Pitt Cue Co

BBQ is taking over London!

And Pitt Cue Co is the forerunner in the trend for Southern-style ribs, pulled pork and a whole lotta slaw.

Located in Soho, I hear the TINY eatery often has queues going around the corner at weekday lunchtimes, but on the sunny Saturday afternoon we visited we were seated straight away, though I would have preferred a seat in the small but cosy upstairs bar, which has a view of the street outside, as opposed to the windowless basement dining room.

Can't win em all...

I had it in my head that I was going to order the ribs in the 'build-up' to eating here (yes. there was a build-up. I'm sad like that). Seeing as though there is no comprehensive website (just a holding page) with a menu to view, this was the only dish I'd heard being attributed to Pitt Cue Co, and so I assumed it was their best.

While we are on the subject, can restaurants please start putting menus back on their website? This, like the no reservations trend, which PCC also adheres to, really gets my back up. I, like many other diners, like to know what's on offer at a restaurant before I risk venturing into town only to find that they don't have anything on offer that really tickles my fancy. Not only that, but how is one supposed to gauge the amount of money that will be spent on a meal if they have no idea of what each dish roughly costs?? I'm aware that many restaurants now have daily changing menus, which depend greatly on the produce they receive from suppliers that morning. But really. This is a BBQ joint. There will always be ribs. There will always be sausage. There will always be pulled pork. So just put a damn menu up!

I mean, it's not like the menu was long or anything...

Here's proof:

See!

Anyway, the Pulled Pork Bun Meal totally threw me. Especially with the promise of Burnt End Mash...

It is a dish I attempted to make myself earlier this year with limited facilities and an extreme lack of time. I'll spare you the horrendous details, but anyone who knows pulled pork will tell you that you need AT LEAST four hours to get the right level of tenderness.

There Burnt End Mash was so-so. I was expecting mash on the same level as the mash-with-roasting-juices concoction that changed my life at Dabbous a few months ago. Realistically, no other mashed potato will EVER reach such heights, but, but...did, did I just taste a- gasp- LUMP?!?! Ew.

The pudding wasn't so great either. Our waiter did warn us that the sponge was soaked in bourbon, but by soaked, he meant SATURATED and by bourbon, he meant PAINT STRIPPER. Nobody would sit next to me on the train back home, on account of me smelling like a lush.

The star of the show though, was the pulled pork. It was gloriously messy, as in 'Pass me a napkin because this shit is trickling down my wrist and into my sleeve' messy. I love that kind of messy.

The coleslaw inside the bun wasn't that horrible mayonnaisey stuff that is often passed off as coleslaw, but was actually a touch sweet with a satisfying crunch to balance the sloppiness of the juicy pork. Perfection and well worth £9.50.

Scrum diddly-umptious.

Pitt Cue Co

1 Newburgh Street
0207 287 5578

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Ballers in Palma

If the Queen can celebrate her Jubilee over the course of a few months, then I can do the same with my birthday. Okay, so I won't go quite that far, but seeing as though my birthday was on May 8th, I do seem to be making the most of it: case and point, a weekend in Palma de Mallorca, a full two weeks after the anniversary of my birth! Hey, I've been working hard, the weather in London was crap and the pull of chorizo, ensaimadas and pulp was too much to resist...

And so the celebrations commenced.

We checked into the Wallpaper* City Guide-recommended Hotel Tres, run by Scandinavian Svenn Rudow. Set in the centre of town in a modern structure adjoined to the remnants of a 16th century palace, the hotel encompassed everything I expected Palma to be; historical, with a modern twist and a bucket-load of design savvy.

The city was easy to cover by foot, as we quickly found out after completing an open-top bus tour. Now, I'm aware many travellers dismiss such tours as cheesy, touristy and overpriced, but in my opinion there is a reason they do so well- they give a great overview of a city, allow one to get one's bearings quickly, and, if you are clever, are a great mode of quick, pain-free transport around a new city, allowing you to be dropped off at central points with a guaranteed seat (Tip: buy a ticket that covers 24 hours- i.e. 13:00-12:00- rather than one day. This way, if you are in town for just a weekend, you really will get a lot for your money). We toured the old town Pueblo Espanol, which was beautiful and took in some stunning vistas from the city's top peaks.  


And then we ate...


