Nicky Bisquits is a big lad. One of those people who you have to look at whenever they enter a room. Like something passing through your peripheral vision or an evolutionary warning system kicks in. Yet, despite his size, or perhaps because of it, he’s one of the most mild-mannered English men you will ever quite meet. Everything is a smile, a handshake and a constant desire to accommodate others. We were traipsing through Wangsimni one winter not too long ago, the drinking area around Hanyang University, looking for another pub in which to warm ourselves up, having already consumed far too much but not yet ready to head home. As it was well beyond 3 a.m., many places had closed up or were demanding that you order hot soups and hangover food when all our stomachs demanded was more alcohol. For a moment, it felt like our night of laughter and lager might be coming to a somewhat premature end. And then a vintage looking wooden door caught my eye. It had no signs on it other than something that said “Bar.” A speakeasy perhaps. People smoking cigars. Whatever it might be, when I push