This past Friday night, the end of a long week, with company visiting from out of town, no one wanted to think too hard. We were in the peaceful easy feeling kind of space in which a restaurant is chosen with minimal effort, and so we settled on Osteria Napoli, a nearby hole-in-the-wall pasta joint Mr. V. and I hadn’t visited in a long while.

Osteria Napoli is forever the same–a charming and cozy restaurant, decorated in pre-minimalist Italian kitsch. The green tile floor, the straw-encased wine bottles, the beige leatherette and wood chairs, and the romantic wall murals evoke the same feel of every Italian family eatery you have ever seen, whether in real life or in the movies. The ambiance is enhanced by a a keyboard and accordion maestro, stationed near the back, who plays, popular tunes in both Italian and English, including a facsimile of Don Henley that was so true I thought he’d sllipped on a CD and gone for his break.

We were seated promptly and cheerfully, at a table near the front, where we could enjoy both our conversation and the musical entertainment as well as the fading summer’s evening light. Almost as promptly, bruschetta was delivered to our table. Traditionally prepared, delicious, and exactly the right thing to nip the edge off our appetites.

And then it was time to die and go to heaven. “We have,” said the captain, “the buffalo mozzarella.”

It comes to the table in great, soft, gooey pure white slabs over thick slices of beefsteak tomato, accompanied by some micro greens, a few olives, dressed with a good balsamic, a better olive oil, and with a subtle dusting of sea salt. It was amazingly good. In fact it was perfect.

The food that followed the mozzarella masterpiece were exactly what one would expect from a pasta joint in a traditionally Italian neighbourhood. First there were the warm crusty buns and sweet butter that was cold, but not too cold. And almost immediately after, the pasta.

I ordered rigatoni and sausage, which came with a classic marinara sauce that had clean, simple flavours. Mr. V. had a creamy lasagna en casserole, while our companion enjoyed a casserole style dish that featured spinach and ricotta. All were generously portioned, and very good; they were even better accompanied with Moretti. Nothing, of course, outdid the buffalo mozzarella salad, but that was fine with us.

Service was charming, attentive, and hover-free. Despite the fact we weren’t regulars, or even Italian, we were made to feel very welcome by the energetic woman who looked after our table. We had no room for dessert, but some melon slices were brought with the (very reasonable) bill.

Our stomachs full, and our palates refreshed, we agreed to return to Osteria Napoli the next time we needed a pasta fix.

Osteria Napoli 1660 Refrew Street, Vancouver 604-255-6441

It is Sunday night and five old friends are enjoying what has become an annual reunion dinner. We are so old, in fact, that The Transcontinental hostess, a sweet, very young thing, expresses surprise when she overhears that we all have Facebook accounts. We are not as old, of course, as The Transcontinental itself, one of Vancouver’s newest restaurants, and the recent recipient of a very expensive facelift.

What once was a covey of Via Rail offices in the circa-1917 Canadian Pacific Railway station, is now, thanks to Cadillac Fairview and to Steamworks’ founder, Eli Gershkovitz, a very nice room at the edge of Gastown, an ideal location to snag the tourist trade.

Great pains have been taken to not only use fine materials, particularly for the millwork, but also to install them with all the respect and care these materials deserve. Craftsmanship is evident everywhere in this 307-seat room. Given the shortage of skilled trades as the 2010 winter high jinks loom, the level of craftsmanship is even more remarkable.

We are seated almost immediately in one of the plush, curved booths. It is cozy and surprisingly comfortable. In due course the menus are brought, the special of the day is announced, and the water glasses are filled.

In the evenings, The Transcontinental offers two menus, dinner and club car, that acknowledge the various Canadian regions. The menus feature mainly the tried and true–surf and turf, prime rib, BC salmon, steamed Nova Scotia lobster–plus a couple of vegetarian options and lobster poutine, seemingly the only original item.

Two in our party choose burgers, another the crab salad on croissant from the club bar menu. Another friend and I choose pastas from the dinner menu. The wine list features plenty of standards, and a very healthy markup. We decide on the Grey Monk Pinot Auxerrois. It is very pleasant; light and fruity, with a hint of citrus.

The two pasta orders are brought to the table first. We wait a few moments for the rest of the order, and when it is not forthcoming, our friends encourage us to eat before our food gets cold. It takes several more minutes for the burgers and sandwich to materialize.

