Pork, Lamb & Beef @ The Crown, Playhatch 04/09/2016

If there’s no good spuds, in your neighbourhood,
Who you gonna call?  Roast Dinners Around Reading.
If there’s a mass-produced dinner,
And it doesn’t look good,
Who you gonna call?  Roast Dinners Around Reading.
I ain’t afraid of thick gravy,
I ain’t afraid of thick gravy,
If you’re seeing watery jus, running off your plate,
Who you gonna call? Roast Dinners Around Reading.
Aunt Bessie’s Yorkshire puds,
Sleeping in your bed,
Who you gonna call? Roast Dinners Around Reading.
I ain’t afraid of thick gravy,
I ain’t afraid of thick gravy,
Who you gonna call? Roast Dinners Around Reading.
If you’re sexy and alone,
Pick up the phone,
And call Roast Dinners Around Reading.
I ain’t afraid of thick gravy,
I hear he likes hot girls,
I ain’t afraid of thick gravy,
Yeah yeah yeah yeah.
Who ya gonna call? Roast Dinners Around Reading.

Yeah………………maybe not.

So we have laid our dear departed Roast Dinners Around Reading to rest forever.  And we thought it most appropriate that we should have the wake at The Crown in Playhatch.  The number one roast dinner around Reading.  He/she/it would have wanted it this way.

We have tried our best to replicate the amazing writing skill that the ever so talented and beautiful Roast Dinners Around Reading had.  Apologies if we have not quite captured the delicate essence and unique hilarity of this most edible of bachelors.  We tried to programme an algorithm to write it for us but all it did was write the words “gravy drug sex” over and over – with a few other bits inserted about (or into) Keith Vaz.

A lot of people were invited.  Not many people came.  Nearly half of those that promised to come didn’t turn up.  Everyone was late.  Was it something he said?


For those that don’t know, and there should not really be any reason anyone is reading this that hasn’t been, The Crown is a carvery.  But not like a Toby carvery.  It does very nice meat, gorgeous…oh wait a minute that’s what the review part is for.  Oh and it is miles better than that place next door run by the witch that hated our hero, our legend, our beautifully derranged creative master that really deserved to be paid lots of money for writing such wonderful reviews.  Well, quite a bit better than next door anyway.

Have I waffled on enough yet?

The price has gone up since last time – now £15.00 a head.  But has the quality gone up to match or is this Farageinflation?

Once everyone had arrived, we were advised to go up.  The first person grabbed a plate.  The rest waited a few minutes for some more plates to arrive.  There was enough gravy for the first person in the queue, but then we had to wait a few more minutes for a new vat to arrive.  A whole new vat of gravy, just in his lordship’s honour.

It was possible to have carrots but I decided against it, as all the potential ways to describe carrots (including comparing the taste to anus) have been used by our dearly departed leader.

Likewise I shunned the red cabbage.  There could be no disrespect.

The broccoli cheese, however, was excellent.  Very creamy, somewhat cheesy – the cream stayed separate to the gravy and didn’t infiltrate.  The broccoli itself (I can spell actually it without a spellchecker) was perfectly crunchy, but not too much so.  Absolutely spot on.

However, the roast potatoes were not.  I had about 28 roast potatoes (it being a carvery), and they had all been roasted.  Some time ago.  Quite fitting, I guess, but they were a tad tricky to eat, quite hard to slice through, chewy to…chew.  But still actually properly roasted.


Also a disappointment were the Yorkshire puddings.  Not massively so but they had been cooked just slightly longer than ideal, and therefore were rather too crispy.  Otherwise an excellently largish size, softish bottoms (like when I used to squeeze his lordship’s arse on occasion, normally after a crystal meth pipe) – just a bit overcooked.

I sneakily asked for some pork after asking for beef and lamb – but this isn’t the Toby Carvery, and they do not limit you to the thinnest, tiniest strips of almost ghost-like meat.

The pork was excellent, a loin of pork, with a thin layer of tasty fat going on overhead. Which reminds me – shout out to Edible Reading.  Easy now, bro.  Glad to hear the pigs no longer have you on their suspects list.  Wicked news, innit.  Now get back to writing, you fucker.  Even if it is Erotic Reading.  Yes, maybe you could review brothels as your new venture?  The Queen of Gravy would have loved that.  Yeah, you missed your chance to have dinner and smoke crack with her.  You snooze, you lose.

The lamb was good – unspectacularly good with not really much to say about it.

Oooh whilst I remember, we ordered some crayons for the child at the table (no his Lordship has passed away – another child), and they never turned up.  Thankfully we had an imaginary train to keep us all amused.

Onto the beef – the beef de resistance.  It was rather pink in the middle, slightly rarer than medium-rare.  Very succulent, very soft, very, very nice.

And finally, what you have all being waiting for (apart from to find out whodunnit) – the gravy.  Well, it was close to perfect.  Very gravy-like in taste, lots of bits from the meat inside, lots of juices – and pretty thick too.  Not too thick for most southerners, not anywhere near as thick as the weirdo wanted.  But easily the best gravy around Reading.

But no longer the best roast dinner.  Given the disappointing roast potatoes, and slightly disappointing Yorkshire puddings, this trip only gets an 8 out of 10.  Maybe their standards have dropped – or maybe, probably more likely, they just were not quite on the ball this afternoon.

I would like to say thank you to all the guests that actually made it, we had a good mix of Europeans, a token Brexit voter, a gay, a Greek (yes his bank card worked) – it was massively lacking in druggies but they were probably too fucked to eat.  Only one of the Spanish models that he featured the other week turned up, and his sister did too, who is an occasional mini-reviewer for Time Out, but obviously we cannot share her details as it would give away who he was.  Anonymity must be preserved.  Maybe she will be the famous blogger that he dreamed and deserved to be.

If we can ever get the algorithm working, then we are going to go to Japan to try to find a robot to go around and review roast dinners, but at this rate, this seems many decades away.  Most robots in Japan seem to only be for sexual pleasure.  If only he had had the opportunity to review sex robots – that would have made a great blog.  Or even a vlog.  Just imagine – he could have been as famous as Zoella.

So The Crown has lost its crown.  How fitting as we say goodbye to one of the most-loved writers that the world has ever seen.  In the fullness of time, I have little doubt that his works will be thought of as lovingly as Shakespeare is now.

Rest In Gravy.

