You can tell a lot about a person by the way they eat. Greedy bites or delicate tastes reveal a person’s inner slobbishness or sophistication; tt’s a testament to their character; a litmus test of their social graces. In Bone in the Throat – a delectably violent adaptation of celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain‘s crime/foodie novel of the same name – people also reveal themselves with their utensils.

Ronnie the Rug foregoes the traditional forks and knives routine and stuffs his gullet with meaty, messy and often bloody fingers. His coat pockets are usually lined with halibut or mackerel, leaving behind a distinctly fishy odor in the rooms he vacates. Police chief Sullivan (John Hannah) takes measured, deliberate bites of his white bread sandwiches. Like him, they don’t even appear to be condimented. Sous chef and Ronnie’s nephew Will Reeves (Ed Westwick) is oft seen operating finely-carved rosewood chopsticks or a delicate appetizer utensil, dining on artful and exquisite cuisine. In Bone in the Throat, food reveals lifestyle, modus operandi and, more often than not, the ability to employ nuance. By the end, it can even be employed as a weapon.

In the rough and tumble whirlwind of Bourdain’s Bone in the Throat, the cutthroat world of high class cuisine meets the literal cutthroat world of the East End London mob. Caught in the middle is Will, an aspiring executive chef with family ties to the mafia. When Uncle Ronnie and Skinny execute a would-be informer in Will’s workplace and force him to help cover it up, Will is pressured to keep his gills shut or swim with the fishes.

Andy Nyman as the love-to-hate-him Ronnie is one of those juicy, larger-than-life cockney mobsters thrashing and crashing their way through environs that fail to contain them. With a gnomish mutton chop of a face, he’s Ray Liotta meets Peter Pettigrew with the social courtesies of Tommy DeVito. Watching him chew and chomp through the scenery is one of the great joys of the film and one that keeps it humming with nervous energy and dark intrigue.

What and how a person eats may tell a story but newcomer Graham Henman is there to capitalize on that often untold tale in surprisingly blood-stained fashion. He crams his camera uncomfortably close to gnashing teeth and gulping tongues, giving us a too-close-for-comfort mug of people’s most bacterial-filled innards before exposing us to scenes of chilling extremity. In the corners of the screens, characters distort and lose focus (was there an aspect ratio issue in my screening or was this intentionally?) as Arctic Monkeys blare their doomed post-rock ballads. Before long, everyone is dead or in jail. It’s a righteous experience even when tripping over its shoelaces.

Existing somewhere in the undiscovered ether between Snatch, Good Fellas and Master Chef, Henman’s Bone in the Throat is a brutal crowd-pleaser that’s destined to be a delicious score for those who can’t decide between the Food Network and FX.