My dish is nicely plated. Pasta rounds filled with smoked mozzarella are garnished with basil oil; its bright green contrasts nicely with the pasta. The dish is dressed with some lightly grilled radicchio and romaine, one-half a roasted roma tomato, and a halved lamb sausage from Oyama. The sausage, tomato, and grilled vegetables are all very enjoyable, but the pasta is disappointing. The basil oil is tasteless, and there is no smokiness evident in the smoked mozzarella filling, which is hard work to chew. Evidently, this is cheese that does not melt in the time it takes to bring the pasta rounds to al dente status.

Everyone else appears to enjoy their supper. I filch a few fries from one of the burger plates, and they are pretty tasty.

Then it is time to order dessert. Carrot cake, a couple of cheescakes, a maple syrup creme brulee, and for me, one pound of apple pie. When the desserts come, they are elaborate affairs, highly garnished eye candy on over-sized plates.

The cheese cake is light, and the carrot cake is pronounced delicious. Only the maple creme brulee fails to impress. A huge portion, served in a mini-flan rather than a brulee vessel, it has a nice crackly crust, but the maple is overpowering, and the custard too rich.

I am not a big fan of pie, and so I leave most of the crust on the plate. The pastry is good, but I am only interested in the filling, and the warm, slightly caramelized apple slices are totally delicious accompanied by the vanilla bean ice cream. A wonderful consolation prize after the so-so pasta.

At the end of the evening, I ask my companions to rate their experiences at The Transcontinental, and almost everyone says “8.” My friends are always and exceedingly kind.

They remarked on the friendly service, and indeed the service was friendly in the right sort of way, which is to say not the way that gets in your face.

Our server, Matthew, whose name I only know because it is on the restaurant receipt, was a very nice young man. He was not the least bit discombobulated when I mentioned the kitchen might need a bit of work getting their orders out in time, patiently explaining to me that the pasta and sandwiches were on different menus.

Let me just say that problems of kitchen coordination are not something I give a flying poutine about. I know everything I need to know about the rigours of the kitchen from watching Kitchen Nightmares and Top Chef, as well as my early forays into the world of work.

Nonetheless, Matthew was pleasant and accommodating. In a room as luxe as The Transcontinental, though, I would like something extra, something as simple as the flourish of a peppermill, maybe even an amuse, and most certainly all, not just some, of the tablewear properly branded with The Transcontinental’s crisp blue logo.

For the most part, the food was good. But the food is good across the parking lot at Steamworks, too. Is good good enough?

No expense has been spared to create a beautiful and elegant room. With new, upscale restaurants opening practically every week in Vancouver, if The Transcontinental wants to stand out from the crowd, this room room should be a canvas for beautiful and elegant food, not for tried and true standards competently executed. Either that or settle for snagging tourists.

The Transcontinental, 601 West Cordova Street, 604-689-9151

Our recollection, from attending a Bruce Cockburn/Ron Sexsmith show at Malkin Bowl a couple years ago, was that the Dubrulle cooking school operated a takeout stand at the nearby pavillion. Our plan was to grab some takeout and head to Malkin Bowl to get seats for the Wilco show.

But it was not to be, not least because there were no chairs set up in Malkin Bowl, no doubt thanks to the city strike, though that’s another story.

Drubrulle’s stand was nowhere to be found. It had been replaced by the sit down only, very originally named, Stanley’s Park Bar & Grill.

The first three words in restaurant success, are of course, location, location, location. That and a decent beer selection is about all Stanley’s Park Bar & Grill has to offer. We were, unfortunately, hungry and therefore a captive audience in this latest experiment in P3 park food.

A printed sheet announced an abbreviated version of the formulaic menu they offer online. Only our empty stomachs, and the lack of any nearby alternatives that would enable us to get to the concert on time, motivated us to stay.

Our order: a chicken ceasar salad for me and a bowl of seafood chowder and a Stella Artois for Mr. Vancouverist. Our meal: an experience of eating out of sheer necessity.

The beer was, as always, pretty good. The chowder was a gluey concoction short on recognizable seafood. The salad was a lazy layering of romaine, bottled dressing, pita chips that stood in for proper croutons, and broiled chicken. To top it all off, Canadian parmesan. As much as I’m a proponent of local food, for Canadian parmesan I can must make an exception.

