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 me...it will likely take until the end of 2024 until all images are reviewed and displayed correctly. Sigh.
After last week’s disappointment, I was ready to get back into action and happy that I was going somewhere with which I had no expectations, The Three Crowns in Shoreditch.
Now, I don’t normally listen to Brexiters as they tend to be full of shit, however I keep hearing them talking about something that sounds really very attractive – the gravy train.
Apparently, if you become an MEP, you get to ride the gravy train. Wow! Imagine that – a train full of gravy. I’ve often fantasised about having a threesome with two Spanish lesbians (not short-haired ones) in a swimming pool full of gravy, but a gravy train – that is on another level.
For those that don’t know (circa 80% of you I reckon), an MEP is a member of the European Parliament. And for the princely sum of £5,000.00 (roughly the amount I have spent on going out for roast dinners the last two years), you can stand in the upcoming European elections.
Yes, yes I am thinking what you’re thinking, but I just need £5,000.00 for the deposit.
Imagine Lord Gravy representing you in Brussels, there would be no shortage of sprouts on your plate.
I would however force the EU to offer us a good deal to stay in the EU. And I know just the thing to unite the country – Brexiters and Remainers alike. Yep – you are thinking what I’m thinking, it needs a genius like me to ensure that the EU offer a deal, where we stay in the EU and they give us a roast dinner once a year – call it a roastbate if you want. Lady Thatcher would be proud of me. And yes, I’ll swing my cheap Asos manbag around until the EU submit to my demands. Or until the shoulder strap breaks again.
Vote Lord Gravy – Free Roast Dinners
I know that I’ve just let my negotiating strategy out of the bag, but I get about 200 readers a week so it isn’t like everyone in the EU parliament will have read this.
Anyway, so this week the random number generator had picked The Three Crowns in Shoreditch. I had no expectations – I thought it would be decent, somewhere between a 7 and a 7.5, and after flailing under the pressure of choosing somewhere for roast dinner 100, and the disappointment of last week’s roast dinner having been plated in the North Sea, I was very happy to be going here.
The Three Crowns was somewhere that I’d had a little communication with on Twitter last year, and after repeated requests from them to pay them a visit, I gave in and added it to my to-do list. A lot of places on the list are recommendations, but occasionally venues ask me to visit and if they look interesting enough (or in this case, ask me enough times) then I’ll add them to the to-do list and allow the god otherwise known as the random number generator to see whether they’ll be chosen.
Not that The Three Crowns wasn’t interesting – they have a gorgeous and I think, listed, front of their pub and a fine selection of craft beers – not a Carling in sight. Photo stolen from their website so I hope they don’t mind too much.
It wasn’t hugely busy inside, I guess around half-full. There was some mostly inoffensive music on, with the football on the big screen at the end of the pub – though there was a focus on dining at that end, without it being too “restaurant”. Very much still a pub, which happened to have a hopefully very good food offering.
Speaking of the food offering, along with plenty of non-roast options which I completely ignored, they had slow roasted lamb shoulder, half roast chicken, sirloin of beef and slow roasted pork belly, all priced between £14.50 and £15.50, which really isn’t bad for hipster land.
I was thinking of plumping for the chicken, however I asked the barman for his recommendation, and it was strongly for the lamb, so I chose that.
Around 15 minutes passed and the waitress came over, and said, “fish and chips?”. Who on earth orders fish and chips on a Sunday? Given that the table next to us had done so, I squirmed a little when I realised that I’d said that quite loudly. Yes she had heard me. No I didn’t have any chance of a blow job in the first place.
I’d actually settle for fish and chips on a Sunday as long as it came with carrots, cauliflower cheese, Yorkshire pudding, gravy and the chips were actually roast potatoes. I see your eyes – but some weird fuckers put mushy peas with fish and chips. Indeed gravy on fish is a thing up north. Maybe take the Yorkshire pudding out, and that would be an amazing meal, no?
Another 10 minutes passed whilst we pondered the immaturity of taking the piss out of other football team’s past relegations (except for Leeds United, Champions of Europe, promoted every September, who are completely acceptable fodder).
