​Much as The Tablo Podcast says, maturity is often depicted with a sense of minimalism, eradicating elements extraneous to one's overall functionality. The coming of age and its associated responsibilities as a contributing member of society nixes the need for abundant acquaintances and a house full of knickknacks.

​With each passing day, I strive to reduce the count of material goods embedded in my immediate surroundings, shifting preference of nominal presents from barely familiar faces to financial stability and adequate food supply. This is not to say that the fewer the friends, the better. Rather, it is a nod to new experiences free from unnecessary frills.

The occasional dine-out pays homage to this quarantine-founded concept. Drearily has the past week passed me, with work tasks consuming the bulk of my waking hours (and even some of my subconscious ones in the form of apprehensive dreams). Well overdue was a weekday lunch, and with a crippling craving for ramen, I suggested a visit to Kinton.

Of course, the go-to option has never veered from Kenzo - er, now Kamen. It is with remarkable regret that the re-branded restaurant offers no patio for in-store dining. Thus, the less preferable alternative was sought out.

​Tables were relatively empty at the late lunchhour of 2 PM. The franchise's storefront faced Confederation Parkway, where patrons were successfully shaded from the blaze of the sun though subject to the comparatively less desirable state of wind and rampant dust particles from traversing construction trucks. Despite landing ourselves at a loathsome location of a patio, we proceeded with the meal with consideration to stomach emptiness, glancing back to our vehicle every so often in fear of parking enforcement crews. (What a travesty metred parking spots are.)

​Upon entry, one member of each party was required to input information on a Health Declaration Form. The list requested details including guest name, phone number, entry time, and a signature; a pen - wrapped in neither plastic nor visibly sanitized resided adjacent. In spite of the declarative application, no temperatures were taken. Servers wore masks, though guests were not required to do the same, even when accessing washroom facilities. For the most part, we complied with the masking, even in the absence of others in our 2-metre radius, for the gusts of granular material were as unpleasant as could be.
We enlisted a member of the waitstaff for a wipedown of our sand-speckled table, who took to a damp cloth that brushed ours before immediately navigating to a different one. The utilization of a single cleansing cloth was common practice amongst waitstaff prior to COVID-19, however the scene induced a questionable eyebrow raise in today's times.

Guests were provided the options of individually packaged disposable utensils and plastic cups or the franchise's array of standard eating equipment, inclusive of a funky smelling ladle and Stainless steel water cups.

We took to orders of Takoyaki, Pork Original ramen with thin noodles, and seasonal Chilled Tsukemen, discarding mindfulness of their atrocious prices and overly rich broth in the moment.
Four teensy pieces of very, very average Takoyaki set us back a whopping $5.50. Surrendering bonito flakes to the wind, the morsels were left with tonkatsu sauce and mayo as toppings. For the record, this was an instance where fat (deep frying) did not equate to flavour.

​Those under the impression that Chilled Tsukemen would be on the same page as refreshing Korean naengmyeon couldn't be further from the truth. Thick starchy noodles coated in an obscene amount of oil was delivered to the table, sans dipping sauce. I appreciated the generous portion of sesame seeds, as well as the grated daikon. For a Japanese establishment though, I expected wasabi that was less powdery and scallions more finely chopped. The dish was far too slick for a summer afternoon - or any meal at any time of day, really - leading me to halt consumption within a few mouthfuls, despite being famished. The soy broth, once it eventually arrived, was also heavier than expected. Surprisingly, the two thin slices of pork shoulder were the least greasy of the entire composition.

​Much like sushi, carbohydrates is a food group I could never possibly surrender. Complex or refined, they deserve distinct placement in my diet and serve as valuable sources of energy.

Day-to-day activities rarely deviate from the standard cycle of work, errand-running, chore-doing, and cooking, so when the opportunity to make a departure from routine arises, I'll gladly oblige.

I had bookmarked Tatsu's Bread for several seasons, though had constantly put off the drive as neither its coordinates nor operating hours were in agreement with my schedule. As the loaf on our countertop began to wither away to nothingness, I took it as a sign to venture along Lakeshore and snap up the last of the day's assortment.

​To the left were pastries: individual cake slices and pudding cups; to the right were the various varieties of bread. Situated in the centre were cookies, croissants, muffins, and the like. A chalkboard menu hung high on the wall, just behind the cashier.

We took to a range of items before retreating back into the car, requesting disposable forks for consumption as the dining floor remained closed. With the exception of the Egg Bread and Cheese Stick, the remainder of our purchases were subject to HST - quite regrettable as these two happened to be the highlights of the visit.