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Lamb Shoulder @ The Reformation, Gallowstree Common

Good afternoon.  I am writing to you from my hospital bed.

I’ve been shot.

I have long feared an attack by the mafia for my occasionally stinging reviews.  Some food reviewers will always give a suspiciously marvellous review but I have always told you how it is.  Or how I view it through a bowl of gravy.

It has to be the mafia, doesn’t it?


First there is something more important to tackle, which is a review of The Reformation in Gallowstree Common.  Recommended to me by a reader – you may have noticed that I have recently visited a few places on the advice of readers instead of random number generator.

I’ve just had a thought.  Do you think Get Reading had me shot?  Maybe them stopping publishing the reviews was their way of telling me – NO MORE?  Perhaps I was negating onto their territory and they wanted the local food review business for themselves.  That and I’ve been a little rude to them occasionally – almost accusing them of publishing 100 stories a day about IKEA in return for some nice funding.  That was a bit out of order from me.

But then again they were nice about me yesterday, and published a roast dinner story using mostly my photographs, and also linking to my page.

Cover up?  If I survive my ordeal, maybe I should change careers to be an investigator?  It looks like my modelling days are over.

The journey yesterday started with the bus driver trying to extract £36.50 out of me for a return journey which took about 15 minutes.  I refused to pay it – maybe that’s who it was?  I didn’t pay the protection money.  It was a different bus driver on the way back.  Fuck.

The pain is coming back.  The drugs are wearing off.  Help me.  Nurse?  Nuhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrssssse?

I must dictate what I can whilst I can.  I feel so weak.  I might not survive.

The pub was very welcoming – with around 50 houses in a village that I have never heard of, it must be doing something right.  It even had a wall of graffiti on the inside as if it was considering a move to Dalston.  Some cute and friendly blonde girls – wait a minute – could it be a feminist that shot me?

I sat down outside in the sunshine, and waited around 10-15 minutes for the roast to arrive.  I wasn’t that hungry which was a good job as there wasn’t much food in the oversized half-plate half-bowl that arrived.  I had ordered the lamb, but there was also chicken and beef available – they do recommend that you order the roasts in advance as they only make so many.  I cannot remember the price – somewhere around £15.00.


It could have been IKEA themselves after I uncovered their plan and laughed at their car park problems.  You know what the Swedish are like.

There was one carrot, pompously cut lengthways into 3 strips, including the green roots which is a nice if hipsterish touch.  Speaking of hipsters, maybe it was the guy behind This Is Reading?  Someone told me that he is now the executive director of Sky News, but I always thought that he was slightly unhinged, and after I made a rude comment on his page a while back, maybe he has found out who I am?

Actually I need…aaaaaarrrrrgggghh.  Ugggghhh.  Delete that.  No delete.  How do you delete on a dictaphone?  Oh I give up.

Actually I am going to talk about the gravy.  It is the most important part of the dish and I might not make it to the end of my review.  And this gravy ruined the whole meal.  I was promised “proper gravy”.  And it was gravy – a very rich gravy.  It tasted of red wine, perhaps some nutmeg but it was just utterly overpowering and I simply didn’t like it.  Southerners may like it.  I did not.  I felt it was quite a risky gravy – I am in no doubt that some people would be impressed but it simply wasn’t for me.

Maybe Farage has bumped me off?  I forewarned you all not to vote Brexit but yet look what happened.  Maybe he knows that I am going to fight and reverse the decision as the next Prime Minister (assuming the drug laws are overturned before then) and that he simply had to have me bumped off.  Eeeeeeuuuughggghghgh.  Pain go away please…I mean Farage go away.

There were two sticks of tenderstem broccoli.  Firm yet not overly tough and apart from the horrid gravy were pleasant and edible enough.  Edible Reading.  Could it have been he/she/heshe?  See my first thought was that they had also been threatened by Get Reading, hence the recent lack of posts.  But then maybe that is a cover up to bump me off, and be able to claim the crown of number 1 food reviewer in the area.  Maybe with me gone, he/she/it will then feel able to start reviewing roast dinners too.  Oooooh.  Aaaaaarrrrrrggh.

There were 4 mange tout.  Tough and very crunchy.  Or were there 5?

I mustn’t forget the couple of withered bits of floppy dark green cabbage.  Thinking of withered bits, could it have been the local LGBT society that arranged for me to be killed off after seeing how I rejected my sex change within 24 hours.  One day I was a straight man, the next a lesbian, then back to being a straight man with both a vagina and a penis.

My plate was also blessed with one piece of cauliflower cheese.  Nurse?  Nurse, I need some drugs.  Over here.  Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrssse.  It was good, creamy and a touch cheesy and simply not anywhere near enough.

Could it have been Wendy 87-last-names from whatever that pub was next to The Crown in Playhatch?  She really took offence to a decently average review – calling me an idiot and a tin-pot-trip-adviser-reviewer.  Though surely she would not have waited this long?  And to think that I really wanted to go back there, I might never have the chance to now.

Sniff, sob, sob.  Oh why me?  Why did I have to get shot?

I love you mum.

And dad.  And grandma.  And sister.  And all my friends.  And Blanca Suarez – I love you the most.  Get the nurse.  GIVE ME DRUGS.


Surprisingly there was more than 1 roast potato – 3 in fact, all on the large size, all allegedly roasted in duck fat – they probably were but sadly the gravy overpowered any taste.  The potatoes certainly had the sense of having been cooked some time ago and were a touch on the chewy and dry side, but not overly bad.


Unlike my crystal meth dealer.  She is bad.  Evil.  I haven’t mentioned her until now but maybe she is worried that I have loose lips.  It isn’t Blanca, before you ask.  Blanca is the nurse this afternoon.  And my future wife.

Ahhhh nurse.  About time.  I need some drugs.  Yes, morphine, Tramadol and ketamine please.  And some crystal meth.  Oh, wait, wait, do you have any mescaline?

Shit, could it be Blanca?  But I haven’t even started stalking her yet (by the way don’t watch I’m So Excited – an absolutely abominably gash movie that the nurses played to me last night after my emergency operation).

The lamb shoulder was a decent cut, it fell apart quite easily though was cooked rather well done – too much so for my tastes.  That said, like all the ingredients to the meal it was of a high standard, yet ruined by the gravy.