Finding a good spot to eat was a little harder than I expected. Yes, I did my research in advance, but as prepared as I was, sometimes you just want to disregard the itinerary and see where you end up. Palma is a hotspot for Brits, Germans and Scandinavians and as such, many of the eateries in the city are geared toward this clientele. This results in some horrors; food being passed off as 'Spanish' that would make the average espanole blush. You know what I'm talking about. Then there's the burgers (not that there's anything wrong with a burger, done well!), bland sausages, chips, etc. Yuck. And then there were the tapas bars which looked reasonable enough, but something about the fact that the menus were in English and German (and not Spanish), set alarm bells ringing.

So we asked the locals.

Two people recommended Lizzaran, which I took as a good sign. Even more encouraging was the fact that when we arrived, at lunchtime, the spot was buzzing with local people. The eatery was a tapas bar, but not in the traditional sense- the bar was only a small aspect of the venue and most people were seated at tables and offered waiter service. And as you can see below, the portions were hardly typical of tapas!

The. Food. Was. Amazeballs.

Champinones, entonces pan con tomate, entonces gambas, entonces calamares, entonces patatas bravas, entonces pulpo a la gallega.

YUM!

This was all followed by dessert at the historic Horno Santo Cristo. I went for the custard tartina (bottom), even though they are most known for their ensaimadas, which my mum got. The bakery- sorry, pasterleria- is easily recognisable for it's old bicycle out at the front, with the ensaimada boxes strapped to the back. I guess this is how they transported the treats- the famous famous pastry on the island- back in the day.

After this calorie fest, a walk around the city was due, starting with the 17th century La Seu, which has to be seen to be believed...

From there we walked around the centre, where the cathedral is based, and the district of Sa Llotja nearby.

If could choose one thing that I love about Spain (other than the food. And the weather. And Rafa Nadal...okay I digress), it would be the long, lazy afternoon walks that you can take in town centres. You see it in Madrid, you se it in Seville and I saw it here in Palma. It seems de rigeur for locals to take the streets at around 5pm for a nice leisurely stroll. I'm probably romanticising this- after all, people work- but it's so charming to see people just taking time to slowly walk and observe their city. And just be. This isn't something you see in London. I especially love it when you see the Spanish pensioners taking their early evening walks. Let me tell you something. Spanish old people have SWAGGER. They way they drape their jackets over their shoulders. The oversized tinted glassed. The tweed in 26 degree heat. Pure. Swag.

Stay tuned for my visit to Mercar Olivar and who I saw when I got back to London... 

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Dabbous

After reading Fay Maschler's surprisngly flattering review of Dabbous, I was pretty sure I wanted to give the restaurant a try- after all, how often does the notoriously, shall we say 'observant' Ms Maschler give restaurants five stars out of five? It was only after perusing the menu online (nothing like bit of menu porn on a quiet afternoon), that I declared that I absolutely must visit. I'm almost ashamed to say it, but it was the prices that swung it. £24 for four-course set lunch menu. In central London. In a restaurant helmed by an alumnus of The Fat Duck, Noma and NYC's wd-50 (Ollie Dabbous, since you asked). Done deal.

The restaurant was only a month or so old at the time of booking and perhaps two months old when I visited. Securing a table on the day I wanted, at the time I wanted was pretty easy and straightforward, so imagine my surprise (and glee) when, after visiting, I attempted to book another table, only to find that there were none on the day I wanted for close to three months! Things like this make me happy. Not only because I am always pleased to see a young talented chef doing well in a competitive market such as London, but also because, well, I got there first (cue huge raspberry noise). Very mature.

So what was all the fuss about?

Well the room itself as been described a tinny, empty, noisy, echoey. I didn't find any of these to be particularly true on the day I visited (a Saturday afternoon). The room is a mixture of grey and charcoals, with raw concrete, lots of metal thrown about, and the odd exposed duct for good measure. Not especially warm, but not cold either. Perhaps I was charmed by the staff, who, I have to say were exceptionally pleasant. Like "is there something on my face" pleasant (there wasn't). I expected a bit of pomp. I was disappointed (in a good way).

As I waited for my companion, I pretended to peruse the menu. I don't know why, as I'd studied it IN DEPTH in the days leading up to my visit, because that's how sad I am. But, as I said before, nothing like a bit of menu porn...even in public.

