Pitt Cue has been so hugely popular, that I got wind of it when I was still in Berlin.
It’s a tiny BBQ joint. I didn’t believe how tiny until I saw it in bricks and mortar. 8 bar stools upstairs and a few crowded tables downstairs in the basement. And when I say basement, I mean basement, the kind of place that were it yours, you would insist on company every time you went down to search for your ski boots. As the dark space fills up and customers down a few drinks, their bodies start to give off heat so the second time I nip down to the loo its substantially hotter than the first. We chose to eat upstairs. On the comfy bar stools while we peered through the dentelle curtains at crazy busy London. I forgot how mad this city is. I look at its inhabitants and think they would all make a convincing mad hatter’s.
I am not a BBQ fan, it’s easy to love the food you’ve grown up with (I am not sure how many western people would go crazy over mulukhiya) but it’s a much harder sell to someone who has grown up with different taste buds to yours. I still struggle with the English habit of putting vinegary chutney in their sandwiches or the German habit of putting in that white creamy sauce (what is that stuff?). So despite rave reviews from The Guardian, Timeout, a funny one from The Telegraph – I wasn’t expecting to like it that much. Oh but I did. I had the pulled pork and it was delicious, not too fatty, big juicy strands and not too sweet. A parcel of house pickles flavoured with fennel seeds, a few strands of cabbage. The grilled baby gem lettuce with kimchi dressing didn’t work for me, my sister generously offered to give me her fennel and apple salad which was bland but cut through the richness of the pork well. We were both stuffed but something compelled me to order dessert. A choice between a Pimms Eton Mess and Pain Perdu with whiskey and prune ice cream and poached apple. Fancy french toast. “It’s made with brioche.” the enthusiastic waitress told us. “Meh” was my apathetic response. French toast can often stumble into scrambled eggs territory. But oh my my was this dessert divine. The pain perdu was a round pillow of rich dough, so light that when you cut into it with your knife it would accordion down to 1/3 its original size. The ice cream, well you know I love prunes but I love drunken prunes even more The poached apple pieces with mint confetti and crumbs gave it all a lighter dimension and a change in texture. It was dreamy. Loved it. Go for lunch, if you go for dinner Pitt Cue turns into Long Queue. Sit upstairs. Order what I had.
Meanwhile…someone build me an Ark. I haven’t seen rain like this since, scratch that, I’ve never seen rain like this. Day after day I wait for one rain-free day (notice I am not saying sunny) to take Layla out to the Zoo or back to Kew Gardens and nothing. I watched in disbelief as the BBC reported with straight faces that the hose pipe ban had been lifted. ‘No! You don’t say!!!!’.Pitt Cue
1 Newburgh St,
London W1F 7RB,
T. 020 7287 5578