​Devoured in the car were a Chocolate Roll Cake, Lemon Roll Cake, and small Chocolate Croissant. Despite the croissant being less flaky than desired, the roll cakes were an interesting afternoon snack. Exceptionally moist with a layer of jam sandwiched between the sponge and whipping cream, neither piece proved particularly satiating. Lemon was the airier specimen of the two, unsurprisingly, while Chocolate featured a rather tart profile (with questionable bits of crackle reminiscent of crushed eggshells). 

​Consumed at a later point in time were two Pecan Tarts (not me) and an inexplicably mushy Potato Bagel. ​

Bearing the stereotypical Executive personality, I've always held a firm stance on rules and rewards, that prizes stem from hard work, that gains are proportional to the amount of effort exerted, and that freedom is not a right but a privilege. The pandemic has stripped many of a stable lifestyle, whether that be in the form of an occupation (financial freedom), an unmasked jog around the block (physical freedom), or the mere act of interacting with others within an arm's length (social freedom).

Halton Region had proceeded to Stage 2 as a result of comprehensive compliance, and for the first time since the outbreak, I stepped foot into a restaurant with the intention of residing longer than ten minutes. Moreover, I'd be ingesting sustenance in the presence of another human - one that neither shared the same household nor the same familial circle. Even the sheer contemplation was baffling.

Cove had been selected as the lunch destination of choice for our annual summer get-together. Eateries equipped with patios aren't common sightings in the burbs, though spaces along the waterfront are generally your best bet.

To provide peace of mind, OpenTable had included a new section detailing the safety precautions declared by the restaurant. ​And upon my arrival, it was observed that tables had indeed been arranged to respect physical distancing. Arrows instructing guest flow had also been taped to the floor; there was a distinct one-way path to guide patrons to their table, to bathroom facilities, then out the back door as an egress point. In the washroom, a bottle of disinfectant was spotted near the sinks, though its intended function missing in action. Stalls were compact and offered less than 2 metres of maneuver room; given this, a sign restricting entry numbers would have been deemed fitting. Menus were tackier than preferred, but majority of waitstaff bore face masks.

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​I had ascended the stairs to the covered patio first, then immediately seated and provided with warm water (because tap water can be concerning in current circumstances). With the arrival of my long-time dining partner, we quickly relayed items of interest off the menu to our waitress, who, might I add, was exceptional. Friendly, helpful, and attentive in the appropriate capacities, she was an indisputable element in our collective enjoyment of the experience.

​The setting was gorgeous - one could not possibly deny the charm of a waterfront view on a balmy summer afternoon. Further elevating the appeal were the abundance of natural illumination, beachhouse-like wooden furnishings and white walls, and the shrubbery that encased it all (both artificial and genuine).
Monica Bellucci and a refreshing, zesty White Sangria kept us content until the arrival of four warm plates.

A gustatory experience is a sensory undertaking - one that ought to be anticipated, savoured, and then relished in the subsequent moments.

​To succeed as an entity offering fare for the people, one must first define a niche market. The next step is to grasp an understanding of the demographic, their baseline, and inclination towards dispense of disposable income. In today's class of Basic Business, we shall review a case (study) of two cafés - one notably new to the St. Lawrence neighbourhood, the other established in East York.

​mon K is a longtime occupant of its primarily residential district, offering Japanese-inspired French pastries in a cozy coffee shop context. Parking is an anxiety-inducing nightmare for driving disciplines, and, while available, is subject to payment by the meter. The patisserie is as renowned for their elaborate cakes as their dissent of credit cards; cash and debit are the preferred methods of money exchange, though e-transfer is also offered (no PayPal here).
The pastry selection is quite vast, spanning from macarons to complex dome desserts. A similar approach was adopted for the beverage menu, though it sufficed to say that there was but a single row that succeeded in instigating appeal.

​Service was lacklustre on both occasions, as was the quality of the $2.95 twelve-ounce cups containing what couldn't possibly be Iced Coffee, the meek paper straws, abhorrent abundance of ice, and weak, watery profile indicative of the staff's commitment to customer satisfaction. Regrettably, the bakery items revealed no distinct difference: overpriced, soggy, and bearing atrociously minimal filling was the Pistachio Custard roll; relentlessly sugary to a fault was the $5.95 Mont Blanc. T'was indeed an 이불킥 moment for yours truly.

As the sole physical retailer for Momo Tea, I had considered bestowing upon the patisserie second chance, yet it was just one more than deserved. The experience was anything but endearing, leaving behind an unequivocally negative impression.

