A colleague of mine insists on a meandering route to the office purely to avoid the thick aromas that belch out of Bep Haus. These smells are so intoxicating that men and women take two steps out of Mansion House station and queue up to get a piece of the action first thing in the morning.
Bep Haus serves Vietnamese curries, rolls, and banh mi. The main feature is the pork belly, which makes its way into most dishes on the menu. It's lacerated and macerated with the kinds of spices young Bristolians caught scurvy and syphilis to bring back to English kitchens 200 years ago - turmeric, tamarind, lemongrass and ginger.
If you're in the area, go only to see the resident pork chopper. A Frenchman in a kepi stands behind a blast shield, bringing down a cleaver again and again into shivering slabs of pork - a demented Marcel Marceau who has swapped his ghoulish make-up for the splattered juices of a wet belly cut.