I'm racing over to Barrett's Butchers on Englands Lane, Belsize Park. Need to hurry— they close at 5:30 p.m. This ain't Noo Yawk.
S: Hello Handsome! Can you chop three of those lamb legs in the window into shanks and French them for me? God, it's freezing out. You wanna coffee?
Bob the Butcher: At yours, love?
S: Cheeky git.
He snorts. The other butchers laugh heartily. It's all meat, saws, and gristle.
S: How about a whisky— to warm you guys up?
Living in Britain gives one the freedom to...