You’re standing on a narrow Soho street, dodging a delivery bike, and smelling something that shouldn't exist in a basement. It’s charcoal. It’s rendered fat. It is the unmistakable scent of a Sunday afternoon done right. If you’ve spent any time on London food TikTok or scrolled through "best of" lists, you already know the name. People talk about the Blacklock Soho Sunday roast like it’s a religious experience, which is a lot of pressure for a plate of gravy and potatoes.
Honestly? Most Sunday roasts in Central London are a bit of a scam. You pay thirty quid for a lukewarm slice of beef that feels like leather and a Yorkshire pudding that could double as a frisbee. Blacklock is different. It’s built into an old brothel—very Soho, obviously—and the vibe is loud, dark, and frantic.
It’s the kind of place where the waiters move like they’re in a heist movie. But the real question is whether the food actually holds up when you’re sitting there in the dim light, nursing a hangover, and hoping for a miracle.
What makes the Blacklock Soho Sunday roast a London cult classic?
The secret isn't some fancy molecular gastronomy nonsense. It’s the heat. They use an indoor charcoal grill and "Blacklock irons"—these heavy, vintage-style weights—to sear the meat. This isn't your grandma's slow-cooked pot roast that turns into mush. We're talking about high-quality, dry-aged meat sourced from Phillip Warren in Cornwall.
Warren is basically the rockstar of English butchery. When you start with cattle that have actually lived a decent life on a farm, you don't have to hide the flavor behind a gallon of cornstarch-heavy gravy.
Most people go for the "All In." It’s the move. You get a mix of beef, lamb, and pork piled high on a platter. It looks chaotic. It looks like something a Viking would eat after a long day of pillaging.
But there’s a nuance here. The beef is usually a 55-day aged rump. The lamb is Cornish leg. The pork is loin. They aren't just thrown together; they’re cooked over open coals, which gives them a smoky crust you just don't get at home.
The stuff that usually sucks (but doesn't here)
Let’s talk about the sides. Usually, the "trimmings" are an afterthought. At Blacklock, the Yorkshire puddings are massive, airy structures designed to soak up the gravy. And the gravy? It takes two days to make. They use the juices from the roasting meat, bone marrow, and a ridiculous amount of patience.
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It’s thick, dark, and slightly sticky. You’ll want to drink it. Please don't, but you'll want to.
The carrots are roasted with honey and thyme. The broccoli has a bit of crunch. But the real MVP is the roast potatoes. They use beef dripping. If you aren't using animal fat for your roasties, you’re basically just making hot salad. Blacklock’s potatoes have that glass-like exterior that shatters when you bite into it, revealing a fluffy interior.
It's a texture game.
The logistics of actually getting a table
Good luck. No, seriously.
If you want a Blacklock Soho Sunday roast on a specific date, you need to be hovering over your keyboard weeks in advance. The Soho branch is the original and, for many, the best, though they’ve expanded to City, Shoreditch, and Covent Garden. Soho feels tighter. More intense.
They open bookings two months in advance. It’s a bit of a joke, but that’s the reality of London dining in 2026. If you’re a spontaneous person, your only hope is the bar. They sometimes keep a few spots for walk-ins, but you’ll be waiting. Bring a book. Or go to a nearby pub and have a pint while you wait for the text saying your table is ready.
Why the "All In" is the only logical choice
You can order individual meats. You could just get the beef. But why would you?
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The "All In" is designed for groups of two or more. It costs roughly £26 to £30 per person (prices fluctuate because, well, inflation), and it comes with all the trimmings. When that platter hits the table, the conversation usually stops. It’s a mountain of protein.
- The Beef: Usually a 55-day dry-aged rump. It’s got that funky, blue-cheese-adjacent hit that comes with proper aging.
- The Pork: It’s loin, but it’s never dry. They leave enough fat on there to keep it succulent.
- The Lamb: Leg of lamb that actually tastes like lamb, not just "red meat."
One thing most people overlook is the horseradish. It’s fresh. It’ll clear your sinuses out in three seconds flat. Use it sparingly unless you enjoy crying in public.
The atmosphere: Basement vibes and loud music
If you’re looking for a quiet, white-tablecloth Sunday lunch where you can hear a pin drop, Blacklock Soho is going to stress you out. It’s in a basement on Great Windmill Street. It’s dark. The music is usually 70s rock or soul, played at a volume that encourages drinking but discourages deep philosophical debates.
It’s communal. It’s loud. You’re sitting fairly close to your neighbors.
The service is famously "matey." Not in a forced, corporate way, but in a "we’re all in this together" way. They know the menu inside out. If you ask about the provenance of the pigs, they’ll probably tell you the name of the farmer.
Common misconceptions about Blacklock
Some people think it’s just for "meat bros." It’s not. While the focus is heavily on the butchery, the vegetable sides are genuinely well-handled. However, if you're a strict vegan, you’re going to have a hard time. They do have options, but let’s be real: you’re going to a place that prides itself on beef dripping and bone marrow gravy.
Another myth is that it's overpriced. In the context of Soho, where a mediocre burger can cost twenty quid, the Sunday roast at Blacklock is actually one of the better value-for-money meals in the city. You leave full. Like, "I need to walk to Waterloo to digest this" full.
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Is there a "best" time to go?
Most people aim for the 1:00 PM slot. It’s the classic Sunday peak.
But here’s a tip: go late. Like 5:00 PM or 6:00 PM. The vibe gets a bit more relaxed, and they rarely run out of meat because they’ve got their supply chain down to a science. Plus, Soho on a Sunday evening is weirdly peaceful compared to the Saturday night madness.
Navigating the drink menu
Don’t just stick to water. They have "cocktails for a fiver" sometimes, which is a throwback to when the restaurant first started. Their Negronis are solid. But for a roast, you want wine. They serve wine by the glass, carafe, or "pay for what you drink" from big bottles on the table.
It’s an honest way to do it. You don't feel like you’re being upselled. You just pour a glass, and they measure it at the end. It feels like eating at a friend's house, if your friend happened to have a professional kitchen and a direct line to the best butcher in Cornwall.
Practical steps for your visit
If you're actually going to do this, don't wing it.
- Set a calendar alert. Bookings open 60 days in advance. If you have a specific birthday or anniversary, set an alarm.
- Wear "eating clothes." This isn't the place for a tight waistband. You’re going to eat a lot of potatoes.
- Order the white chocolate cheesecake. Even if you think you’re full. They bring the whole tray to the table and scoop a massive portion onto your plate. It’s messy, it’s unrefined, and it’s arguably the best dessert in London.
- Check the specials. Sometimes they have "chops" or specific cuts of the day that aren't on the standard Sunday menu.
The Blacklock Soho Sunday roast remains a benchmark because it doesn't try to be something it’s not. It’s not trying to be fine dining. It’s not trying to be a "concept." It’s just great meat, cooked over fire, served with plenty of gravy. In a city that’s constantly chasing the next trendy food fad, there’s something deeply comforting about a place that just wants to give you a really good piece of beef.
Walk down those stairs, embrace the noise, and make sure you get extra gravy. You’ll thank yourself later when you’re heading home in a blissful, meat-induced haze. No fancy tricks, no pretension—just the best Sunday afternoon Soho has to offer.