Service was little better than the food. The bill for soup, salad, and beer was a smidge over $31, not including tip. Mr. V, still hungry, mused about ordering some of their “park frites” with chive parmesan dip, but in the end demurred, opting for the ketchup-laced trans fat bullets sold at the concession in Malkin Bowl. And I’m very glad he did.

For more on the Shame of the Chicken Caesar, read what Michael Ruhlman has to say.

Mr. V. and I went to Anducci’s with a bit of curiosity and few expectations. Mr. V. was in the mood for pasta, and I had read that Anducci’s served a gluten-free (aka rice) variety, which would suit my most recent dietary experiment. One can only eat so much risotto.

We arrived at their Hastings Street location around 7pm last Friday, to find a mostly empty restaurant. The walk from the parking lot to the main entrance requires a stroll past a collection of statuary—eight are reproductions of Roman gods and goddesses—the ninth is a reproduction of the Hebrew King, David, whose reproduced package is unsubtly positioned at eye level.

Our experience more or less plateaued from there. We declined a seat on the statue-lined outdoor patio overlooking busy Hastings Street, and were seated by an open patio door that afforded us a great view of Venus’ comely and no doubt carb-free derrière.

Anducci’s food is not inexpensive, although they attempt to create the pretense that it is by serving it in huge heaps.

I ordered the Chicken Basilico, which was described as a rose sauce with roasted chicken, pesto, artichoke hearts, red peppers, pumpkin seeds, and marscapone. They were all in there somewhere, hiding in the mountain of rice noodles. In the end, I found two quarters of a canned artichoke heart and several chunks of what was clearly processed chicken.

Mr. V. ordered some sort of rotini concoction that came with chicken, snap peas, and bits of fluorescent pink sausage that tasted like slices from a dime store pepperoni. His pasta, at least, was properly cooked.

Neither of us were impressed enough to consider a second visit to this fun house, despite their efforts to accommodate dietary restrictions. Huge portions do not substitute for high quality.

Anducci’s is a forced and contrived facsimile of the Italian kitchen, much as KFC is a facsimile of the kitchens of the Deep South, except Anducci’s is a sit down place, decorated to manufacture fun.

Nowhere was this more apparent than in the ladies’ restroom. The commodes are elegant, and the tiled walls are quite lovely. One cannot help but notice, however, the blown up black and white homo-erotica: Tighty-whities and six packs, even one image of a gentleman in a studded collar and daddy hat. It was tasteful enough, but too “in your face” and the “nudge nudge, wink wink” got old really fast.

Mr. V. was not impressed enough by my description of the ladies’ room to find out what treats were in store for gentlemen.

Those of any gender who are hung up on political correctness might find the restrooms objectionable. Likewise parents of young children.

If you are an emerging adult, however, living out in the suburbs, and you don’t want to take the bus all the way into Gastown for dinner at the Spaghetti Factory, Anducci’s just might be ideal for you.

Anducci’s Cucina
6011 East Hastings Street
Burnaby

By the time we finally decided where to eat one recent Friday night, we were pretty hungry. It was nearing 8 pm when we arrived at the door of Rekados, which, despite graphically stylish signage, was oddly tucked away in an unassuming strip mall. The room, done mainly in red and black, was comfortably sleek and modern.

Rekados, which translates to English as “ingredients,” specializes in what it describes as modern Filipino cuisine. Since it was Mr. V’s and my first experience with Filipino food, we wouldn’t know modern from traditional, we agreed that we would start with stuff that didn’t sound too exotic. The pigs ears and beef tendons would have to wait for a later visit.

We started with kamote (sweet potato) fries, which were accompanied by hot banana ketchup and calamansi mayo. Sweet potato fries are never as crisp as their distant Irish relatives, but these had a rich, dense taste. The ketchup was tasty, with well concentrated tomato flavours, though not banana-like and not particularly spicy. The calamansi mayo was as delicious as any lemon aioli, with a lovely citrus note.

We also ordered the Adobo Special, a chicken and pork dish, and Curry Chicken Pina, which also contained coconut, pineapple, and peppers. Both dishes were attractively plated and tasty, though perhaps not the most adventuresome items on the menu. These two dishes, along with the kamote fries and some steamed rice, provided more than enough food for the two of us, despite the advanced state of our hunger that night.