​​Stomachs filled but contentment levels unquenched, an alternative named Third Wave Coffee was sought out.

​Our household has always had coffee drinkers. Once upon a time, we even did daily Timmie's Drive-Thru runs and, if I remember correctly, my go-to choice was either an Iced Capp or Vanilla Yogurt. The menu has undoubtedly undergone several changes since then, and so have we, whom no longer pay for the painstakingly watery cups either.
However, coffee drinker statuses never waver. We simply seek the next caffeinated thrill, whether it be iced lattes or affogatos.

​No summer is complete with a trip to Port Credit, and no waterfront experience is complete without ice cream, especially irresistibly creamyartisan flavours.

​Solely operating during peak sunshine season, Scoops is a local favourite that took to offering sugar/waffle cones in a cup and 500 ml or 1 L takeaway containers in the face of the current pandemic.

​Although Piña Colada sorbet was quite a dismal pick, Cappuccino Crisp did not disappoint. The velvety Maple Walnut we brought back was another winner that incoporated the best of conventionally Canadian maple ribbons with crunchy walnuts in a luscious vanilla base.

​The return trip marked my first visit to McD's since Vancity Blitz three months prior. And while probably not the most health-conscious choice, Chicken McNuggets with honey and BBQ sauce were the ideal companion for makgeolli.

​Loyal visitors of this space may be familiar with Ark + Anchor, or more specifically their croissants from de la terre.

​As the yearning for pain au chocolat surfaced, my mind instantly flew to the website of my favourite stall in the Hamilton Farmer's Market. Lo and behold, free home delivery was being offered!

​Frequenting the Smitten Kitchen University for last-minute dinner ideas with insert ingredient name here prompted me to realize the cooking constraints of a small accommodation. Fortunate enough to reside where space is ample and oven operations occur independently of thermostat changes, it also led to a second realization: It's officially summer, yet we haven't been particularly eager to hop on the barbecue train this season.

​But, to be frank, isn't that how most humans function? Mere mortals tend to perform daily tasks on "auto-pilot", completing activities out of habit from a fixed roster of aptitudes. Alas, I am one to promote growth and positive change.

​Thus, we set out to hold the household's first ever Surf & Turf BBQ.

​The term induces flashbacks to childhood suppers at our local Red Lobster - complete with warm, crispy Cheddar Bay biscuits and purple crayons. As a matter of fact, it makes reference to a two-part course: one hailing from the waters ("surf"ing seafood), the other originating from grassy "turfs" of land (red meat in some format).

Work-from-home duties have not only buried me alive, but proceeded to sprinkle its seeds in preparation for eternal embedment. I've seen more of spreadsheets than happenings of the outside world lately, which  ̶a̶p̶p̶a̶r̶e̶n̶t̶l̶y̶ ̶ appallingly isn't surprising amongst the working group of which I am acquainted.​
​
My response to a friend's inquisition of "Did you want more tea bags?" prompted the realization of a newly-founded dependence on caffeine.

​Cooking and kitchen compilations can be viewed as chores to some (many?), however they are personally interpreted as moments of creative release. Bearing more nimbleness than artistic expertise in the fingers and limbs, the creation of comestible compositions between frenzied work tasks is not nearly intimidating an undertaking if scheduled judiciously. The reasoner within appreciates gustatory genesis, for it serves the dual, or rather, primary, function of providing sustenance.

1. Pancakes (hotcakes?) cravings curbed with the help of honeykki

My endless fascination with tall, fluffy pancakes has been imprinted in my memory with the testing procedures of countless pancake recipes (only one bearing fruit). A few years have since passed, and while I've accepted my fate, the craving for warm, syrup-drizzled flapjacks does creep up on me.

​Maple syrup courtesy of Maple Syrup Fest, because that's just how Canadians do things.

I'm an advocate of simplifying matters. You know, like math. Drama fits best in media productions, dispensable in daily life and enjoyed as a form of entertainment instead. I also believe in unique opinions. Everyone can have opinions; whether you choose to voice them is up to one's own discretion. Silence is not synonymous with a lack of awareness, and furthermore warrants no personal attacks. Neither one to condemn expression or suppression, it is my belief that sharing opinions in the absence of agreement is absolutely fine.

​Moving onto a lighter note - as should we all with negative news popping up left and right - allow me to present several creations of the week:

1. Egg Salad with Pickled Celery
​
I shall forewarn about my auntie-esque attributes: Scoring two stalks of celery for $2.59 was my most glorious grocery-running moment last week. This boast-worthy endeavour was then quickly put to use with none other than the first recipe to emerge under SK's "celery" category. Shallots were an unexpectedly wonderful touch; Dijon mustard was swapped for wasabi and boiled potatoes were added for substance.

