Opened a week ago, Pitt Cue Co. brings barbecue to a tiny – seriously tiny – corner in Soho. I like barbecue so off I went on Monday, the first night of service. My theory behind this, was despite being opening night, the lines would theoretically be shorter as it was a Monday and not as many people would be aware of Pitt Cue Co. opening night. I also wanted to get in before the reviews started appearing in the various London press. No reservations and a place that seats 30. Bah. Lines are bad enough at Meat Liquor.
Arriving at 6.30 and the place was full. Including the bar. We had to wait outside. This place is tiny. Eventually let in to wait at the bar, a couple of cocktails were had while we waited it out. After 30-40 minutes my names was finally called. Everyone waiting in the bar groaned. Audibly. No joke, they stared daggers at us. Boo.
Led downstairs, the dining room is akin to eating someone’s living room. Words do not do justice to how small it is. Enough tables to sit maybe 17-18 people elbow to elbow. Close enough to have a good sneak peek at what the neighbours were eating. It looked awesome.
A concise menu printed on an A5 sheet of paper, you pick your meat, you pick your side. Extra meat is a fiver. There was a special of a slow cooked pig’s head that I went for. In my desire to see as much of then menu as possible, I went for the Slaw as a side. Rooky error. Nadia went for the Burnt end mash. It came in a jar of smooth creamy mash…topped with BURNT ENDS. ‘What side would you like to accompany your meat?’ Oh, I’ll have potatoes…with more meat!’ Genius. Slaw was a mistake, firstly due to absolute bargain of the burnt end mash, and secondly because all plates came with a little bit of slaw anyway. Lesson learnt.
The pigs head was like your usual pulled pork, ramped up exponentially due to succulent fattiness of the pigs head mixed in with the pork shreds. It was soft, gelatinous and brilliant. Pickles were sweet and sour, the slaw tangy and crunchy. A hunk of bread on the side for mopping up the meat juices.
Excuse my photo. Blurry and quite clearly over-exposed, I know.
Despite being fit to burst, I still needed dessert. I stopped listening once I heard the words ‘Salted-caramel ice cream’ and even now I still cannot remember for the life of me what the 2nd dessert on offer was. All I know, is that it didn’t have salted caramel anywhere on it.
Sticky toffee pudding, soaked in booze of some kind. The salted-caramel was more pronounce in the sauce rather than the ice cream, but as far as puddings go, it was still once of the best versions I’ve had.
I really really loved the food here. I did not love the wait. I would love, love love to come back and try all the various meats on the menu, but with a space like that, catching me back here will be like catching a unicorn. Really effing difficult! I long for the day when I find myself in Soho at an off peak time so I may try the rest of the menu. Till, then I can only dream of the ribs.