Service was hospitable and warm, though a little slow in the starting and the getting of the cheque. Otherwise, it was attentive and well-paced. Our bill, including a bottle of Stella Artois for Mr. V., came to a very reasonable $36, not including tip. Rekados has a small wine and beer list plus a full bar and cocktail service, along with bubble teas and slush-type drinks.

We will definitely return, though most likely with someone who is more acquainted with Filipino cuisine and can encourage us to eat more adventurously.

Rekados. 4063 Main Street, 604-873-3133.

This comfortable neighbourhood hideaway on the edge of Kits features high stools that seat patrons at eye level with servers. Tables topped with stainless steel provide a modern contrast in a room that is otherwise a statement of informal elegance. Earthy tones of chocolate, custard, and cream are barely lit by rococo crystal chandeliers.

I arrived with a friend on a recent early Friday evening to find Vintropolis about half full of what looked to mostly be 30-something happy Kitsilano habitués. We had decided to drop in for a snack and a glass of wine before proceeding with the rest of our evening.

The food menu offered a variety of small plates as well as larger entrées, all designed to be wine friendly, because wine is the name of the game at Vintropolis. There are over 150 wines on offer, including about 60 by the glass, and a series of themed wine flights—each a series of three two-ounce glasses.

A couple of glasses of Malbec and the antipasto platter kept us happily chatting for the better part of an hour. The antipasto was generously and artfully arrayed, consisting of a tasty selection of mixed olives, grilled vegetables, tapenade, salumi, prosciutto, goat cheese, pita bread and toasted baguette. Service was friendly, the wine good, and the food fresh.

By the time we left around 7:30, the room was full with hardly a man in sight. Whether that was because of the restaurant’s proximity to the Zalko fitness emporium, or some other random phenom, or merely a coincidence, it was notable.

More than two years after opening, Vintropolis and its next door VQA wine shop continue to thrive. Hopefully, it will continue to warm its eastern corner of Kitsilano for a many more years.

1809 West 1st Ave.     Tel: 604-732-8827

After an early evening meeting, I joined a couple of colleagues for a bite at Aqua Riva. This restaurant’s location at the foot of Granville Street provides it, on a bright and sunny day, with a panoramic view of water and mountains that takes in the sails of the Vancouver Convention Center as well as the working port to the east.

But Vancouver is not always bright and sunny, and it may be because our rainy days and dark nights obscure the view that Aqua Riva has gone a little over the top with its décor.

Although the room is large, a huge mural in yellows and blues, which dominated one wall, and that attempted to portray both nautical and mythical themes in a style that echoed Art Deco sensibilities, was obstreperous and stilted, at least for my taste

Likewise two-toned chairs with scalloped seat backs, which hearkened back to the over-the-top 1980s. But that’s just my taste talking—the overall effect wasn’t so jarring that I wanted to leave the room without my supper.

Aqua Riva was mostly empty during our mid-week visit, and it is far too large a room to enjoy when it is empty. Eventually another table of guests arrived and were seated near us, which cheered the place up a bit.

For the most part, I found the menu unappealing, with many of the offerings overly gussied up. A star anise and goat cheese croustade on a green salad did not appeal, nor did the pesto and smoked cheddar atop a mushroom pizza composed of portobellos, oysters, and shiitakes. It was all pretty much like that, with most menu offerings having one ingredient too many—something that either didn’t harmonize or failed to inspire.

In the end, I settled on a Wood Roasted BBQ Duck Pizza that came with shiitakes, spinach, onion confit, roasted eggplant and smoked cheddar. It was the best of an uninspiring lot. I’d already snacked on an uninspiring sandwich at the meeting, which might have explained my low level of enthusiasm.

One of my colleagues ordered the Duck Pizza as well. The other, whose office is nearby and dines at Aqua Riva often, ordered the “tapas” grilled lamb T-bone (with crisp vegetable salad and pancetta & shallot mignonette) and a side of arugula (with grilled red potatoes, pine nuts, garlic and shallots).

Vancouver is not known for its pizza, and Aqua Riva’s BBQ duck “pizza” was what it was. It had a very thin crust, a bit too dry, but not at all bad. The toppings were generous, of good quality, and tasted fine, with the onion confit dominating everywhere except for a spot on each slice where a small mound of duck had been strategically lumped. It was pretty filling, and I took half of it home.

A couple of days later, while rummaging through our fridge in search of a snack, Mr. Vancouverist came upon the pizza remains, which he nuked, ate, and pronounced good. The crust had maintained its crispiness, and the rest of the ingredients were still fresh.

