So after Saturday night’s gut-busting dinner, a lie-in was in order. To let the food settle. Because I had worked so hard. Lifting the fork continuously to my mouth. Anyway, the only thing appropriate to eat on a snow-day on a Sunday is a roast. Easily the best I have had in London so far is at The Princess of Shoreditch. I’ve eaten here a few times but it’s always been too dark for pics until now.

It seemed like us and half of Shoreditch had turned up to get a roast. We were 3rd on the list, but I was still becoming increasingly cranky and unsettled with each new arrival of people after us. In a saving grace we waited next to the heater in front of a pile of the Sunday papers. As it was still early, all the good bits were still there ie magazine inserts, travel, culture. You know when you go to read the paper and the only bits left are finance and sport? Yeah I hate that.

Once sat down we ordered straight away. It wasn’t hard. The Princess offers on Sundays a whole roast chicken for £27 including all the sides. I have seen this go to other tables in the past and there’s nothing like food envy, especially when all my restraint is being used not to tackle the person holding the jaw-dropping board. This chicken could easily serve 3 people. I, however am a greedy person and honestly, I could not stop shovelling food into my mouth. Look how amazing this is.


Honestly. Have you ever seen anything so appetising? The chicken was so golden and delicious. I kept smooshing the lemons that were still inside the cavity over all the meat. 2 gigantic yorkshires, a small copper pot of shiny gravy (that we easily finished and a 2nd serving was quickly and happily brought out to us on request), with some peppery rocket on the side that gave some light ness to the meal. And the sides, oh the sides. Steamed broccoli that still had bite to it and wasn’t steamed into a mushy oblivion, golden roasted potatoes and my 2 favourite sides of a spiced red cabbage which had an aniseed flavour and mashed carrots and parsnips that were lovely and sweet.


And at the end? Carnage. Nothing but bones, and one lonely yorkshire.


You would think that the roast would have been enough. Well it wasn’t. I needed dessert.

A coffee and kahlua creme brulee and a piece of lemon tart. I only managed a small scraping from the side of the dish once it was empty. Apparently the original non-flavoured creme brulee was better on previous visits.


The lemon tart was lovely and sweet, perhaps not as cheek-clenchingly tart as I hoped. The pomegranates were an odd addition but when you scooped them up with the tart and the cream it was in-offensive. Added texture. If I was being critical, I suppose I could say that the lemon was slightly firmer that I would like, but I was in such a food coma by that point I didn’t care. I was full and happy and that’s all that matters.


The other roast options are not as jaw-dropping, but still definitely worth-while ordering. The mixed roast is a glorious heap of chicken, pork and beef (which is served still rare) and smaller portions of the sides mentioned above. The bowl is literally heaping with meat when it’s brought out.

If I haven’t made it clear yet, I really love Sunday roasts at the Princess of Shoreditch. The waiting for a table is the only bad bit, but you can book or if you’re willing to wait or willing to turn up after 4, it’s not too bad. And while I have yet to sample the Hawksmoor Sunday Roast, this is currently my pick for best roast in London.


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