Those of us who rejoice in sawing up huge hunks of meat and stuffing them in our gobs until we groan will find a carnivorous epiphany here. The signature dish is a Hereford prime scotch fillet on the bone weighing a minimum half-a-kilogram. It is simply titled The Bull. I order mine rare and when its hulking, bursting, seared mass is carried to the table I stare at the pub's many other diners and question their decency, for surely the room should stand in silence. And such blood flows as I carve that the accompanying spud drowns in a sea of gore. So much to love.