Speaking of high quality ingredients, a ha ha ha ha ha.  Wetherspoons.  The CEO been so ashamed by the dreadful review that I gave his establishment that they had to stop doing roast dinners.  Maybe this was the only way back – have me killed then start serving roast dinners again.  Maybe the food processing factory owner is so angry about the lack of roast dinner sales?


The pain is so much now.  Unbearable.  I have almost made it to the end of my review but it is unlikely I will live long enough to see the visitor statistics.

The highlight, ouch.  I cannot…I…the welcome.  The welcome was so warm and friendly.  The lowlight was being shot.  I stepped outside, looked at the sunny skies, and walked towards the bus stop.  I saw the bus heading towards me.  It was a different bus and a different driver.  And the next thing I saw were these walls.

5.9.  Out of aaaarrrrghghhh 10.

Dear readers.  If you love me like I love you, I ask of you two things:

  1. Avenge my death.
  2. Don’t forget me.  Don’t let my hard work for the community go in vain.  Make sure everyone knows where to go and where to avoid for their Sunday lunch.

Maybe I will see you in the next life.

Ahhh nurse, the drugs.  It’s been hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I mmmmmmmmmmmm think I l………………………………mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

love hhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.  Floating away.



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Beef, Lamb & Pork @ Crooked Billet, Wokingham 12/06/2016

Yesterday was the most important day of my year, arguably for many years.

Sunday was not. All I needed to do was recover from a hangover, buy a new shoulder bag for work to replace the one that now stunk of piss and ale, have a roast dinner (of, course) and make it home in time for my food shopping delivery.

Simple. Bar the hangover. Just one minute after I posted wondering whether I was going to be able to follow my original plan, my wonderfully craziest friend (and I have a few in that category) messaged me and we were game on. And he invited his even crazier friend.

Can you see where this is going?

I was originally going to go somewhere in Reading but I wanted to impress, and managed to book a table at the surprisingly quiet, Crooked Billet, near Wokingham. I’ve tried on 3 previous occasions to book a table there but always without success.

You’d really have to know this place exists. We found it at the end of a rickety country lane, over a ford of which we decided not to attempt – probably our last sensible decision of the day.


There were a variety of roasts on offer, pork, chicken, lamb, beef and nut roast at £14.50. There was also a mixed option of pork, lamb and beef at £16.50. As I was feeling utterly incapable of making a decision, I went for the mixed roast, despite having had two large sausages rolls for breakfast.

I had little doubt that I was going to get an excellent roast and I was immediately wowed upon delivery. It took a while, 30 minutes or so, though we did have a starter, plus a pre-starter but that was something not supplied by the venue.


Easily the largest plate that I’d been served in a long time but I know where to start. The carrots.

Or carrot. After 69 roast dinners reviews I thought I had seen it all when it came to carrots but this was served simply as one long delicate yet delicious stick of orange. Easy to cut into chunks, moist and succulent.

For my personal tastes the mange tout were too crisp and squeaky but others prefer them this way – horses for courses. I do love a mange tout or two and it was exactly what I was going to do do do, come on let’s do the conga.

Yeah maybe not.

Then there was a fine selection of tenderstem broccoli (thank you again spellchecker) – not just average broccoli. Marginally on the tough side of average but very well-appreciated as a healthy higher class vegetable.

There was some blanched-looking dark green stuff which was possibly cabbage – it tasted good but some of the core was just a little too tough to munch.

We had a little pot of cauliflower cheese too. Nicely crisp on top with the taste of cheese evident too. The cream was thick enough not to infect the gravy. Very good.

Before we go on and you might want to skip this paragraph – don’t say that you were not warned. I know that I normally have a fair linguistic talent however I’m struggling to work out how to insert this naturally (worryingly apt language for what I am going to say) but my crazy friends’ crazy friend would like me to insert a sentence explaining that he believes that the only use for celery is to try to insert it in bodily areas that you would not normally associate with the insertion of celery. Ideally before or during sexual intercourse.

This was pretty much the deal to ensure that he kept his hands off my privates during dinner so I hope that you understand this situation. Sadly I did end up seeing his nob – thankfully not in the restaurant.

Erm…moving on. You are going to miss me, aren’t you?

Three fairly small roast potatoes were included. They were actually properly roasted but sadly they had lost their crispy edges. However what they lost in crispiness they more than made up with the exquisite taste of the goose-fat that they had been roasted in. Even if you had never had roast potatoes cooked in goose fat – you’d know these were. Superb stuff.

The Yorkshire pudding was a decent homemade effort – it hadn’t risen incredibly and was quite medium sized but it was good.

Then comes the meat. Where to start?


I shall start with the beef, which was on the edges just a touch dry but it had a certain flakiness to it of earlier-cooked beef. It had been cooked medium-rare – soft and pinkish on the middle but crispy and grey/brown on the outside. The fatty parts were included too which were divine.

Then the pork which was succulent and juicy, not forgetting the bits of fat that were included to enhance the taste. It also came with a strip of crackling which was perfection – crunchy on top, soft and juicy underneath. Even my crack addict teeth were able to crunch it.

Perfection almost came with the lamb which was just delicious. Sometimes the flavour of lamb doesn’t come out properly, normally when it is quickly cooked but this was superb. As I said, delicious.

All came in sizeable thick slices and it really was a struggle to finish.

And it just leaves to mention the gravy, which was innocuous and very thin. Nothing wrong with the flavour, it was light and complimented the food nicely. But not what you’d call a gravy up north.

There is room for improvement.  It was all very good or excellent but it wasn’t a 9.  It didn’t quite beat The Crown at Playhatch but it was the closest I’ve come to beating it.

It gets a rather marvellous 8.6 out of 10.

So many highlights from quantity to all of the meat, oh and the cracking – but the goose-fat taste on the roasties was that moment.  As a lowlight the gravy was far too thin for my liking but still good.  On the Yorkshire-Surrey scale it gets a Stafford.

And how did the rest of my day go?  Well, I bought a new bag from town.  And then I bought another type of bag down Oxford Road.  And I made it home nearly 4 hours after my food delivery.

And had 3 hours sleep before my most important day of the year.  Oops.

Next week I am going to tell you how to vote in the EU referendum by way of a roast dinner review, the result of which will not be pre-ordained in any way, oh no, just like Boris’ leave campaign was nothing to do with his leadership desire, oh no, all to do with being faithful to his wife as any good, honest husband would always be.  In out in out we’ll shake it all about.  By the way I did decide against posting the photo of my friend’s willies that I had to take on Sunday.