The lamb and arugula combination was described as delicious, and my other colleague ate all of her BBQ duck pizza. This was all washed down with something white, I think from the Naramata Bench, but the details have escaped my recall.

Service was polite and gracious, and prices are in line for restaurants of similar quality. Sides and appetizers are priced up to $15, including the pizzas, while main courses are in the $30 range.

Aqua Riva is in an enviable location within walking distance to the Waterfront Centre and Pan Pacific hotels, Canada Place, the Trade & Exhibition Centre, the IMAX Theatre, and the cruise ship terminals. They have access to the tourist trade, in spades. They do not need my business, and they probably don’t need yours, either.

200 Granville Street, Vancouver, BC
Phone: 604-683-5599

We’d never done a Dine Out Vancouver before, but Mr. V and I decided that, since it’s a growing event, 156 restaurants this year compared to 144 last year, we might as well give it a go.

We flipped through the menus on the Dine Out website, trying to match our tastes to one of the prix fixe menus. There were plenty of places we’d like to try—West, which sold out in something like 12 minutes, Rain City Grill, Blue Water Café, Aurora Bistro, and Il Giardino, and so on, but we weren’t entranced by any of their Dine Out menus. We wanted a menu that offered at least two starters and two mains and for which we would feel some fond anticipation. We knew the Dine Out food would be good at almost all of the first tier restaurants, but boring and good is not what we were looking for, even at Dine Out Vancouver prices.

Finally, we settled on La Terrazza. Mr. V. liked the sound of the pasta starter and the spare ribs, and I knew that I will be happy with either the mushroom soup or the Caesar salad starter, plus the fish of the day. Dessert we don’t really care so much about; it is something we can take or leave, and leave more often.

We didn’t plan to make a night of dinner, not when most participating restaurants are hoping to squeeze in three nightly seatings, so when La Terrazza offered us a 5:30 reservation on the last Saturday night of Dine Out, we took it.

We leave the house just after 5 pm and arrive in Yaletown early, grab a metered spot just outside the door, because Mr. V. doesn’t want any valets messing with his sensitive clutch, and walk in, apologizing to the hostesses for being early. They are friendly, and we are seated promptly.

La Terrazza’s main room, done in Umbrian colours, is spacious, with a high ceiling, but also intimate. The overall effect is one of understated elegance—look closely, and it becomes evident that much thought and fine detail has gone into creating this restaurant’s ambience. It is the sort of place you take someone (a prospective customer, lover, or in-laws) when you need to make a good impression yet avoid ostentation.

The first basket of bread comes to the table with a side dish of bean dip, not unlike a hummus, but with a slightly grainier texture. The whole-wheat house bread is excellent, the focaccia even more so, finished with coarse sea salt.

Service is pleasant and accommodating. It is early, the restaurant is only half full, and our waiter is relaxed enough to chat a bit while we place our order. I have questions about the fish, and even though I know I must sound tiresome, I must ask, and am reassured that the striped bass is not an endangered species. We order as we planned, and decide to go with the wine flight as well.

Our starters arrive after an acceptably relaxed wait. My salad, although garnished with a fig, is pretty much what one would expect a Caesar salad starter to be. It is competently prepared from good quality ingredients, and not overly large.

The strozzapretti (aka priest chokers) are properly al dente and nicely sauced in the delicious house ragù, classic Bolognese, again a small portion, but a hearty dish all the same.

The chardonnay that comes with the primi, a Peller Estates that may have been a cab franc blend, has a bit of harshness up front, but a satisfying, almost buttery finish.

More bread comes, this time with olive oil and balsamic, while we wait for our mains.

Mr. V.’s spareribs are in a tower atop spinach, caramelized red onions, and buttery mashed potatoes that have a faint hint of horseradish. It is a well-executed winter dish, and a generous portion.

My fish of the day is a classic Italian rendition of sea bass, or branzino, served over watercress, carrot, parsnip, and a sort of vegetable strudel with a heavy crust that doesn’t seem to go with the dish. The fish itself is well cooked, lightly sauced, and garnished with capers and caper berries.

The Mission Hill Shiraz that comes with the mains is drinkable, but it has a slightly medicinal nose.

There are two choices for dessert, and we order one of each. Again, these are competently executed. The crème brûlée has a nicely crackly crust, and the chocolate terrine is dark and rich, but not particularly complex.

