loved & Loathed

Loved: Cauliflower cheese was sexual.

Loathed: Inoffensive watery gravy, dry chicken, tired and rubbery roasties. There's quite a selection to loathe.

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