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Lamb @ The Catherine Wheel, Goring, 05/06/2016

Finally I am someone again.

Yes not since the giddy Get Reading days have I had some public abuse, but finally someone has recognised my talents and called me a clown.

What I suspect though, is that she actually really enjoys this blog, and is just getting into the spirit of things. Either that or she runs a pub that does crap roast dinners.

Speaking of being someone, this week I headed out to The Catherine Wheel in Goring, a rather well-to-do village west of Reading – a very pleasant area of the country. One of the 10 places on my must-review bucket list, it was recommended to me by my secret 4th housemate in my previous house that never paid any rent but did take the bin out once. Jolly nice chap though.

A table was booked for 3pm, I even had an attractive young lady coming – though, alas, story of my life…I was stood up again.

The pub itself featured low ceilings and wooden beams. It took a good 10-15 minutes to get someone’s attention at the bar, not because they were slovenly but because they were really rather busy. A good sign.

I was shown to my table and advised to come to the bar when I had decided what I wanted. I asked if I could order straight away, which caused some confusion. But yes, I was allowed to order straight away rather than sit down, pretend to look at a menu and then walk back to order, risking losing my seat in the sunshine. You’ve put the menu on your website for a reason.

Beef, pork and lamb were the options, though they did have a vegetarian option – don’t ask me what! I paid £14.95 for the lamb, I think. There was also the possibility of having a roast dinner sandwich – if only I didn’t need to lose weight, I could have had that for starter.

One day I’m actually going to have designate pie day. I’ll have pork pie for lunch, a proper pie for dinner and apple pie for dessert. But I’m not sure what to do for breakfast – any ideas? Must be a pie.

There was around a 30 minute wait for the food, which normally I don’t mind, but I was more hungry than I was horny, and I’m going through a horny phase at the moment. But the rule is, the longer the wait, the better the roast.

One other thing to note, the charming and very nicely dressed lady that I assumed was the landlady, was polishing the cleaned glasses properly. Attention to detail. I approve.

So I was sat, very happily, in the sunshine when my roast arrived. It looked good. I didn’t even have to ask for more gravy.


I started with what appeared to be mashed swede. It had a rather light orange colour, for swede, tasted rather buttery and on the sweet side. I have never enjoyed swede as much as I enjoyed this.

Onto the mange tout – one of my favourite vegetables and not something ever supplied with a bad roast dinner. Sadly they were a tiny bit undercooked for my preferences, being rather squeaky and crunchy – but horses for courses.

On the other hand, the cauliflower cheese was exceptional. Really creamy and really cheesy – plenty of it too. Truly delicious.

But swinging back the other way a tad like in the gay club in Ibiza, the roast potatoes were not very roasted. Whilst they were soft in the middle, there was no evidence on them having been roasted. Good potatoes – but not good roast potatoes.

Also roasted were a couple of parsnips. Not quite as sweet or nutty as normal, maybe it was the oil that they had been roasted in.


A homemade Yorkshire pudding was included, marginally sponge-like in texture, close to a medium size.

Two large slices of lamb were included, assumedly leg of lamb, one quite thick at 6mm, the other half the thickness. Medium-cooked, with cracked pepper on the top, this was very good and rather succulent lamb.

Finally, the gravy. It seemed to have a hint of mint and red wine in it, which may just have been my hangover from 2 bottles of wine confusing my basic northern taste buds – it was a nice gravy, a thick one too, though it did become a little tiresome towards the end.

Overall it was a very good roast dinner, at a very nice pub with very nice weather.

Nobody came to collect my plate or offer me dessert – I could have been tempted. I stayed for a second drink which is quite unusual for when I’m on my own. I blame the sunshine.

My highlight was the exquisite cauliflower cheese – the lowlight, surprise surprise, the unroasted potatoes. On the Yorkshire-Surrey scale, it rates a Nether Heyford. Scores on the doors – 7.7 out of 10.

Next Sunday I think I’m going to go somewhere in the town centre. Yes, Reading town center. Actual Reading. Somewhere also on my bucket list, though somehow I still have 10 places on it.

And hopefully start clowning around again – this was a pretty boring review wasn’t it? Here’s a photo of my rail replacement bus to brighten things up.


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Lamb @ The Horns, Crazies Hill 01/05/2016

I was supposed to go out on Saturday and enjoy the British countryside, but instead I decided to focus on my web development portfolio and finish off some websites. It was a hugely frustrating day and by the end of it I ended up feeling sad and lonely.

I should have just stuck on Pornhub but instead I watched a romantic movie. It didn’t help. During which I consumed a bottle of rose wine and large bar of chocolate. It’s like I’ve had a mental sex change.

Mental as in the brain – not as in going loco. Sex changers, drug queens and everyone in between are normal and equally loved by me – it’s the thickness of your gravy that counts. May I take this opportunity to offer a heart-warming welcome to all of my trans readers, along with those who used to like transformers and trance music. If you still like transformers or trance music, you may want to check with your parent or guardian as to whether you should be reading this.

So I woke up on Sunday morning to the sound of not one housemate, but two housemates having sex with their respective partners. Yes I am a fat 50 year-old virgin who cannot even see his nob. You have asked your parents, haven’t you?

I considered blasting out Mel & Kim but just stuck on some banging techno and fantasised about northern women gravy wrestling.


This week the random number generator picked The Horns in Crazies Hill. It was definitely on the boundary of acceptability in terms of how long it took to get there. By myself. A 30 minute walk to Bracknell train station, followed by 3 trains and then a 45 minute walk from Wargrave. I was fearing it being on the top of a hill after my long journey – but no, no hill, no crazies either.

Dear Landlord/landlady. If you are reading then please update your Sunday roast menu on your website. I was expecting to pay £10.95 for a lamb roast dinner as advertised by the website, but on the day it was £13.95. The price doesn’t really bother me but sort your website out! I can make or update websites for a very efficient cost.

I think the options were beef, pork, lamb and chicken, but don’t quote me. I’d had my heart set on lamb and was focused on it. I ordered at the bar on arrival, and barely had chance to try to remember from my heavy partying days who I had bumped into at the bar, got my seat and my meal was there.

Microwave central.

But on the bright side there was a very healthy portion supplied. However I was still feeling the effects of a tab of acid that I took when I woke up.


