The downside is a pronounced neophilia

Bearded tits in Norfolk, rutting deer in Dublin, and a hungry polar bear in Alaska are among our pick of images from the natural world

In Britain generally and London in particular it’s not like this. The upside of a lack of certainty about what our own food might be, is openness. We’ll try bloody anything, and there’s always someone willing to offer just that. The downside is a pronounced neophilia, the chasing of the novel for its own sake. Miso-glazed kitten on a stick? In a railway arch in Haggerston? Open the doors and watch the queues build. Pig blood crème brûlée? All those words sound like food. Why the hell not? Fill your belly and your boots.

It has no interest in the cutting edge, the startling or the innovative. It sells itself on one thing and one thing only: execution. Can it offer the very best versions of the familiar? The answer is, yes it can, and how. In a time of grinding restlessness, the Game Bird is about a very special kind of continuity; of eternal verities nuzzled up to and whispered sweet nothings at. Come here on a good day and you’ll have a lovely time. Come here on a bad day and the menu – British grill classics, cooked with jugs full of French technique – will make sure all the bad stuff stays outside.