2. Matcha Madeleine w/ Milk Chocolate Matcha Glaze

​French pastries adopt very precise shapes, with very specific contours, which, in turn, demand very particular apparatus. At the mention of brown butter, my mind tends to drift towards financiers (Third Wave's financier, to be exact), then to my own attempt, and then to the possibility of crafting financiers in madeleine molds (how sacrilegious! I know, I know.)

Of course, the traditional madeleine does not employ brown butter as a staple ingredient, but rather baking powder and a decent amount of patience - an aspect I cannot pride myself with possessing. The need for uniform portioning and additional wait time for glaze-setting were other elements that led to pastry's hedgehog-back demise.

At least, there was pizza to save the day (feat. a pizza paddle acquired nearly half a decade prior and promptly forgotten upon its entry into the house).

3. Ginger Blueberry Soda w/ Homemade Blueberry Jam
​
This was enjoyed while hermitting indoors, unboxing a much-needed package from Nature Republic and securely shielded from the repulsiveness that is thirty-degrees-plus-humidity weather.

 Unpopular opinion:  The economic pillar shall forever supersede the social pillar.

If there's anything I retained from my twice-enrolled, once-failed, and once-grudgingly-re-enrolled second year environmental course, it's the concept of The Three Pillars. Prior to undergoing any work, a project should be evaluated against the economic, social, and environmental pillars as criteria for execution. 
And while each of these elements are pivotal in decision-making, one tends to forget to nothing can operate in the absence of economics. For without capital, there is no funding for implementing environmentally sustainable measures. For without work, one cannot afford to sleep with a roof over his or her head, regardless of whatever respect society shoves.

​I abide by a pragmatic approach to living, because where there is a cause, there is an effect - most evident in the re-emergence of COVID in areas that were once deemed to have entered a "safe(r)" zone. Regardless of the sun's position in the sky, work is work, and work needs to be done. I'm not one to protest sanity breaks, of course, and was more than willing to justify it with a cool cup of CoCo after a tumultuous Monday.

​Being thoroughly drained by an endless assortment of tasks (the "cause") yielded an out-of-character meal of instant noodles (the "effect"). The foray into  fast food was a result of exhaustion and a consequential reluctance to cook. For the wellbeing of my tastebuds, the so-called broth of dehydrated MSG particles was diluted with thrice as much water, then had its nasty, hollow aftertaste nullified with a turmeric cold brew. 

​I suppose anxiety is a common spur of sugar-laden creations, for a dream about emails set me off in pursuit for brown butter cookies. "But not just any brown butter cookies." my subconscious announced, "We're doing matcha."

​An embarrassingly elongated roster of attempts in my back pocket, I opted to modify Tasty's edition, for I had not the patience to caramelize butter and strum my digits along the table edge as it re-solidified. Truthfully, it was my own fault; I oughtn't complain.
​I'm not, really.

​Brown butter is aromatic in ways unique to itself - an acquired redolence, if you will - and, just as many other bakers will heed, is worth every second of added effort. But alas, the luscious caramelized bits were nowhere to be tasted in the final product, overwhelmed by none other that sugar: a sickening sweetness capable of driving some to the point of lunacy. Admittedly, the texture was quite a nice mix of crunchy and chewy, though nonetheless a subpar formulation in my books.
​Woe is me for straying from the great SK!

​Entering the tenth (!!) week of quarantine, the GTA has been met with an extraordinary heat wave. Needless to say, many have tossed social distancing policies through the window at the arrival of such balmy conditions.

I've more or less maintained my regular schedule of work and chores, and have taken the liberty of remaining in the air-conditioned indoors for my overall wellbeing. Humidity is, honestly, not my closest friend.

​Re-entering my life are runny soft-boiled eggs, which previously emerged overdone without reasonable explanation. Other ingested items include: DELISSIO Deluxe with a spongy crust, a Mango Dragonfruit Lemonade Refresher from Starbucks, and more Chocolate Chip Cookies - baked at 25 degrees Fahrenheit higher for extra crunch.

​Reviewing my creations of the week, the standout item is undoubtedly my Matcha Shokupan. Adapted from Bake For Happy Kids with the inclusion of matcha powder and dried berries, the result was delicate and stringy, though far too moist for sandwich bread usages.

​Along the way was an error on my part, even though the root cause is undetermined as of yet.