Pitt Cue

Pitt Cue moved from Soho to a large industrial space in the City earlier this year. They've upscaled the restaurant, so gone are the ribs and pulled pork, replaced by Mangalitza pork steaks.

To start we had the irresistible-sounding mangalitza and eel sausage. The two components had been blitzed to form a surf and turf paste, sadly obliterating all trace of the eel save for a smoky aftertaste. 

Lamb tongues tasted exactly how I would expect a  grilled human tongue to taste - delicious and divisible into think flakes of flesh. 

What are we after when we order steaks? The vast open expanses of pink flesh, dominated by a dark centre of rare meat. 

When it comes to pork, these are the dull parts. Give me the blackened nubs of unknown providence. Give me the burnt skin that rests on your tongue like a creme brûlée. Give me the the bitty edges, speckled with coarse salt and rub. I gnawed my way around the steaks with glee, and left the middle of the steak on my plate. 

The short rib was cooked to a beautiful fuchsia, served with beef dripping-soaked sourdough, and served with a béarnaise so rich it would have choked Louis XIV. 

Our sides were a bone marrow and mushroom mash that was very satisfying (like a microwaved Fergus Henderson entree), and fermented carrots with ricotta (sublime texture, superlime taste). 

Pitt Cue is largely hit and miss. I wonder if something was lost on the journey from Soho to City.