Absolutely no shortage of vegetables, with carrots, mange tout, cabbage and traces of leek in the bowl.


Starting with the traces of leek, it was difficult to discern any objectivity from the occasional white rings as they were quite on the sparse side. But always a bonus point for leakage.

Speaking of bonus points, mange tout are upper class vegetables suitable for an upper class boy like myself. These were on the crunchy side as was the cabbage – but the enjoyable side of crunchy – not the difficult side.

The carrots were a touch softer, provided in multiple baton format.

I was initially perturbed when I saw a new potato. What? No roast potatoes? But then I saw the roasties hidden behind. It was a large new potato – perfectly cooked with a good solidity and a softness inside. A bonus spud.


The roast potatoes were, of course, not especially fresh and crispy. They were kind of a cross between cuboids and pyramids – they probably have a mathematical name but I am struggling to remember my own name right now. Quite long and appealing for reheated potatoes. They were a pretty decent effort.

Parsnips. There were a few parsnips too – very sweet and a touch soft despite having been roasted – the effects of the microwave again.

The lamb was a touch on the dry side. And a touch on the cooked quite a while ago side.

Bizarrely though, it was really tasty despite the lack of succulence. 3 fairly thick slices, so like the rest of the dinner, no compromise on quantity.


Finalmente, el gravio was a very watery affair, but probably the best very watery affair that I’ve had. A relaxed yet flavoursome brown water with lots of little meat stock bits in. It was so good that I spooned some of the leftovers into my gob like a posh boy.

And that is that. Nearly.

The delightful young waitress who had been unerringly polite and quizzical about my experience, asked me for probably the third time how I had enjoyed it at the end of the meal. I told her it was good but that I wish there had been a Yorkshire pudding with it.

2 minutes later…


Yes. A Yorkshire pudding on a small plate and I still had some gravy left over. Definite bonus points for customer experience. I even left a tip.

It could have been the worst Yorkshire pudding ever but I was over-joyed with the touch, and it was actually a good, albeit small yorkie anyway. Well-risen with a soft, crunchy texture.

The fact that it was my first oootdoor dining experience of the year may slightly skew my ratings – but a 7.7 out of 10 seems about right.

I guess the dryness of the lamb was the lowlight, but the flavour of the lamb was the highlight. On the Yorkshire-Surrey scale it gets Scunthorpe. By the way did anyone go on Pornhub on April 1st? They had changed it to Cornhub, and there were lots of videos of sticks of corn getting down and dirty with each other. Oh yeah.

I wanted to stay for longer but alas there was only one train an hour and I had a date with a group of friends at the Walkabout, some of whom swear more in a sentence than I fucking do in a fucking year. Yes, I do actually have friends. Or people willing to occasionally entertain my presence in exchange for finding out where the best roast dinner is because they still haven’t subscribed to my ramblings.

Next Sunday is going to be an unusually early roast dinner – and co-incidentally the random number generator has picked somewhere that one of my Sunday friends was talking to me about. Fucking well recommended, apparently.

And yes, probably by myself. Ahhhh.

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Lamb Shank @ Waggon & Horses, Twyford 07/02/2016

I haven’t reviewed anywhere in Twyford to this point so I was excited to be planning to go to The Golden Cross – home of legendary parties called Sticky Wicket that neither you or I were ever cool enough to know about.

Until we called (yes “we”, I do occasionally manage to drag someone out with me) in advance and found out that they are no longer doing food.

Not to worry, we set upon the Waggon & Horses instead. Three options on the menu – beef or pork for £10.95, or a lamb shank for £12.95. I love a good shank so I plumped for that. And I don’t mean the Urban Dictionary definition of shank. Not the one about stabbing people, or golf, but the one about, erm, how do I putt this…erm about slipping out and accidentally going up the back passage.

Erm. Yeah. Anyone putting gravy on their pancakes this week?

Oooh that’s a thought, and an excellent way to change the subject. Lent starts this week. What are you going to give up?

I welcome your suggestions as to what I give up. In previous years, I have given up paper clips, zebra crossings and French swear words. All more difficult that you would expect.

The only thing I can think of right now is black socks. The detox means that I haven’t been smoking drugs recently so I’m really struggling for my usual creative inspiration.

Hi Dad, happy birthday!

So after a 10 or so minute wait with Rick Astley’s radio show in our ears, the dinner arrived.


Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots.
Carrots. Carrots.
Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots.
Carrots. Carrots.
Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. Carrots. I must smoke some acid. Hi mum.

That is all I have to say on that subject. There wasn’t much to say about the broccoli either – it was fine. Don’t worry, my mum doesn’t read this. Though my dad occasionally reads it out to my grandma.

There was a little pile of cabbage which was seemingly blanched enough. It was again fairly bland but edible.

It wasn’t all this uninspiring though. There was also a yellowish mashed pile of something, I think swede, although I’m used to it being orange, which was quite succulently buttery. Best swede ever?


A whole four roast potatoes accompanied dinner, and they were on the large size too. And, guess what? They were crispy on some of the sides. These could have been the best roast potatoes that I’ve been served for a while but sadly they were somewhat uncooked on the inside.

The YP was just one of those standard manufactured affairs bought in the thousands and stuck in the oven for 4 minutes.

As I suspect, was the lamb shank. Firstly, it was suspiciously hot. You don’t get it that hot from having freshly oven-cooked it. It had been in the microwave. And I wonder if it was one of those pre-prepared affairs that simply need microwaving? Secondly, it tasted odd, too. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but it really was not what I was expecting.

At least the gravy was a reasonable home-made affair with enough consistency to be acceptable.

Am I done? I think so. Actually, I swapped some lamb for some beef with my accomplice, and the beef was much nicer than the lamb. Tender, juicy and quite pink in the middle.

Now I’m done. The highlight was, oddly, the swede. The lowlight was the odd lamb shank. It gets an Aberystwyth. Oooh just one letter out from spelling it without the spellchecker.

Overall another so-so affair that leaves me questioning why I bother. I’m going to give it a 5.9 out of 10. Had I had the beef instead, it would have scored a bit higher – I really wasn’t keen on the lamb. It just seemed so factory. And I’m not talking The Hit Factory.

Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down,
Never gonna change the blog and eat desserts, you,
Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye,
But I might have to stop reviewing roast dinners.

Next week is my romantic Valentine’s roast dinner. Or I might just shank myself due to overwhelming misery.

