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St. John

Badass Britannia. Or something like that. Stark, traditional, and
consequently radical. I asked for something spendy, moderately trendy and
decidedly un-New York, and I got it. Somehow I don't feel right detailing it
with flourish.

Chitterlings, faggots, rarebit, treacle, bone marrow, eel…potted pigs
head–it is "Nose
to Tail Eating
" after all. While reveling in little morsels of rabbit
offal on toast, James was freaking over what he perceived to be a table of
nazis. Yes, they were German, creepily Aryan and did seem to relish the odd
bits of meat, but that doesn't necessarily mean there's a secret after hours
club for dining on human flesh. Though that would add an interesting
dimension to the establishment.

St. John * 26 St. John
Street, EC1, London, England

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