This neighborhood’s an event horizon for food carts. We’ve reached a critical mass from which there is no return; the city’s hurtling at ludicrous speed into one great, big, belching food cart. As is statistically sound, many are pretty forgettable—in this lot, particularly. Except, as it happens, for the two British-themed vehicles. The glossy-Union-Jacked one, Bits & Druthers, advertises itself in an alluringly foreign dialect as a “Chip Shop & Creamery.” (The word “druthers” actually has origins in 19th-century American lit—we’re not positive on how it’s intended here, but “Bits” is the dreamylicious chef’s nickname.)

The focus here is appropriately trailer-sized: fried fish (often haddock or turbot) and chips, oyster rolls, and poutine. Those chips, salted in good, melting flakes, could be crisper, but the golden Real Ale batter is delicious, its beery sweetness encasing a light, flaky fish. It does get gummier with each passing minute, so consume quickly, and accept the homemade tartar sauce offered to you; you’re offered ketchup, too, but pass it up for malt vinegar. A fried oyster roll is quite nice, with a pop of brine sousing a citrusy and fresh-herbed slaw and good, eggy challah. Homemade ice cream is fine, if pricey for what it is. If we had our druthers, it’d instead be a pint of draft Guinness…we’re betting it’d be Bits’s druthers, too.