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Lamb @ The Bull, Wargrave 17/01/2016

So for this week, I went to The Bull in Wargrave. A gorgeous pub with an open fire in a gorgeous village.

I can see your minds whirring. “But hasn’t he reviewed this before?”.

This week was my birthday roast dinner. Yes I am one of those poor souls that has a birthday in January (not for a few days yet but I’m in London next weekend), and is stubborn enough to insist on celebrating it. So, given that it is my birthday, I trawled my list of friends, Facebook friends, stalkers, politicians and ex-lovers, and tried to persuade a couple to come out for my birthday roast dinner.

It being my birthday means that I can break as many rules as I like, which includes going back to somewhere I’ve already reviewed. I didn’t want to risk a bad roast dinner on those still willing to associate with me. Sadly I’ve lost my crack pipe so this was about as risqué with rule-breaking that I managed.

Back to having a birthday in January and you may want to grab your violin if it is handy. Some people say that having a birthday on Christmas Day, or around then is the worst. But at least people are in the mood to celebrate and spend money they don’t have.

I think I had roughly 600 people interested in coming to my birthday roast at one point during last year. More realistically, 40-50 had verbally agreed – so many people were up for it. Come invite sending time, I’d managed to get 25 confirmed at one point. Down to 18 when I booked and paid the deposit. Down to 13 by time I woke up yesterday.

I feared the worst. The landlady called me when I was on the way to question where we were – some confusion over the booking time. I mentioned 5 had cancelled and she mentioned that is why she took her deposit. I hadn’t even arrived and it had cost me £100. Great.

Things didn’t get any better on arrival where I did that invisible bloke at the bar thing, waiting 10-15 minutes whilst those who arrived after me got served in front of me.

But that is where things stopped going wrong. Slowly but surely my guests arrived, with a handful of very funny birthday cards and a couple of gifts – including, most importantly, a proper gravy boat. Of all the things I don’t have in my life that I feel I should have – a house, a car, a wife, 2.4 children, a gun, a duck house, a castle with a moat, a modelling contract, stockings and suspenders, a criminal record, regular blow jobs – I actually didn’t have a gravy boat. Until now.


One by one, the dinners arrived – quite some time after all guests had arrived but this is always a good thing – it means freshly cooked food.

As it was my birthday, I decided against having any of the copious red cabbage that was supplied. Or wonky red cabbage as they now call it, due to some reviewer calling it so. Erm…oops.


The carrots were polluted with peas, so again, it being my birthday I deemed it unnecessary to try to fish out the carrots from the peas, just in case. Given that I am getting increasingly desperate to find ways to describe carrots, this was probably a blessing in disguise for my readers.


I did, however, have pretty much a full plate of cauliflower cheese.

A very large bowl was provided, with the offer of more – well, hell of course we want more! It looked as marvellous as it tasted. Freshly cooked, quite soft but not too soft, a hint of cheese and very creamy. Delicious.


Next up for me were the roast potatoes. I only had three and they were medium-sized at a push, delicately fluffy on the inside, quite crispy on the outside but they could have been crispier. And I wish there had been more. I should emphasise again though – FRESHLY COOKED!

Last time here, the Yorkshire puddings were the only disappointment but I’m pleased to say that this time they were improved. Two medium-sized Yorkies, with a fairly standard taste and texture – yes I’ve had better elsewhere but they were on the good side of average.


There was plenty of meat. Jayne normally serves beef and pork, sometimes lamb and can do chicken if ordered in advance. The beef looked absolutely gorgeous, culminating in some deep bloody pinkness in the middle. I was truly envious. I should have asked for all three meats with it being my birthday. Doh.

I also tried some of the pork, which was possibly the tastiest of the three, marginally.

For myself, I had the lamb – my favourite – my birthday. There was so much of it, thickly sliced, tasting of…hmmm…the cream from the cauliflower cheese. A touch fatty occasionally but nicely pink in the middle. I couldn’t really ask for more.

Finally the gravy. It was still a little thin for my personal tastes, but a decent home-made meat stock gravy nonetheless. And rather creamy tasting…because of the amount of cauliflower cheese on my plate.

On the Yorkshire-Surrey scale, it rates a Goole (please don’t even think of going there). The highlight has to be the cracking cauliflower cheese. The lowlight…I’m struggling here but an extra roast potato or two wouldn’t have gone amiss.

I enjoyed it just the tiniest fraction less than last time, and therefore I’m going to give it an 8.3 out of 10. Still absolutely very much one of the best roast dinners in the local area and all of my guests thought it was fantastic.


Thankfully, Jayne kindly relented from charging me any of the deposit, assumedly upon seeing my beauty. The service, bar the wait at the bar at the beginning, was excellent throughout, very friendly waitresses, Jayne also took time out to introduce herself.

As I’d had a few drinks, I also introduced myself and let the mask of anonymity slip. Oops. Apparently business on a Sunday has grown significantly over the last 6 months or so.

For some reason, people actually take notice of the crap I write. So if you are a pub landlord/landlady and you haven’t been reviewed yet – get your roast potatoes sorted out quick sharp.

For the next roast, the random number generator has picked somewhere reasonably close to Bracknell, but far enough away to hopefully be a good roast dinner. Whether or not it will be next Sunday depends on how much I spend in London. Erm…and how much I drink.

By the way I am sure that you all want to give me a birthday present, but I don’t ask for much. Just use that ‘invite friends’ button on the Facebook page (it’s on the menu where the three dots are). Retweets and shares are good too – but using the invite friends button is a proper 36 candles on the cake kind of present.

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Lamb @ Bird In Hand, Sonning Common 27/12/2015

I hope you all had a very nice Christmas, or at least enjoyed the free days off if you are not a devout Christian.

There was no rest for the wicked, or the jumped-up tin-pot Trip Advisor reviewer, as you may know me, and I travelled back down on the Sunday especially for my readers, to ensure that they didn’t miss out. Quite what Edible Reading’s excuse for not reviewing anywhere until 15th January is I do not know.

A roast dinner was actually the last thing that I wanted on Sunday, after a massive Christmas dinner, an even larger Boxing Day roast, not to mention the 6 hour journey down from Yorkshire (which paled into insignificance to my journey up there where my train broke down and was stuck there for 4 hours, oh joy of joys).