Erm. Why did I share that with you? Shit, just wait until what I’m going to show you later.
Shall we start with the carrots? Roasted Chantenay types – the larger ones were rather crunchy on the outside, the smaller ones softer – the smaller ones were more to my tastes. Nice.
The kale had too much water in it, and therefore diluted the gravy quite a bit – not to the point of throwing the plate at the wall, but a minor gripe for sure. Plenty of kale though – to be expected in Shoreditch, I guess.
Not so much red cabbage, in fact my guest who is affectionately-named, Bumhole, didn’t even notice it – it was interesting punchy though.
The pick of the vegetables were the parsnips – it seems a while since I’ve had good parsnips, and these were thoroughly roasted to maximise flavour.
Wait a minute. This gravy train, do you think it is filled with gravy or maybe just running on gravy? Because I’m not sure how I feel about the waste of resources if it is running on gravy instead of diesel.
Are you bored of me yet?
A veritable selection of roast potatoes were supplied, but without being too rude they might as well have come out of a bag named Aunt Bessie’s. They seemed like they had – that kind of course fake-roastness and slightly tough insides. I’ve had far, far worse, but if they weren’t Aunt Bessie’s then they were a very good resemblance of them.
Well if you think this review is dull, maybe you should spend the next hour watching this guy shouting “Alexa” at a pork pie.
Must be annoying if your name is Alexa. Whoa before I go on, did I mention that I got my first match on Tinder since 2016 this weekend? She even responded to me. Just one word, “hello”, but to me that pretty much qualifies as a sexual experience nowadays.
The Yorkshire pudding was decent. I cannot say I particularly noticed eating it – though sure as hell I’d notice if I didn’t have one, even if in many cases that might improve the dining experience.
Sometimes when you get a recommendation from the waiting staff, I wonder whether it is because that is the item with the most left unsold, or it really is their recommendation. This was a very fine piece of slow-roasted lamb, every bit as good as I was advised it would be.
It fell apart wonderfully, had an earthy flavour mixed with some snippets of lesser-distinguished fat. Good quality, good flavour. I was a little concerned prior to the meal about having a butter knife, but it was all that was required. The chicken was tasty too.
And we had proper gravy – I’d be exceptionally happy if this is what the gravy train consisted of. A good consistency, a meaty flavour – nowhere near enough on the plate even with the extra gravy, but hell, this is London.
At which point my amigo decided to advise the waitress that I had a blog about roast dinners. She knew about it, and was actually in charge of the social media, so now I have pressure to be nice about them. Though I haven’t said anything that I didn’t say to her face (maybe except accusing them of using Aunt Bessie’s roast potatoes…ooops).
Should I get the gravy train to Old Street?
It’s not a worldie but it was a good solid roast. Only major disappointment was the roast potatoes but even they were acceptable. The lamb and gravy stood out – everything else was somewhere between decent and good.
Service was pleasant, both staff members that attended to us were willing to entertain our riveting nonsense – the venue is a decent pub, one which I am sure I will be frequenting again at some point, being slightly away from the more nobhead-central parts of Shoreditch.
Surprisingly it is only the second place I have eaten a Sunday roast at in Shoreditch, the other being the very decent, The Princess of Shoreditch. Others on the to-do list in the area are really quite varied; Clutch, Pizza East, Royal Oak, McQueen (deffo nobhead heaven) and Merchants Tavern.
I’m scoring it a very respectable 7.58 out of 10, and I think my accomplice would be in agreement. It’s worth a visit – but if you are on ket (or perhaps even drunk), don’t approach from Old Street roundabout.
No plan yet for next weekend. The random number generator picked out somewhere that someone wanted to come with me (and are not available), then somewhere that looks shit, so if I have no friends available then I might go there for the crack.
Anyone got £5,000.00 for my deposit?
The Three Crowns, Shoreditch
Station: Old Street
Tube Lines: National Rail, Northern
Fare Zone: Zone 1
Loved & Loathed
Loved: Proper gravy and a very fine piece of slow-roasted lamb.
Loathed: Not enough gravy, roasties felt like Aunt Bessie's and were kind of tough inside.