Review of The Lansdowne Pub - Apr 2010

Where: The Lansdowne Pub, Primrose Hill
With whom: The Ginger Prince
How much?: starters around £7 or £8, mains £12 to £16 and an excellent looking pizza menu at £10 a pop


I turned up to find the The Ginger Prince sat in this 'reclaimed' backstreet boozer in one of London's smuggest of boroughs, peering over his NHS chic specs at a set of website visuals, firing orders at a junior creative down the phone. To be honest, I almost didn't find him, he fitted in that well. The marketing and media set seamlessly combine with off duty investment bankers and an [insert collective noun] of NY-LON mums, their offspring and small dogs. If there is a derivative formula for a gastropub it's this. 


Mismatched furniture, taken from old churches - check. 
Check shirted barstaff more used to talking a wine list than pouring a pint - check.
Menu, groaning with terroir, scrawled up on a chalkboard - check.
Offal - check 

So far, so meah.. but The Ginger Prince is a man of taste and refinement who craves authenticity, and he wouldn't drag me here without a bloody good reason (other than his g.f. working round the corner). It wasn't for the beers sadly... a handful of handpumps, Becks Vier and the over-common and over-chemical Staropramen greeted me - handy, as the slightly too cool for school barman failed to do so. Still, the pint was cold, and wet, and after a fraught day, much needed.


I manhandled him away from his screen and focussed attention on the menu. Sure it was gastro 101 but it looked good, with some hale and hearty choices. Big stews, roasted fish and a massive pork chop all featured. I started to channel Greg Wallace as I read through the menu. 

My dining companion went with the rib eye, fresh horseradish and obligatory goose fat thick chips. It wasn't as pink as ordered, but The Ginger Prince pronounced it succulent, satisfactory and well flavoured. 


I only had eyes for the pork belly... I'd been tempted by a pizza on arrival, but have been to the too excellent Firezza recently. Other than the pizza, it was a fairly simple choice. 

The hog arrived, served on a bed of frisee, roasted new potatoes, garlic and prunes. 


A portion to overface a weedy media exec, this was business pig. Solid layers of tasty meat sat staunchly under a crisp crackling, the fat mostly melted in. The frisee, heavily coated with a gutsy mustard dressing, was swiftly scarfed down with the crisp new potatoes, roasted in olive oil, soaking up the remainder of the dressing. Little from the prunes or the garlic - small, sad casualties of the dressing, they weren't needed. 


It was a rib sticking early evening treat. The right amount of busy (Tuesday night). 
It would be a great place to sit back with a paper and a pint of bitter after another trip through that menu on a quiet Sunday afternoon. But I reckon that you'll have to fight your way past Hugo, Sophie, Jemima and Tristan to get to the bar first...