Dessert is paired with a moscato d’astio; it is slightly bubbly, not too sweet, and a charming finish to our first visit to La Terrazza.

Later that night we discuss the Dine Out concept and decide it has two advantages, which really might be one and a half. Dine Out provides an opportunity to sample the service, ambience, and kitchen skills of a particular restaurant without a huge cash outlay, and/or it offers you a three-course dinner that features a free dessert. We are not sure if we’ll try the Dine Out experience again next year.

We are more sure that we would like to go back to La Terrazza. We really liked the main room, and the Enoteca, a private room that seats up to 25. It’s reported they also have a lovely patio for the summer. Despite being “Dine Out” customers, we were well looked after by the staff. The food was very good, and we think for a regular service, it would probably be better.

There is also La Terrazza’s award-winning, 1300-item wine list, which is impressive in both geographic scope and quality range, offering everything from B.C vintners like Mission Hill and La Frenz to the great French and Italian wines including Margaux, Petrus, and Antinori.

Not that we’re big drinkers ourselves, but we know some folks who are, and with whom we love to dine. They are probably salivating while they read this.

During this year’s Dine Out Vancouver event, Chef Hawksworth’s crew at West Restaurant will devote their nightly energies to three very busy seatings and a menu that, though stellar, will soon enough become for them a monotonous conveyor belt. How many mosaic of chicken and fois gras does it take to drive a line cook mad?

Meanwhile, Rob Feenie, Chef at Lumière, and Hawksworth’s only serious rival for the best restaurant in Vancouver, has decided to sit out this Dine Out, and focus on his regular customers.

West’s manager, Owen Knowlton, told Mia Stainsby of the Vancouver Sun that West will hold a few tables back from Dine Out for their regulars. If I were one of those who could afford to dine regularly at the likes of Lumière and West, however, I’d likely avoid the madding crowds altogether, and plant my privileged bottom in Feenie’s room on West Broadway instead of Hawksworth’s on the “Granville Rise”.

As for Mr. V and me, we are celebrating a combined Paying off the Car Loan, Dine Out Vancouver, and Early Valentine’s Day at La Terrazza. Life is good in east Vancouver.

On a winter night, the Chinatown block of Georgia Street that Vancouver’s Phnom Penh restaurant inhabits is dark and desolate. Most nearby businesses are closed. First timers might have a spot of trouble finding this Cambodian and Vietnamese restaurant run by the Huynh family. But it is worth the search. 

Upon entering, the light greets you first, then the warmth of many faces, and finally the aroma, which is garlicky but fragrant, lifted by a dozen other Asian spices. This greeting is a welcome contrast to the somber street outside.

Otherwise, the room is unremarkable, a typical family-style Asian restaurant with basic tables and a few ornaments and paintings, save one small detail—an altar in a small alcove at floor level, which, along with the requisite flowers and images, contains what appears to be a Gordon’s Gin bottle filled half-way with a dark black liquid. One only notices it on the way to the washroom, which though a touch sketchy, is clean and tidy enough.

Why does Anthony Bourdain like this restaurant so much? Why did the New York Times rave about it? And why was it a favourite of the late, great Julia Child?

Was it the deep-fried squid, with the lemon garlic sauce? Mr. V. certainly thought so, and not just for the absence of wedding rings and tentacles. I thought the squid was all right, a bit greasy for me, even after a day of hard-at-it Christmas shopping, though the lemon pepper sauce did staunch the greasiness a little.

The dish that blew me away was the clams in basil and lemongrass. Fabulous, and perfectly accompanied by my jackfruit moo shake, and by Mr. V.’s beer.

For our last dish, we ordered a chicken and onion hot pot. We were told this would take thirty minutes to prepare, and it was served just as we’d finished the clams and squid. This was a plainer dish, solid enough in its own way.

Other favourites appear to be the Cambodian hot and sour soup, the deep-fried chicken wings, the dry noodles, and the durian rice dessert. We may pass on the latter, but we’ll definitely be back to Phnom Penh again soon. Mr. V. is already jonesing for more of that famous squid.

Prices were very reasonable. Service was welcoming, unpretentious, unhurried, and relaxed. Despite the crowds, it was nice to know the Phnom Penh was not in a rush to send us back out into the dark street.

244 East Georgia Street, Vancouver
604-682-5777