Sunday Roast and Beer @ The North Pole

Renovated and reopened last year and renamed the North Pole, this craft beer pub with over 22 beers and ciders on draught and more again in bottles behind the bar, this is slowly becoming my new hangout.

De La Panza

I’ve been so bloody busy over the last nine months that everything else in my life has taken a back seat.

I’ve not been going to a lot of restaurants recently, I haven’t been cooking a lot either as my belly seems to have been filled with a lot of Singapore Fried Rice and chicken and chips.

Sunday Roast @ The Talbot

Nearly 2 months without a Sunday roast can play havoc with a mans mind. But it has only been the last two weeks that I have been wanting one.

The 3 weeks we were in China it was the last thing on my mind. I quickly into the local diet of noodle soups and stir fried dishes that what I normally eat all but sunk away into a distant memory.

The Talbot is on the plush side of Dalston, with its leafy squares and peaceful streets lined with brand new BMW’s. Who says there is a recession going on.

I’ve drunk at the Talbot a few times, but never had the chance to eat there until today. To be honest we only stopped in for a pint, but the wife was in need of something to combat her growing hangover.

So with her ordering a French onion soup, I thought oh what the heck and had the roast chicken, and I’m glad I did.

It wasn’t the best roast I’ve ever had, but it was a warm and comforting reminder of what I hadn’t had in a couple of months.

The French onion soup was deep, sweet and unxious. This is how it should be made. Long slow cooking of the onions to sweeten them up, before adding in of the wine and stock. Then letting this cook for a while before serving with a large toasted cheese crouton. Delish.

The roast as I said wasn’t the best in the world, but it was pretty good. The chicken supreme was a tad dry, but had a nice crispy skin.

Accompanying this was some nice roasties, a smashing yorkie, some sweet baby carrots and some lovely roasted pumpkin. Oh yes autumn is here.

I know I’ll be returning here many more times for the Talbot’s food, as I seem to be in Dalston a lot these days.

Sunday Roast @ The Duke of Wellington

We’ve realised after long last that we are pretty crap at organising anything. It took us about three weeks to hook up with Lina’s cousin before he returned to Colombia for the Christmas holidays. Not good.

We are getting really bad at this these days. Maybe this is what happens when you advance in years. God bring back my 20’s. Maybe I was the same but just never cared. Anyhows we finally managed to arrange something the day before he left. Talk about leaving it to the last minute.

We’d originally planned to meet up at Puji Puji on Balls Pond Road, but alas it wasn’t open. It’s only open by special request of parties of 8 or more on Sundays. Damn it. So as Esteban lives more or less in front of the Duke of Wellington we opted to pop in for a drink, some warmth as the minus figures outside were getting to me, and a ponder on where we could go for some food.

It was good to catch up with him, as we hadn’t seen much of him since the birth of his daughter. Or maybe we had been subconsciously avoiding them just to get out of babysitting duties. Not intentional you see. Just the way it is.

It’s a nice pub, lots of space to sit and chat and relax. So after a couple of pints of conversation and really enjoying the vibe of the place, my stomach was a rumbling.  We decided just to stay put. It was easier, and as Estebas lives above the sous chef of the pub and can vouch for the food. We ordered. Being Sunday, it had to be the roast. Thankfully we ordered in time, as they were just about to close the kitchen, and even more thankfully they still had some food left. Well it was after 8pm. But as we had an inside contact, we managed to grab two beef and one lamb. Phew.

They were pretty good, the beef was really nice and rare. The shredded lamb had some nice flavour. But why is it a lot of pubs are shredding their lamb these days. No idea.

The sides were nice and yummy. Good tattles, not crispy but nicely cooked, the veg consisted of carrots and some shredded caverlo nero. Perfectly cooked and well seasoned. Good amount of gravy, which lasted all the way to the end of the meal. A rare thing these days.

But sometimes it’s not about the food. The occasion, the company, the vibe of a place can transform a dull meal into a memorable one. This was one of those nights. But not to say the food wasn’t good. It was. It just wasn’t amazing. But who cares when you are enjoying yourself so much.

The Duke of Wellington has a varied menu, but it has a great atmosphere and a nice selection of beers and wines. We will be returning. 

The Breakfast Club in Hoxton

I’ve eaten at the Angel outlet of the Breakfast Club on many a Sunday morning, and for me it is still the best place to have brunch, although Caravan is giving it a run for its money.

The Hoxton branch is a lot bigger and has the feel of a diner rather than a small quirky novelty that the Angel place has. But thankfully that does mean shorter queuing times, as on cold days like these the last thing you want to be is waiting outside for half an hour or so.

Everything else though is the same, the menu, the service, the juices and the coffees.

The food wasn’t up to the same standard of my beloved Angel.

I’ve never had the Green Eggs and Ham before so different place, different choice. Normally it’s the Full Monty I have, but today I felt like a change.

Maybe I should have stuck with the normal, as my scrambled eggs were a tad more overcooked than I like them. The eggs had started to form lumps and were bordering on dryness. The chunks of ham mixed in were nicely cooked. The potato wedges were the best I’ve eaten outside of Cusco. Where Los Perros, if it still exists has the best potato wedges on the planet.

Lina Eggs Benedict wasn’t up to it’s full potential. Sorry but after serving a million and one Eggs Benedict, Florentine or Royal I know how they should be. Runny yolk on a perfectly formed poached egg, the hollandaise has to be slightly but not over tart, and the muffin has to be toasted.

Her eggs were part runny, part set. The hollandaise was a tad too buttery and the muffin was not toasted. Disappointing. But when it comes to Eggs Benedict. I am an unforgiving soul and demand perfection. But she was happy with it, and that’s all that matters. I was told that until I regularly make her Eggs Benedict, I cannot complain about anyone else’s. But I will.

I’m doubting whether this winter I will ever venture back to the Breakfast Club in Angel, as those damn chilly mornings are putting the fear of god into me. Maybe I should try the third instalment in the trilogy. Soho.