The Three Crowns

By Jaqi Clayton

It's unlikely that this hostelry's name is a reference to the three crowns of Messrs Caspar, Balthazar and Melchior Magi.

Nonetheless, The Three Crowns is as majestic-looking a pub as you’re likely to find in these parts, with its sparkling array of magnificent mirrors, lush lamps and shimmering chandeliers.

My guest and I were both feeling faintly fragile when we arrived for lunch, so we dismissed the idea of Spence Bakery bread with marinated olives, cream of mushroom soup or homemade smoked salmon and crayfish mousse on rye as a beginning, and went instead with our engaging French waitress’s sympathetic proposal of Bloody Marys (if we didn’t mind a five-minute wait whilst they were ‘properly made’). We discovered the wait (which was ten minutes – all to the good) was because freshly-roasted tomatoes had to be prepared, and the result of that and perfect spicing was the most delectable BMs we could recall ever encountering. Yes, that’s a resounding, ‘ever’.
 
Now to the menu proper, which has the distinction of changing daily for both lunch and dinner. Guest chose Hereford sirloin steak with chips and mixed leaves, and I was ready for the Cold Meat Plate. There was a moment when Farmer Sharpe’s Lincolnshire sausages with mash and caramelised onion gravy could’ve edged in. The fish pie could have, too. And, despite being in remission from some years spent living with a demanding vegetarian, I was still attracted the wild mushroom and artichoke linguine with mascarpone sauce. But the platter of prosciutto, Wiltshire ham, rare roast beef and chorizo – served with toast and butter – turned out to be just the right thing. And that sirloin was not one of your namby-pamby-near-flat-as-a-pancake excuses. Oh no. It was a steak of substance: juicy and gorgeous and well-matured. The chips were also rather pro: cut and steamed then deep-fried in sunflower oil. I didn’t rate my salad garnish, I have to say, as it tasted slightly of the fridge and was rather lacklustre. But it hardly mattered.


 
On to the next stratum. Our neighbours seemed most content as they tucked in to Valrhona chocolate brownies with vanilla ice cream, and we had some interest in the lemon tart with strawberries. But the British cheese plate won out, and consisted of Vacherin, Keene’s Cheddar and Ryefield goat’s, accompanied by little ramekins of prune chutney and a fabulously sharp mixed berry compote, with crunchy oatcakes to munch on.

To wash it down, a glass of Moulin de Gassac, a Grenache chosen from a list that embraces 46 wines,  five continents, vast numbers of grape varieties and a price range of considerable scope (£12.95 for house red or white, to £135 for champagne Krug Grande Cuvée). Of course, you can also choose something from the bar, or from the extensive cocktail list. (Soft drinks include an unusual-sounding pomegranate, pink grapefruit and cloudy apple juice; and Chinese Breakfast tea).

The bill? £70.08. Not cheap for lunch in N16 but only £23.50 was spent on food, and 12.5% service was included. And there were, after all, five of those irresistible Bloody Marys plus four double espressos on our tab. You know you’ve had a damned fine lunch when suddenly you realise three hours have gone by utterly unnoticed and it’s getting dark outside.