Chav: A popular U.K. slang term, referring to a subculture stereotype of a person prone to wearing flashy “bling” jewelry and Burberry caps, and congregating around places such as fast-food outlets or other shopping areas (sometimes called chavaramas”).

“I’m one of the, like, top 20 chavs in the U.K.!” exclaims Lady Sovereign (she was born Louise Harman, a name that doesn’t quite have the same cache in the rap world), with a touch of pride, in the back of a restaurant in Manhattan’s Little Italy neighborhood. I nod in acknowledgement of her achievement: What number? “Four, like!” That’s official? “Yeah, it was on the Web site of this TV channel. People call me a chav all the time, but I just find it funny. I think it’s wicked, like.” I point out that it’s commonly considered an insult. “Yeah, I don’t care though. Because, yeah, I’m chav-ish. But I know what a full-on chav looks like, innit. And I know how they act, and that ain’t me. I might ‘ave chavish features but that’s about it.”

At just 19 years old, Lady Sovereign (she’s also commonly called “Sov,” or “Ess Oh Vee”) is the first female rapper to emerge as a successful solo artist from the London grime scene, of which she’s been a mainstay for the past three years. Her debut album, Public Warning- which is due to be released in the U.S. this spring- is at once a product of that movement and a reaction to it. Lyrically, Sovereign turns her quotidian experiences into the subjects of her songs, and they cover things like how disgusting girls with overly-fake tans look, rather than guns or killing: She’s more likely to pull a broom on someone than a knife. “This girl I knew was all up in my face acting all drunk and shit,” she remembers with a face-wide grin, “so I picked up this broom and just whacked her ‘round the ‘ed with it and then called her an ambulance. We laugh about it now, though.” Sonically, Public Warning draws on hip-hop, krunk, garage, and ­ two genres less common in grime, ska and punk. Sovereign MCs over big bass drums and abrasive percussion with an élan that makes her music more accessible than a lot of grime (partly because you can actually understand what she’s saying), without ever losing her edge.

Things haven’t always been this good: Sovereign has had her fair share of career setbacks. “I tried to get work in McDonald’s when I was 16, but they told me I looked too young,” she recalls, clearly still affronted. “That’s out of order man. It’s fucking discrimination.” Not to be discouraged, she found a job selling windows door-to-door in her neighborhood. Did anyone ever mistake the 5’1” Sovereign for a confused trick-or-treater?

“Man, I look so fucking young they thought I was selling 'em fucking cookies," she recalls wryly. "They would slam the door in my face. I call myself 'Big midget.' I know I'm small for my age but I'm not a real midget. I'm bigger than, you know, real midgets." So, Sovereign focused her attention on her rapping, battling other MCs over the Internet from her North London bedroom. Her big break came when she made a guest appearance on the remix of the Streets' "Fit but you know it." All of a sudden the girl who wasn't considered good enough to flip burgers found herself with support gigs for Dizzee Rascal and Basement Jaxx, a multi-million dollar deal with Universal and the somewhat auspicious nickname of-brace yourselves-Feminem.

"It's weird, I can't explain how it even happened," she says, shaking her head. "People come up to me on the street and they're like, 'Oi! Sov! How do you get signed?' and I'm like, 'I dunno.'" But surely she must have some words of wisdom to impart to would-be queens of grime? "People are all like in my face sayin' 'What label shall I send my demos to?'" she says, mimicking said offenders, "and I'm just like, 'Don't, man, just do your thing.' That's what I did. It might not work with everyone but I wasn't lookin' to get signed in the first place and it just happened."

Today, negotiating a lasagna that looks as if it might weigh as much as her, Sovereign's hair is scraped back tightly across her head, and she's wearing, as usual, her unofficial uniform of an adidas tracksuit. And she's dripping in bling. Does she ever wear anything else? "Not really. I don't make no effort for anyone, and I never wear dresses." Never? "Mate, I wore a tracksuit to my sister's wedding," she says, without so much as a blink. Seriously? She giggles and says, "Oh it weren't just any old tracksuit. It was a nice one," she continues. "It was one of those white and gold Missy Elliot ones. I 'ad to walk down the aisle and everything, 'cos I was a bridesmaid and shit." I ask her if her image is a deliberate part of the "Ess Oh Vee" per¬sona. "Most people in this industry are scared that they're not gonna get male attention and personally I don't give a shit about that," she says, her mouth full of minced meat and tomato sauce. "Nah, I'm not going to start flashing off my tits. The only time they come out is when I'm in the shower or bath." As she explains this, she feels the need to point to her breasts. An old man in the corner looks up with interest.