No, not the surrey with the fringe on top. Surrey, British Columbia.
Like armies, most of us travel on our stomachs, preoccupied with what we’re eating now and what we’re eating next. Not wishing to belly-scooch up Highway I-5 to Surrey, BC, I drove. Still, my stomach, sensing the city’s culinary force, as dogs sense scraps, gurgled in anticipation as we drew closer.
A Sounding Board
But this was not merely a culinary trip. I sought to tangle my fingers into as much of Surrey’s macramé as time allowed, led, as always, by my unceasing culinary lust. I began my exploration of the city, separated from Vancouver by the Fraser River, by stopping first at Healing Sounds Studio, run by Maria Koehn, where I got sound therapy.
The sound therapy drew on science, spiritual references, flickering candles, fluorescent Himalayan salt stones, chimes, gongs, and instruments that produced supernatural tones – the entire New Age armamentarium. It began with me standing in a large brass “grounding” bowl and wearing another brass bowl on my head, clamlike. Maria tapped it with a wand, releasing a long, lingering chime. If I’d been outside in a storm, I’d be toast.
Untoasted, but ready for butter, Maria directed me to lie down on a comfortable mat and slip on a sleeping mask. She began sonically buttering me. She rubbed large porcelain bowls – originally developed for the microchip industry – with a wand. Each produced a different resonant tone, like the sound of rubbing a finger around the wet rim of a wine glass. She interspersed the tones with rainsticks, gongs and chimes (a person next to me began to snore) and spoke therapeutically about letting go of our weights and worries.
And, slipping into a dreamlike state, I did. I left loosened – and hungry.
An Appetite Without Borders
It’s not uncommon to belly up to the bar. But it is uncommon to belly up to a Golgappa Bar, at least in North America. We did that at Apna Chaat House, which could have been lifted from a bustling street in Mumbai. Golgappas (aka pani puris) are crisp, hollow spheres, like ping-pong balls, commonly made from semolina and filled with potato and lentils. They pour flavored waters such as guava, mint, mango, or tamarind into these. You pop one in your mouth, and it explodes with flavor and texture. Beer is a natural accompaniment.
Still ravenous, I continued to VanSuya, a Nigerian restaurant with a spare interior, where I ate smoky chicken jollof, a large, braised chicken thigh atop rice cooked with tomato and hot pepper, scented (I think) with garam masala. It required yet another beer. Their pounded yam, a dense mound of yam paste with the consistency of Play-Doh, bore no relation whatsoever to Thanksgiving candied yams (which, to be pedantic, are really sweet potatoes). It functioned as a bland vehicle for the richly spiced spinach served alongside it.
The City, Layer by Layer
Surrey, like its sibling Vancouver, is home to a large, diverse immigrant population, and you can taste its demographics as readily as you can chart them. Within a small area, you can eat at restaurants that are Indian (street food), Indian (high-end), Nigerian, Middle Eastern, European, Colombian, Thai, Korean, Japanese, to name only a few. Their culinary traditions intermingle and recombine in wonderful ways. You can get butter chicken pizza. You can get Indian-spiced fried chicken.
That evening I checked into the Civic Hotel (Autograph Collection), a handsome spike that towers above a rapid transit station and the Civic Plaza. The walls of my room were entirely glass, yet I felt cossetted within. And below, the illuminated station, the trolleys, and the plaza looked a lot like my childhood train set.
The Sunflower Café
The next morning, I entered The Sunflower Café, which radiated a comforting Gilmore Girls vibe. Gnawing an exemplary cranberry scone with no icing deficit, I chatted with owner Sym Thiele. She told me that surviving the tumultuous restaurant trade meant treating her staff like family – with genuine affection and warmth. The proof was in the service. I’ve heard this sentiment from other women helming exceptional kitchens: the deliberate inverse of Escoffier’s militarized Brigade System. Gun vs. Hearth.
Inland in Surrey, it’s easy to forget that you’re beside the sea. So it was a joy to stroll along a path near Crescent Beach. In late September, I inhaled the perfume of autumn’s first vinegar and brine. A few minutes there did me almost as much good as a puppy video. Ah, if only my pup had been with me.
Yes, I liked the falafel at Crispy Falafel. But what I really adored was their lamb shawarma. Swaddled in warm roti, sour pickle sharply accented the unctuous lamb. The yogurt sauce within had a beguiling wisp of cardamom, that glorious, witchy spice. And then, on top of this, they have a gnarly garlic sauce you can dip it in. Beware of addiction.
How to Drink Like a Lady
I visited Vinoscenti Vineyards, owned by Dr. Clinton Lee and his wife, Serena Lu. Serena was off in Paris, the wont of all winemakers, and so I had the pleasure of Dr. Lee’s hospitality alone. He wore a jacket with a crisply folded silk pocket square, exuded urbanity and soon, I discovered, erudition as well. I was there not so much to taste wine as to learn how to taste wine. His directions had a specificity that reminded me of those I’d heard of for greeting the late Queen Elizabeth.
You must first inspect your wine by tilting your glass and checking for insects or bits of cork. Then you must swirl the glass eight times to release its aroma. Then you must bring your nose right into the glass to check for off-odors such as wet cardboard or nail-polish remover.
