
Cloudstreet Berry Stack$24
Buttermilk flax pancakes, summer berry compote, maple syrup.
One room, twelve metres above Burrard Street. Glass on two sides, and the light crossing it all day — from the first coffee at half six to the last of it past nine. This is that day.
Coffee goes out at half six, when the towers across Burrard are still dark and the room has the light to itself. Eggs from the valley, salmon we cure downstairs, pancakes under whatever fruit came in ripe that week. Come before eight and you will more or less have the place.



Tables from half six. Before eight, the room is yours.
Plates land inside fifty minutes and the window tables look straight down Burrard at Georgia — the busiest corner in the city, which almost nobody has ever eaten above. Chowder thick with halibut and prawns. Tomatoes picked this week. A salad worth ordering on its own.



Fifty minutes, door to door. Ask for a window table.
“Where land & sea meet, ingredients are at their most vibrant, expressive, & alive.”
Halibut from forty fathoms down. Prawns off the shore. Eggs and berries out of the Fraser silt, tomatoes from the Okanagan, elk and juniper from the rainforest above it. The whole climb, in one sitting.
For about an hour the whole room turns amber, and this is the hour the menu was written for. Craig Sung cooks what the coast is giving that week — halibut off Haida Gwaii, elk and juniper on the board, a striploin with the truffle jus poured at the table. He came from Forage, where local sourcing was an argument rather than a garnish.


The light holds until nine. Sit on the west glass.
Then the room goes quiet, the kitchen writes tomorrow’s menu around whatever arrives in the morning, and the whole thing starts again at half six.