Meat: The Marquess

32 Canonbury St
N1 2TB
Tel: 020 7354 2975

Date of Last Visit: Saturday, March 10th, 2007

The Victims: Rutton, Zarmina, Michael

The Damage: £35 each or thereabouts.

The Background: What have I done for a Saturday? Um, I think the answer is nothing. Except six loads of wash (man, this country really needs to get into US washing machines). Oh, and I mopped the floors. And dusted. The excitement. I can’t take it!

But see I was excited…because Rutton never comes over to my side of town. And all I did was say, "Hey, let’s go to this gastropub that I’ve been wanting to try" and boom, there they were.

Well, not really. I was there at 7:55 for an 8 p.m. booking. They were there at 8:30.

Where I Digress. Yet Again: Now, I want to talk about  being late for dinner reservations. It really upsets me. I have made the reservation and I am there on time. The restaurant has my phone number, and they can thus stalk me forever if I screw them over. I live in constant fear of this (yes, I know, it’s never happened so why think this way?) and the restaurant giving my table away because the entire party is not seated. 

I don’t often bring reading material to restaurants, so there I was sitting there alone, playing with my cell phone. And drinking. Yes, drinking alone. Classy.

I debate telling people to get there 30 minutes before the actual reservation. But this seems like an annoying trick. Why is it okay to be late?

And what do you say when your guests finally arrive? I equate it to those times in grammar school when someone would ask if they could borrow a pen and you would say yes, but yet you knew that you would never see that pen again. And if you asked for your pen back, the borrower would look at you like you’re crazy.

Hey, I like my pens. And why is anyone else’s time more important than mine? (I am quoting my friend Kellie’s story here. Thanks K.)

The Entrance: Regardless of the lateness, everyone arrives and I am happy to see them. (The very strong beer I’ve had while waiting might have had an impact, but really, I swear it is nice to see everyone.)

Michael is still unemployed and homeless. Rutton has actually been in the country for more than three days in a week. Zarmina has just submitted her Kellogg app.

We order chicken livers to celebrate.

The Mains: We order #7. That’s about 1.865 kg of meat. Yes. For my American readers, that’s 4.1 lb of meat for four people. But it’s served on the bone, so back down. It’s also served with Yorkshire Pudding (which admittedly, I still contemplate and think, "Where is the pudding?"), roast potatoes, gravy, and cabbage. It’s all very lovely.

The Gimmick: Up on the wall, there’s a big chalkboard. And it’s full of meat. All different weights. You pick the weight you want, and it comes with all the trimmings. Nicely done.

The Taste: Pretty nice. The meat was a little too raw for me all the way around, but still pretty delicious. Particularly delicious were the roast potatoes, which are nicely roasted and golden brown. Especially the first batch.

The Dessert: We had some mead, which was fun.

The Verdict: I’d go back. It’s a good place for a group of friends and/or family. Communal. Good stuff. And next time, I’ll tell them to be there 15 minutes before the annointed time.