Pitt Cue Co, London, restaurant review This is less because its cuisine is that of the American south (Luke seemed to subsist on luncheon meat and weevils, though he did of course eat 50 boiled eggs to win a bet); and only in part because this tiny, cramped basement room, with its stone flooring and bare putty-coloured walls, is so magnificently stark. Initially, in fact, it seemed closer to a wartime bomb shelter than a prison refectory. Mistaking a fire engine alarm for an air raid siren, I was going to ask them to cover the windows with black paper, until the friend who joined me for lunch pointed out that too little light was being generated to attract the Luftwaffe. Then the food arrived in metal trays, straight from the Penitentiary range at Habitat, to settle the argument in favour of the jail canteen. As tempting as it is to compare this reaction against the staid status quo to punk rock's repudiation of the concept album, to do so would be unfair. The raw energy may be similar, but the likes of Tom Adams and Jamie Berger, who have transferred Pitt Cue Co from a van beneath a South Bank bridge, are not amateurs. They learnt how to play their instruments, the barbecue and hot smoker, by travelling across the southern states studying the various techniques, and the results are spectacular. Gigantic beef ribs - "the biggest I've seen," as my friend put it, "like something out of The Flintstones" - were doused in a subtly tangy sauce, and droolsomely delicious. A waiter explained the technique - dry rub the meat in sugar, spices and a mustard glaze, hot smoke it for five hours, roast it very slowly on hickory chips. A long way from slathering a rack of ribs in a Paul Newman barbecue sauce and slamming it hopefully in the oven. So is the taste. I have eaten thrice Nicholas Soames's body weight in ribs in my time, but none compares with these beauties, which shared their prison tin with onion, pickles, jalapeño pepper and excellent sourdough bread. Equally brilliant was "burnt end mash" - gooey, flaky, semi-caramelised brisket in a potent beef gravy soaked up by the creamiest of mashed potato, with perfect coleslaw. Perhaps best of all was gloriously sharp and smoky pulled pork, served with an incongruously delicate salad. "How on earth do they get it so melty?" cooed my friend. And what clarity of flavour. With such a relentlessly carnivorous meal, one naturally seeks some balance. So by way of a palate cleanser, we ordered ox cheek with pickled walnut. The texture was almost that of a mousse, and the flavour contrast between the luxurious richness of the cheek and the sharpness of the walnut superb. Although the portions are generous, we waded through a treacle tart with caramel sauce and poached rhubarb cheesecake. Both were sublime. As if to remind you that this is not a place to linger, Pitt Cue Co does not serve coffee. So we drank up, paid up and emerged blinking in the daylight like Morgan Freeman leaving Shawshank, still gushing about the vibrancy and naturalness of flavours that redefine one's ideas about the limitations of barbecue cooking. On the way home, I texted that foodie friend to suggest we share some rib therapy. "Sounds great, but not for a while," came the reply. Guantánamo. Could be a long stretch. T Rating 9/10 1 Newburgh St, London W1F 7RB, 020 7287 5578 Gluttonous meal with beer: £20-25 per head