At the corner of George and Queen streets, I pass Chinched Bistro, where earlier I devoured potato-wrapped salt cod and Korean pork belly in the posh upstairs dining room (which overlooks
a gentleman's club and rivals George Street for people-watching gold).
A man stepping out of the restaurant cheerfully asks me if I'm up for a scuff. "Excuse me?" I say. He laughs and explains that "scuff" is Newfie for "dancing." The English spoken here is unique: It includes some seven dialects and about 60 language subgroups, all based on where people live along the coast. Maybe it's not quite the language of love, but it certainly adds an extra layer of charm.