You know that blurred la la land that you get from spending hours and hours in a car? Or minutes and minutes reading my reviews? I had that. And not even a tinge of hunger. But the show must go on. Until I give a mafia establishment a bad review. Can you imagine – RDAR has been shot. I do occasionally dream about being shot, or arrested.

I cannot actually remember why I picked the Bird In Hand, in Sonning Common. Was it my random number generator, or did I actually pick it out?

It wasn’t an entirely auspicious start, as the proprietor was expecting us at the final table for 4pm, though I was certain that I had booked it for 4:30pm. He asked us to order quickly and there was some initial gruffness. Maybe I was in the wrong – as we say in my line of work, the customer is often wrong.

Otherwise the venue was very pleasant, some nice subtle decorative touches, a log fire, perhaps a touch on the poncey side for my Yorkshire upbringing, but that is just me. And an absolutely gorgeous in-house dog.

Betraying the descriptive elegance of the menu, the choices for the roast were pork, chicken, beef and lamb, priced between £14.00 and £18.00. I plumped for the braised lamb on the bone, at £16.00.


We waited for around 15 minutes, and discussed the appropriateness of importing AIDS drugs into America during the early 1980’s.

There was quite a medley of vegetables. Some simple broccoli – there isn’t much to say about it. I particularly enjoyed the greens mixed with halved sprouts – they complimented each other particularly well.


Carrots are best roasted, and these had seemingly been roasted, thin and long slices which brought out their succulence.

A true highlight was the parsnips. As close to perfection as I’ve ever tasted – they were so delicately sweet, yet had a slight nutty edge to them. Very impressive.

All good so far, but disappointment is often not far away when it comes to roast dinners around Reading, and disappointment is often not far away when it comes to Roast Dinners Around Reading.

I would suggest that I had roast potatoes but they actually more closely resembled chips. They were not quite chips – along the lines of oven-baked potatoes. They had a slightly oily outside and were slightly more robust internally than I’d prefer – acceptable but didn’t fill me with joy.

The Yorkshire pudding was a bit of a failure in that the sides didn’t rise. If they had, it would have been a cracking effort – sadly it more resembled a flat pancake. Though not a patch on the disaster that I made on Boxing Day, I think I actually made my worst ever YP – it ended up a small splodge of oily batter. Oops.


Redemption was forthcoming. And redemption was supreme. The lamb was cooked close to perfection – falling off the bone as the fork approached, quite pink inside but not excessively so – the hints of balsamic and particularly the ale shone through. It had been…arrrrgh what is the word I’m looking for…not charred but that will have to do, charred on the outside before being braised. Delightful stuff.

There was plenty of lamb too – although my accomplices seemed to have even more on their plates. Not that I was hungry. But I was envious. I wasn’t vaguely hungry but I wanted more.

It was a red wine gravy that had been supplied, with a little bowl of extra gravy already on the plate. Did he recognise me? Despite the initial frostiness, we did receive good service afterwards, along with a goodbye and a wave from the ever-so-cute dog.

Oh yeah, the gravy. It was slightly more of a gravy than a jus, on thickness standards anyway although far from what I would even consider to be thick. It had a very strong taste to it, almost over-powering. Many would love it – I wasn’t keen. But that’s a simple man from Yorkshire thing.

Unquestionably this gets a Chiddingfold on the Yorkshire-Surrey scale. There was nothing northern about it at all. The highlight was the exquisite lamb, closely followed by the parsnips. The lowlight the roast potatoes that weren’t roast potatoes and weren’t chips either.

Ahhhh chips and gravy.

I’m going to give it a 7.6 out of 10 just because of the lamb. Go there for the dog, if not the exceptional lamb – I do hope to get chance to eat off-duty here one time soon. I fully intend on going back. Just to clarify – they do not serve dog, they just have an adorable dog.

Next Sunday I have a suspicion that I’ll still be hanging from New Year’s Day (too many idiots go out on New Year’s Eve for my liking) so I’m assuming it will be somewhere easy to get to that I end up. The random number generator picked somewhere which is horrendous to get to from Bracknell.

So, I wish you a great new year. I only have one plan for New Year’s Eve and that is too eat some gravy.

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Lamb @ The Rose And Olive Branch, Virginia Water 22/11/2015

Yesterday, I had good intentions of getting up at 8am, doing a few hours studying, going for a bike ride and then going on a mission to the pub south of Reading picked by the random number generator – maybe even fitting a shortish country walk in too.

Instead I woke up at 10am, accepted my food delivery, made breakfast and went back to bed until 1:30pm. I didn’t even drink that much on Friday night and yet I was still suffering yesterday. In fact I am still suffering today as I write this. I guess it might have something to do with not going to bed (properly) until Saturday night.

So none of the components of my original plan happened. But I wanted to get out of Bracknell…nothing new there. And I recalled reading that Virginia Water had become the first place outside of London where the average house price topped £1m. What a great contrast, from Great Hollands to the greatly expensive Virginia Water. Great. Let’s get on a First Great Western train….oh no it’s a South West Train. Not so great.

It was just turning dark when I left my house and not for the first time, I was questioning my sanity. Cold, creaky, tired, not really that hungry. Why the hell was I doing this? I got the train to Virginia Water, and then switched Google Maps on. I was under the impression that the pub of choice was just 10 minutes’ walk away. No, it was 28 minutes’ walk away. I was in no mood to keep walking.

But my only other choice was to go back to Bracknell. I kept walking.

I was under the impression that there were lots of lakes in Virginia Water, but apparently not. Not that I could see much in the dark except lots of ridiculously large houses. Some of them had staircases larger than my whole house. Some of them had chandeliers larger than my bedroom.

I’m not jealous. Fair play to anyone who does that well for themselves. I measure my life satisfaction on happiness, enjoyment and the thickness of gravy.

8 paragraphs in and I am pretty close to talking about food. For do rich people have access to roast dinners as good us commoners? That is the question I am here to ask.

Contradictory, the roast dinners were cheaper than any I’ve had for a while at £9.95. I had rung up in advance to check (always wise especially on a mission with no back-up close by) and though they normally do chicken, beef and lamb – they only had lamb left.

During my 28 minute walk, I had started to worry in case they ran out, as I turned the corner half-way, I then sighed as I saw the name of the road was something Hill. Oh joy. Thankfully not too steep a hill, but the lamp-posts did stop and I feared the pavement doing the same as cars flew by, but it didn’t. Albeit it wasn’t easy at times to see the difference between verge, pavement and road.

