Pulled Pork Sandwich

A British pulled pork bun begins with a shoulder of pork left in a low oven or smoker overnight, and the cook learns whether it worked by pulling on the blade bone, which should slide out clean. The lid comes off to a wall of steam that smells of sweet rendered fat and dark crust. Two forks or a pair of gloved hands tear the meat into strands, and the dark, chewy outer bark gets folded back through the soft pale interior so every forkful carries both. The pile is wet, glossy and hot enough to fog a cold tray, and it holds that way only while it sits in its own juices.

The bun has to cope with that heat and moisture for as long as it takes to walk away from the stall. Most kitchens use a soft white roll or a glazed, slightly sweet bun, split and often warmed on the griddle so the crumb takes on a faint toast at the cut face. Too cold and it fights the meat; too soft and the bottom of the bun goes to paste by the second bite. The shredded pork goes in by the handful, and the top half sits crooked on the pile. The first bite compresses the bun, squeezes juice into the crumb, and puts a hot, salty, faintly smoky strand on the tongue.

The dressing carries the sharpness, and in Britain it often arrives as slaw, pickles or apple sauce, the last a flavour that already sits beside roast pork and crackling on a Sunday plate. Cold, crunchy slaw laid over steaming meat gives the bite its temperature swing, and a pickle adds a clean sour snap that cuts the fat. Barbecue sauce is brushed on lightly or served in a squeezy bottle on the side. Some cooks scatter shards of crackling on top, which shatter audibly under the teeth against the soft bun and make the sandwich louder than it looks.

It is eaten standing up. At a street-food market the bun comes wrapped in paper that goes translucent at the base within a minute, and the juice finds the wrist at the second bite, so napkins matter. Pitt Cue Co paired its bun with the pickleback, a shot of whiskey chased with pickle brine, which suited a sandwich built around salt, smoke and acid. The hog roast roll carved from a whole spit-roasted pig at fairs and country shows shares the soft roll and the pork, and adds stuffing and a sheet of crackling. The pulled pork bun is the version that arrives pre-shredded and piled.

A bun built this way has a short life on the pass. Meat held too long dries into stringy grey threads, and meat shredded too fine collapses into a spread that slides out of the roll. The cooks who do it well hold the pork in a tray with a little of its cooking liquor, pull it in small batches through service, and stir a spoonful of juice through each pile before it meets the bread. The best portion comes from a fresh shoulder, still faintly steaming, with the bark mixed in while it remains crisp at the edges.

Hungerford Bridge, 2011

Pitt Cue Co was formed in 2011 by Tom Adams and Jamie Berger, and takes its name from the village near Winchester where Adams grew up. The business started as a trailer on London's South Bank beneath Hungerford Bridge, and queues snaked under the bridge through the summer of 2011. Pulled pork in a bun was the item that people queued for.

In January 2012 the partners opened a small restaurant on Newburgh Street in Soho, off Carnaby Street, with the bun as its best-known dish. Trade writing later called it arguably the most iconic item on the menu, and Pitt Cue has been credited with introducing London to pulled pork. No record names the first British kitchen to sell the dish, so the claim stays a reputation more than a verified first.

By 2016 Pitt Cue had moved to Devonshire Square in the City, and Adams said the new restaurant would drop the bun. The trailer that started it all was in storage in 2016, and he left open the chance that it would come out again.