Crown & Sceptre

The Crown & Sceptre is a Wetherspoon pub in Streatham, Lambeth. Our pub offers a range of real ales, craft beers and freshly ground Lavazza coffee. Breakfast is served until noon, with our full food menu available until 11pm.

The Crown Sceptre | Pubs In Streatham - J D Wetherspoon

http://www.jdwetherspoon.co.uk

Grand Princess - Crown Princess - - Crown Grill Review

The Crown | Young's Pub and Dining, South East London, Lee, SE12

Welcome to The Crown We proudly serve craft and cask-conditioned ales, world class wines and refreshing long drinks.

Why don't you book one of our amazing areas to celebrate, commiserate, have drinks with mates and generally stay late?

North Wales restaurant review: The Crown Inn, Pantymwyn - Mark ...

The bar area is full of jolly locals, chatting, pints in hand with even a dog milling about giving it the relaxing local pub ambience.

We find ourselves by a bay window in the restaurant area next to a hot radiator and felt snug as a bug as we study the food choices.

There is the characteristic pub option such as steak and chips for two with a bottle of wine for £29.99 on a Monday to Friday evening that certainly looked tempting as the couple on the next table verified as they tucked in enthusiastically.

The food is certainly above pub average as I soon find out when I get served a homemade steak and ale pie that was so big, I half expected a blackbird to fly out of it as I stuck my knife in.

This unpretentious pub serves up big-hearted portions to locals and rainy day visitors with the only non-homemade food item were the biscuits that came with my sweet.

The Crown & Thistle Hotel Review, Abingdon, Oxfordshire | Travel

The Crown, Burchetts Green, Berkshire: 'A family affair' – restaurant ...

Paterfamilias Simon Bonwick is in the kitchen, while several of his nine children – yes, nine, and all as smilingly scrubbed as Von Trapps – work the room We’re pootling along winter-sun-dappled roads overhung with ancient trees, their limbs drooping leaves of ochre and butterscotch and vermilion.

Exuberantly barnetted paterfamilias Simon Bonwick is alone in the kitchen, while several of his nine children – yes, nine, and all as perfectly presented and smilingly scrubbed as Von Trapps – work the room.

Bonwick is clearly an adherent of classic French technique: the full Larousse of turned veg, and stocks and demi-glaces reduced into such lip-smacking richness, you just know they’ll stiffen into intense jellies as soon as your back is turned; plus elaborate desserts – “Black Forest ‘cadeau’”, say, is chocolate and cherries wrapped in white chocolate, like a perfect little gift.

This is the kind of small idyll that the horrible white men taking over our world are promising their froggy choruses, uncaring that they’ll never be able to deliver.

In Burchetts Green, the duck will always have a crisp skin, glossy sauces will always trickle from little copper saucepans, the treacle pudding will always flood the mouth with soothing, sticky sweetness.