So here's the breakdown. There's the set lunch menu (above) where diners have a choice of three or four courses (@ £21 or £24), with two options for each. Dishes are described as 'small', so we decided it was best to go for the four courses. At an extra £3, it made sense.

As I embarrassingly salivated over the 'small plates' (they weren't that small) being delivered to my fellow diners, my appetite was whetted with a small bowl of plump olives and the most beautifully presented fresh, warm bread which came in a brown bag, stamped with the date and a side dish of soft butter which could put Echire to shame.

Nothing like freshly baked bread. The smell which wafted out of the bag as I opened it is indescribable.

Following Ms Maschler's lead, I started with the salad of fennel, lemon balm and pickled rose petals:

Can a salad be life-changing? Because I feel like a new woman. Seriously. Pickled rose?! Who knew! I'm not usually a fan of fennel, but here paired with the exceptional dressing and the subtle lemon balm, it was gorgeous. I'm not sure what the salad leaf used was but it gave good crunch and the sweetness of the pickled rose levelled out the sometimes pleasant, sometimes not, bitterness that you can get with salad leaves. It was a small salad, but the portion was perfect. I didn't feel cheated (though I did want more). 


My companion had celeriac with muscat grapes, lovage and hazelnuts:

I didn't get any (cuts eyes)...


Next up was grilled monkfish cheeks with virgin rapeseed oil mayonnaise and Jerusalem artichoke.

That mayo was sexy. Too sexy. 
Fleshy monkfish, a bit of unidentifiable black stuff- what else can a girl ask for? It was good but not as good as the salad. But in all fairness, it was a life-changing salad.
Seriously though. Sexy. 


My friend had the confit organic Glenarm salmon with warm buttermilk and hispi cabbage. The word confit scares me. The confit process scares me. I stayed away. But it was pretty:

Now, there was one dish on the a la carte menu which Fay (we're on a first name basis as we're mates now- she even reads my reviews) ordered when she visited and waxed lyrical about. Prepare yourself for the words about to appear on your screen. Mashed potato with roasting juices and black truffle. Is this what it sounds like when doves cry? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? No? Well how's this:

Nothing? 
Cold hearted cow!!!


I have decided that if I ever find myself on death row (heh heh...uncomfortable glance), this will be one component of my last meal. If I had the inclination and bank balance to produce this dish myself, I would. But a) I don't and b) I don't. Some things are best left to the professionals. But this was LITERALLY (and I use that word sparingly) heaven on a plate. This was the first time I had black truffle and actually enjoyed it. The taste very delicate. The mash was silky and the juices were just right- just enough to wet the mash, but not so much that it was a soggy mess. Why did I offer to share? Beats me. Won't be making that mistake again.


Then came the roast pork belly with savoury acorn praline, turnip tops and homemade apple vinegar:

I liked this one a lot, but the "praline" threw me a little. I think the dish could have done with a touch less, though it was presented in a way that you could push any praline you didn't want aside without it ruining your dish. But an interesting and creative idea. 

On the other side of the table, a braised veal breast with toasted wheat and celery and lime was being consumed. Again, I NEVER GOT A BITE (I hope she's reading this), so I can't tell you what it tasted like... ; )

 But what a beauty...


I was indeed comfortably full a this point, but unless I'm retching at the table, don't you dare not show me the dessert menu! There wasn't really much to look at- it was either cheese (let's not be silly) or barley flour sponge soaked in red tea with Tahitian vanilla cream. 

Hmmmm...meh. A bit of an anti-climax. The cream could have been sweeter. Perhaps an ice cream may have better though the sponge was quite delicate and I guess cream was used so as not to overpower it. The weird Cath Kidston-esque bowl baffled me too. 

Oh well, you can't win them all. 

So out of five courses, two reached dizzying heights (the fennel salad and mash with truffle), one was 85% there (pork belly with acorn praline), one was 95% there (monkfish cheeks -I deducted 5% as I still can't figure out what the black stuff was and I don't feel like it added anything) and one curveball (the dessert)

which I didn't hate, but didn't enjoy. 

I'm willing to give the desert another chance (there are four other options on the a la carte menu), though I'll have to wait until June, natch as word has spread. Thanks Fay. 


Dabbous
39 Whitfield St
London
W1T 2SF
T  0207 323 1544

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