Oh why was I putting myself through this?

And then I arrived. I was instantly charmed. A fairly small horseshoe-shaped bar, around 10 tables of varying sizes. The menu’s read delightfully, including a list of around 8 really interesting homemade pies, a menu full of wellingtons, not to mention a delicious-sounding specials board – sadly I realised too late that they had a lamb shank roast on specials. Doh. Sometimes it is good to take your time.

They didn’t take their time as I only had enough time to pop to the loo, check the train times and my dinner had arrived, accompanied by a rather poor-tasting pint of Kronenbourg – the only let down of the pub itself was the common choice of draught – Strongbow, Fosters…you know the score. Maybe I’ll get into ale one day like a proper northerner.

In fact, the last time it had been microwaved that quickly was the Wetherspoons. Ahhh the memories.

A mixed vegetable medley was offered, a medley of presumably steamed vegetables as they had kept their taste despite their slightly disfigured colouration. Gosh, colouration actually is a word.


There were sizable amounts of both broccoli and cauliflower, including their stalks, including their vitamins and taste although they were exceptionally soft and almost dissolved upon being forked. The handful of leeks were a nice touch too.

Not so generously portioned was the one long strip of carrot, one baby sweetcorn, one slice of courgette and one green bean. Yes, one green bean. I have very little to say about any of them, I am not entirely sure how I can judge one solitary green bean. All on the slightly soft side, all seemingly steamed.

No shortage of roast potatoes with eight, yes 8, roast potatoes, albeit all small roast potatoes, and of course not crispy. There were signs of earlier roasting, though once warmed up in the microwave, the outside were more soft than crunchy. Inside were towards fluffy. Considering that they had been heated, they were a good effort.

I’m really not sure what had happened to the Yorkshire puddings. Two wonky affairs, perhaps they had risen at some point but they had clearly gone all floppy. Spot the accidental innuendo. That said, they worked as an accompaniment to the lamb, the structural deficit not impairing edibility.


The lamb really was plentiful. It had a robust, earthy taste to it – quite a strong flavour. I would have preferred it to have been at least a touch pink – alas it was cooked medium, perhaps even a touch on the well done side. But it’s a minor point in a generous supply of very enjoyable meat, especially when taking in the low price of £9.95.

Then there was a lump of home-made stuffing. Personally I wouldn’t put stuffing with lamb (maybe I’ve lived down here too long) but this was really good herb-filled stuffing, possibly some of the best pub-made stuffing that I’ve ever had.

And then the gravy. Oh the gravy. Thick, copious – exactly how it should be. A simple meat stock affair, with a very slight hint of mint, though that could have been my imagination. I was so happy. Actual, proper gravy. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeha!

Yes, it was worth the effort to get here. What a little treat this place is. So, rich people not only get a cheap roast dinner but a really good roast dinner too. And thick gravy. Oh the irony.

I’m going to give it a 7.9 out of 10. Highlight was the gravy. Lowlight – well I don’t like baby sweetcorn, and more than one green bean would have been nice. I’d like to give it a Harrogate on the Yorkshire-Surrey scale (Harrogate being the poshest place in Yorkshire) but I think it is more of a Pontefract.

This place is definitely worth a visit – and I’d love to go back for either one of their wellingtons or pies. In fact, I could happily go back so often that I might move to Virginia Water. I’ve even found somewhere I can rent for £23 a week. Granted, it is a garage.

Until then, back to my own 6 bedroom mini-mansion in Bracknell.

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Lamb @ The Nag’s Head, Reading 31/05/2015

Lamb @ The Nag’s Head, Reading 31/05/2015

I’d been living in Reading not far off 15 years before I went to The Nag’s Head for the first time.  Quite shameful for someone who consistently bemoans the blandness of the town centre chains.

So this is a little bit of payback for my earlier ignorance, for it is fairly unlikely that you are aware that they serve Sunday roasts.  The website doesn’t allude to it (it pretty much only tells you which the most recent Led Zeppelin track played was – not much use to a minimal techno fan), nor is there any board outside advertising food, there is certainly no mention of it on their Facebook page – and apart from pies, they don’t seem to do food during the week.

I was only made aware by a reader, some months ago.  I do listen to you.

In a town that can too often serve up pints of chemical in bland pubs, The Nag’s Head is a real pub, for real pub people.  The place has personality and a fantastic range of beers.

I really wanted to like this roast.    Though let’s face it, anything was going to be an improvement from last week.

The options were beef, lamb, chicken (and stuffing!) and nut roast.  For just £9.00.  I asked the barmaid for her recommendation, which was the lamb, and sat down to read about the last days of Gordon Brown’s government.  Apparently he used to use a very rude 4 letter word beginning with ‘c’ quite a lot.

15 minutes passed before it arrived, looking presentable in a homemade way.  By appearance, it reminded me of my mother’s roast dinners.

The sliced carrots tasted rather on the buttery side, and were very much on the soft side.

The broccoli was less soft (yes I needed the spell-checker again), just two florets that were perfectly edible.

Unusually for the area, there were 4 large roast potatoes, as opposed to the usual Berkshire 3.  Soft and fluffy on the inside, and a hint of crispiness on the very edges of the potatoes.  Far from perfect but a decent enough standard.

Next up was the lamb – three reasonably thick slices.  Very ordinary tasting lamb, but that isn’t a criticism at £9.00 a portion.  I’d expect something more elaborate from a restaurant – this fits my expectations of a local pub.  There was a hint of pink, and it was on the tender side, very easy to cut.

As an Aunt Bessie’s Yorkshire pudding connoisseur, I’d suggest that these were as such.  There is nothing wrong with that – I occasionally use them myself when I am short on time or willpower.

The most pleasing aspect of the lunch was not only to get gravy, but to get a whole gravy boat’s worth of gravy.  So many roasts have been ruined by bad gravy or a disgusting red wine jus.

This may have just been Bisto but it was actual gravy with a fair consistency to it too.

Overall, though it is nothing to start a blog about, it is a decent roast dinner, just like my mother’s, and you could do far, far worse.

They got absolutely nothing wrong, yet will not be in contention for any Roast Dinner Around Reading end of year awards.

Worthy of a solid 6.8 out of 10.

Next Sunday (unless I change my mind) I shall be going to a venue that I’ve been told is highly recommended, and by someone else, really disappointing.  I look forward to being the judge.

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