I tend to disagree with this statement on the bases that not a single restaurant has convinced me - a non-lover of rambunctious, greasy Cantonese diners - to willingly act as company on more than one occasion and that there are unarguably classier dishes to be found in Metro Vancouver.
To be frank, the chosen appellation was far from fitting. The night started off a tad chaotic, but otherwise adhered to schedule. The restaurant's true colours were revealed with the delivery of the ten-course meal.
On the positive side, the roasted pork had been executed to perfection: uniform marbling of fat and flesh were sealed underneath crispy, amber-toned skin.
Spinach stalks and shiitake mushrooms were passable albeit greasy; the abalone boasted a suppler texture than anticipated.