The Flying Pig - News

BUZZ BISHOP AND THEBIGWATER VISIT THE FLYING PIG GASTOWN

April 5, 2014

The gas in Gastown refers to Gassy Jack, a famous district resident, but in the modern era it could easily be because the district is a gastronomes delight. After the WordCamp Vancouver conferencedowntown, my colleague implored that we take a walk to the tacky tourist shops and cobbled streets to find something to eat. While the shops selling tshirts with all sorts of stereotypical Canadiana may bring a furrow to your brow, the restaurants will not. There is Pourhouse, Salt Tasting Room, Alibi Room, Irish Heather, and Boneta to name a few. Our choice was to stop in to The Flying Pig at…

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THE FLYING PIG | VANCOUVER, CANADA

April 5, 2014

A few weeks back I had the good fortune to try out a relative newcomer to the Vancouver restaurant scene: The Flying Pig. Located in the heart of Yaletown, the restaurant has a classic, casual elegance yet communal feel making it as much a likely stop for pre-theatre dinners and special occasion meals as it is for a mid-week bite out. However, arrive early or expect to wait, as it seems to be busy most nights of the week. The service was friendly and familiar, not too stiff, and the staff…

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Raising The Bar

At The Flying Pig, in Vancouver’s Yaletown, the tucked away feel, and instant camaraderie gained amongst us, the barkeep, and fellow trough dwellers only adds to the fabulous fare and libations. True, when you pull up only a few feet from the server’s domain it is difficult to not receive acknowledgement, but she is busy too. With the bar close at hand, I have the ability to taste test the Razor’s Edge Shiraz before committing, and can easily request a small alteration without causing a scene to the delectable Beetroot…

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Alexandra Gil / Globe and Mail Review of The Flying Pig

June 3, 2014

Authenticity. Rustic style. Down-home cooking. Good value. These are the winning calling cards for today’s new restaurants. And while some know how to execute this unpretentious philosophy exceptionally well, others just don’t get it. Take, for example, a recent dinner I had in Toronto. The critically acclaimed restaurant (which shall remain nameless) is an unremarkable hole-in-the-wall with bare walls and tacky pink tiles that serves Low Country/Acadian fare with an extra helping of attitude. I enjoyed my shrimp grits in a glossy ham-hock broth. And I adored a large order…

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