Next, you must sip a quarter-teaspoon and swish it around, sucking in a little air to coat your mouth and aerate the liquid. Then you must time how long the flavors linger. Four seconds: outstanding wine. Three seconds: very good wine. Two seconds: good wine. One second: basic wine. And, I suppose, zero seconds: swill.
A tolerant man, he abided my quips. I can’t disagree with his advice, and I will endeavor to follow it, but I do know that when I do, my wife will conk me on the head. The highlight of the lesson was when Dr. Lee turned to my female companion and gently told her, “Hold your glass like a lady.”
YL’s Curry Bowl
Tucked inside the T&T Food court, I ate dinner at YL’s Curry Bowl, a Malaysian restaurant. As owner Yvonne Lee spoke to us, her two sweet kidlets nuzzled and clasped her. After trying her food, I had to suppress the impulse to do the same. Her Hainanese Chicken, chicken gently poached with ginger, garlic, and scallions, was subtlety itself. They served it with rice perfectly cooked in the resulting broth. Her beef curry was really a mildly spiced coconut beef stew. If two roads diverged in a wood, I would surely choose the one that led here. It would make all the difference.
Hands, Hearts, and Homegrown Pleasures
I started the next morning at Tufted with Love, a female-owned arts studio. Co-owner Leen Zinalddin presided. I had never heard of tufting before, but the moment I saw it, I recognized it. It was what my mom did over a childhood summer to create a family tapestry. She used a manual instrument that looked like a vegetable peeler to punch yarn through a fabric underlayment pulled tight, painstakingly creating images of her children. It hangs in my home today.
I used a handheld machine that resembled a Tommy gun. Pull the trigger and it rat-a-tat-tatted tufts of yarn through an underlayment at vastly greater speed than my mom’s one-punch-at-a-time. Leen drew a charming ghost outline on a square patch of underlayment, set tautly in a frame. I chose the yarn colors I wanted and went at it. I loved it! Apparently, others do too. In Fall 2027, Leen hopes to open a new, larger flagship location in Surrey that will be the focus of their business expansion. They will keep their Vancouver location as a sister shop
Surrey Nature Centre
I wandered among the trees at Surrey Nature Centre, which started in 2008. They planted the trees here to test for climate resilience. Our guide, Kashifa Hafeez, enjoyed this Centre as a child and exuded such a caring enthusiasm for her mission that I felt it too. The Centre strongly emphasizes public education in order to transfer this enthusiasm to those who follow. We passed a good-sized tomato patch that a woman started who wasn’t solicited to plant them, but asked permission to do so. She simply wanted others to have the pleasure of picking them. With excitement in her voice, she told us the exact number of tomatoes growing. I think she was a Surrey avatar.
Few would characterize our lunch at family-run Colombian Union Latinos – owner, Miguel Potes – as spa cuisine. They grilled steak, chorizo, and plantain over rice with a nose cone of fried eggs. There was a fabulous piece of pork belly with the rind still on, crisped as they do in Hong Kong roast meat shops. There were empanadas, and cylindrical pastries filled with molten cheese, like fashion-conscious mozzarella sticks. And crowning all was a pastry stuffed with pink guava paste, an unsung flavor that selfish fruitarians, besotted with its flavor, will hoard for themselves.
The Buzz About Surrey
At Honeybee Centre I learned about bees, the business of bees, and making candles. The science and business were fascinating, but neither held a candle to candle-making. I did this two ways under the tutelage of co-owner and candle-maker Cassie Gibeau: first by filling a silicone mold (of a Christmas Nutcracker), wicking down its center with molten beeswax and letting it harden. Second, by rolling a sheet of beeswax around a wick. Rarely exalted for my artistic talent or dexterity, these were deeply satisfying activities suited to my competence that I’d gladly do again given the chance. Of course, you can also buy different types of honey, from small jars to industrial barrels, plus honey soap, honey candy, and more. The store smelled of honey, the scent of meadow.
Soul Food, in More Ways Than One
My final dinner was at Zikr, located within the Holiday Inn & Suites Surrey East – Cloverdale. Their naan could be controlled substances. I would eat a manual typewriter were it spread with their tamarind chutney, which, unexpectedly, is also used in their remarkably scrumptious Imli Jalwa cocktail. They made their Amritsari Fish Tikka with chunks of Basa fillet. I was told that customers regularly come from Seattle to eat it, ordering nothing else. Basa is a freshwater catfish from Vietnam, mild, unfishy, like tender-fleshed halibut. Lacquered with yogurt and spices, it was done in the tandoor so the exterior was lightly blistered and the interior barely seized. Texturally contrasted by snappy rings of red onion, rarely have I eaten something so delicious. Chef Rohit Shetti said, ”Our goal is to connect the customer’s soul to Indian cuisine.”
Vancouver is reputed as the superstar sibling, and you’d be forgiven for thinking Surrey got shorted. But could it be the other way around? Self-confident Surrey feels no need to flex. Here, immigration isn’t merely accommodated; it’s regarded as an asset. Its kitchens reflect that same temperament: rooted in heritage, open to evolution, producing food that is not merely authentic but often astonishing. Surrey’s macramé, I discovered, is woven from threads that connect us soul to soul.
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Read more from David, who usually writes with his wife, Susan, on their website: Ardent Gourmet
If You Go
Whereas driving to Vancouver, BC, from the American border takes about 45 minutes in good traffic, driving to Surrey, BC, takes about 15 minutes. Bring an appetite.
