Remember a while back there was that video on the BBC that went viral of a roast dinner inside a Yorkshire pudding? It became so popular that it become York’s number one tourist destination…though there still remains very little to do there compared to the magnificent cultural melting pot that is Hull.
Well, London has it’s own version. Of course it does. London has everything. Except a beer garden in zone 1, with sunshine.
Called Yorkshire Burrito, it is a stall based on Rupert Street in SoHo, which used to be a street full of homosexuals but is now just full of tourists. Incidentally I walked past the Russian Embassy later in the day and gave them the finger. Fuck me I’m hard. Don’t mess with my gay friends you Putin-fuckers.
So you know when you build something up to the point where it promises to change your life forever? Like your first ecstacy pill, the first time you had a finger stuck up your bum during sex or the first time that you realised that you pay towards your lazy neighbour’s benefits?
Well, I was kind of expecting this experience to be almost as equally life-changing.
I had been wanting to go for a while. In fact, I went a while back as I thought I wasn’t going for a roast dinner on the Sunday, but I did have a roast (and it was fairly crap), and I never had the chance to write up about my original visit to Yorkshire Burrito. Also they didn’t have any of their dipping gravy so I thought I’d give them another chance, so I could have the full experience.
Options normally are chicken, beef and pork. I was only offered chicken or beef – I have no idea whether they do a vegetarian option. The menu wasn’t the clearest in terms of being able to read quickly in the pressurised environment that is a street food market. Aaarrrrgggh quick order. NOW.
I chose chicken, which was £7.50, and a side-pot of dipping gravy was £1.00 additional.
Breakfast took around 3 minutes to be prepared. The ingredients were prepared and placed into the Yorkshire pudding, it was wrapped like a burrito inside some foil, then placed on the grill for a minute.
I sat down at the nearby picnic bench with my burrito and cup of gravy, and reflected that I could be in some form of heaven.
And then two Spanish women sat opposite me.
The only vegetable involved was spinach, which was a good compliment and took up healthily little space. I think it was uncooked, or at most, barely wilted.
There were roast potatoes involved. Deep-fried – clearly pretty tricky to install a full oven on a market stall, yet they were actually crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside – probably because they were quite small. Could have been more of them to give some added texture to the burrito.
Pulled chicken was added, which looked fresh and juicy. Alas, there didn’t seem to be that much of it, and it didn’t add too much in the way of flavour to my breakfast.
The stuffing was tasty, there was quite a bit of stuffing – it could have been cooked a bit more, as it seemed a tad wet. And not quite as strong as the first time I went – maybe that is a good thing?
What’s left? Oh yeah, the yorkie itself. This was soft – which it kind of needs to be if it is going to be rolled. Pre-made and quite possibly bulk-bought, it was still good, had enough taste and texture to make it enjoyable. But – you’ll get a better yorkie in a real roast dinner…a good roast dinner at least. This did feel quite manufactured, but I’m not sure what else they can do on a market stall.
Finally, the gravy. With the roast dinner, I mean burrito, it was complimentary (as it they worked together). It seemed like quite a bit of effort had gone into it, it was quite thick – if gloopy, and had lots of bits in it. It did seem unusually spicy for gravy though, without being hot. When walking through Piccadilly Circus later, attempting to drink my leftover gravy as if I was a commuting twat with a cup of coffee, I realised that something was pretty wrong with it.
Whereas it worked in small quantities with the Yorkshire burrito, or at least I thought I did, something just wasn’t right. I’d hazard a guess at too much nutmeg – or maybe just a load of uncooked Bisto…something wasn’t right. It was almost sour. I actually threw the rest of the gravy in the bin.
In hindsight, that took the edge off my enjoyment of what was a good burrito – but wasn’t heaven. It wasn’t anywhere near as life-changing as my first ecstacy pill. I still haven’t had a finger up my bum.
This could be improved. The Yorkshire burrito is an amazing idea, and should be nothing short of sexual.
It was enjoyable, and I’d happily go back for another one tomorrow…if I was in the area, though without the gravy. It just didn’t reach my very high expectations. If you are tempted, you should definitely head down one lunchtime.
I’m giving it a 7.15 out of 10 (would have been around 7.75 if I hadn’t had the gravy).
Also, the Spanish women that sat opposite me weren’t even vaguely attractive.
Not entirely sure on the plan for the coming Sunday…except that it’s coming home. Oh yeah and the random number generator has picked somewhere that I’ve wanted to go for years.