Roast Dinners in London

Back from holiday and straight into action at The Portland Arms in Norwood Junction.

A friend of mine told me to come back to “Twitter” recently because they’ve got rid of all the politics and its great.

Hmmm. A few posts further down, Tommy Robinson blathering on about signal blockers in Dover using a picture of something that might be a picture of a signal blocker, I have no idea, but definitely is not in Dover.

Then a few posts down, Isabel Oakeshott, who has gone full Truss, banging on about secret planes of immigrants and how the government should be overthrown.

Meanwhile, a pigeon crapped on me. A foreign pigeon. In Dubrovnik.

I feel like this blog has been a bit half-assed recently as life has been hectic…last Sunday I had the temerity to go on holiday on a Sunday morning and hence missed a roast dinner.

Two weeks before that, I just went to the nearest place that served roast dinners after 2.5 hours on a train from Hull, Drake & Morgan, and suffered the consequences. Next Sunday is probably the same.

And this week, having arrived home at 1am on Sunday morning, I couldn’t face any more buses, trains, tubes or flights across to the other side of London and just asked Claude what to do. Fine, one stop on the overground I can handle.

To Roast or Not To Roast

In the space of a few days, I’d gone from eating tuna salad with this kind of view:

To eating chocolate mousse in the cosy streets of Dubrovnik, with this kind of view:

And now to eating a roast dinner in the back garden of a pub on the Portland Road near Norwood Junction.

I did mean to photograph the garden but got distracted, though I have the front of the pub if this helps recreate the ambience:

The Portland Arms is one of few surviving pubs in the area – I walked past either 3 or 4 pubs which are now distinctly not ever going to be pubs again, or are at best, temporarily not pubs.

This venue was boarded up itself for quite a few years, having been Oceans Apart – which Claude describes as “fairly garish”, so some credit probably due to those running what was a reasonably busy pub on a sunny and surprisingly warm Sunday in October, in an area that seems to need far less of them now.

Alas, Poor Roast Potato, I Knew Him Well

The Portland Arms still quite a basic pub – the toilets reminded me of a school building, the garden out the back, whilst a great spot in the sunshine, still felt a bit rustic and only semi-loved.

Drinks choices were likewise not exactly complex – though an Alpacalypse by Salt is at least a step or two above Brixton/Beavertown. I didn’t check the wine list, I judgily decided that it wouldn’t be their speciality.

But look at those prices.

Believe it or not, I’ve had 3 roast dinners under £20.00 in London this year, though this is the first time I’ve had one under £15.00 since…2022. Marginally interested in a journey to Norwood Junction? Sometimes I forget that I actually have readers and really should be reviewing places that people might consider eating at, or want to know about. Oh well. There’s more Sundays.

So on the menu was half a roast chicken at £13.50, beef rump at £14.50, pork belly at £14.00 or carrot and spiced marmalade wellington at £12.50.

Pork was the choice for me. I’m way too snobby to pay £14.50 for beef, didn’t really fancy half a chicken, and marmalade…nah.

The Gravy Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I cannot even get into moaning about Trump, Musk, etc much at the moment.

Not many memes.

Not much humour.

Have I ever actually mentioned Kemi Badenoch in this blog? I will get back on form, I just need a nice relaxing holiday to recharge…oh…that was supposed to be last week. Did I mention the boat replacement bus? That was certainly not relaxing. Nor was having a fever for multiple days.

So let’s start with the carrots which were roasted and soft, and generally ok.

The broccoli – most of which was stalk, was soft and soggy, and filled with far more warer than I’d previously imagined that you can fit into broccoli stalks. It tasted of water, yet was piping hot.

Also on the boiling side were the parsnips. This seems to be a thing I note on Google reviews where someone has returned a basic-looking roast dinner because its warm instead of hot. Like…bigger issues, surely? The issues with these chunky parsnips were that they were soggy and soft on the outside, yet undercooked on the inside. Flavour-wise though, top notch. Well, below top notch, but I’m trying to be nice, I’ve been on holiday after all.

Though I did get crapped on by a pigeon in Dubrovnik, and then had to buy a €25 t-shirt that I’ll never wear again so I didn’t have to spend the next 10 hours wearing pigeon crap. I hope the person next to me on the plane appreciated it.

Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender of Roast Potatoes Be

Hmmm, maybe I’m getting into this writing thing again.

Well, you already know what I think of the roast potatoes. Unless you have vision issues or I’ve broken the images on my website or something.

They were at least cooked today probably, but generally quite tough and unloved and dry and and.

The Yorkshire pudding was pretty good – a homemade effort (my snooty nature meant I was expecting an Aunt Bessie), it even had some herbs. A tiny bit tasted burnt but otherwise a pleasing texture and a good balance between softness and crisp.

The pork belly was actually quite good – pullably tender, though the fatty edge was chewy rather than gluttonous, and the crackling – well, I tried to cut it but there was no way that was being manipulated in any way without making a scene – a bit like the guy in the garden who suddenly shouted aggressively, “what the hell did you do that for”, or words to that effect.

Expecting some kind of violent uprising, I turned around to see that…oh, his now very scared and crying toddler son had spilt his drink. “Daddy reacted as you would expect” was the explanation I overheard whilst trying desperately not to be too curious given said temper. Yeah, it’s Croydon.

Finally, the gravy was thick but didn’t really taste of much – I guess some cornflour had gone on. Had worse.

The Portland Arms

So, maybe I should have got an earlier flight yesterday and had more sleep. Maybe I shouldn’t have contracted a fever that I’m still recovering from. Maybe I should have gone to my local pub…actually that would almost certainly have been worse.

But The Portland Arms wasn’t as bad as I feared it would be. I even liked the pork belly – well, except the impossibly tough crackling.

Broccoli was far too watery, some seasoning would have been good and the roast potatoes were meh, if not especially bad, oh and the parsnips were undercooked yet soggy. Hmmm.

A score of 5.39 out of 10 feels reasonable.

I shall be back next week, hopefully with more vim and more than one of you might have heard of the pub this time.

Also, guess who does their posters.

It even looked like ChatGPT had done their chalkboards, somehow.

Rate this place from My Roasts.