The Flying Pig: Fat Rats Pig Out

We would like to formally introduce the Fat Rats, a group of girls whose vision of a party centres around food. The group nickname started off as a casual joke made by Papaya Crumpet, but it was so applicable and suited us perfectly that it stuck. To the point where Coconut Crumpet spent over an hour meticulously cutting out paper letters as props for our graduation group photo-shoot. F-A-T-R-A-T-S. 

So after we held those letters for less than two minutes, the session was over and we were charged 75-freaking-dollars. That photography company starting with the letter A exists to pocket poor about-to-enter-university student's what-could've-been-tuition money by the stacks. To make us all feel better that we didn't waste hours of our precious time prettying up and getting stuck in traffic to get to Vancouver, we braved the downpour of typical autumn rain to get dinner at the The Flying Pig. 

Even without a reservation (because they don't take reservations for dinner), we were seated quickly and our dripping wet umbrellas joined the impressive pile by the entrance. Lighting is dim and the decor is cozy, the ambiance sitting between that of a classy restaurant and a casual neighbourhood joint. The Fat Rats were probably the youngest and most formally dressed diners in the whole restaurant. Not awkward at all..

While we examined the menu, water was brought to the table in glass bottles that resemble vintage milk bottles. Our waiter took our order, and our photos before zipping back into the open kitchen where tons of cooks moved to and fro from stove tops and hot appliances.

Muscles, Clams, and Fries