I hung my head with a deep sigh, then retraced my footsteps to the parking garage. Had I sauntered to the street entrance of the entertainment franchise, I would have learned of a revised opening time of 4 PM - not that I would have returned at that time anyway.
Viewed as even more exhilarating event than the typical New Year celebration, the annual event introduces the element of tradition back into our daily lives, serving to keep us grounded amidst the vibrancy of it all. I celebrated the date by requesting the rare day off. It had doubled as a buffer for pre-CNY cleaning preparations, while also providing an opportunity to peruse Square One on the first day of lockdown restrictions being lifted. In an attempt to maximize my temporary liberation from emails and disgust, I had my eyes set on The Rec Room. Equipped in sweatpants and an airy white t-shirt, I arrived to find the establishment closed - the ultimate disappointment. Behind the gates was a notification of closure. I hung my head with a deep sigh, then retraced my footsteps to the parking garage. Had I sauntered to the street entrance of the entertainment franchise, I would have learned of a revised opening time of 4 PM - not that I would have returned at that time anyway. Back home, I drowned my frustrations in 笑口枣, small bits of fried dough coated thoroughly in sesame seeds. A few years have passed since my last one, which I recall to have sampled quite grudgingly. These were surprisingly scrumptious, proving airy instead of dense, and just sweet enough to balance the nuttiness. Not to be excluded was homemade 年糕, which made appearances in past recaps and even more frequently throughout the pandemic - most notably during off-season periods! Each iteration has seen minor tweaks, whether it be the type of cane sugar (light or dark), brand of coconut milk (we learned that individual AROY-D cans yield optimal fragrance and flavour), and even type of pan.
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The bluer the skies, the cooler the air. Deceptively gorgeous when viewed from within HVAC-equipped quarters, all Canadians ought know the truth behind the beaming, bright scene beyond the window. My post was fixed: intense focus before my workstation, tending to an obscene amount of emails and pending tasks. They all seemed urgent, yet executed not the slightest bit strategically. Periods of release were nonexistent throughout the work week, for I was pulled in multiple directions while not meeting the gaze of a single other entity. By Tuesday evening, I had reached wit's end. But work weeks do not end two days in. A hasty Costco run assumed my sole escape from the house, serving to restore my sanity by just a few notches before diving face-first into yet another stressful surge. I combat this negative ubiety through the only COVID-safe activity I know how: unassisted kitchen endeavours. "You are a powerhouse." I was told. Silently, I disagreed. Fatigue catches up to everyone; it is merely a ratio of energy depletion to regeneration. Creations of the week included: 1) Bacon Pajeon Exactly one month later, cravings for proper green onion pancakes remained unappeased. Turning to the Seafood Pajeon recipe I had used previously, I set out to salvage the scallions from last week's grocery run. The stalks had wilted considerably, yet nonetheless usable. In my haste, I had not defrosted my shrimp beforehand, instead opting to use the remaining 1/3 package bacon - used for some culinary venture and retained in the freezer from that point onwards. I first consulted my own post for constructive criticism, then set out without further ado upon noting the 1:1 batter ratio. It only occurred to me afterwards that I hadn't read thoroughly enough to confirm whether the ratio was volumetric (cups) or mass-based (grams). Maangchi uses: 1/2 cup flour + 1 tbsp potato starch + 1/2 tsp salt + 3/4 cup water or stock , whereas I doubled this portion and resulted with a mixture of: 130 g flour (1 cup!) + 130 g water + an estimated tbsp of cornstarch. My batter was comparatively less runny though, so I continued to add water in small increments until a loose consistency was obtained. Following the stripping away of tawny, scrawny threads of green onion, I came to the realization that I had more batter than onion. However, I hesitated not. Limited time was available for my use, and I prowled through these qualms with only one objective in mind: to eat. As a shocking 1/3 cup of oil was poured into the pan - a slip of the fingers, mind you - I waited patiently for it to come to temperature. Batter-dipped scallions were then arranged in one uniform layer, then bacon pieces slipped in between, and finally all topped with the remainder of batter. The kitchen swarmed with zealous crackling of hot oil mixing with moisture: a blend of canola oil and rich bacon fat began to splatter on the underside of the lid. After a confident flip, a beaten egg was poured over and tucked into the sides of the pancake. The crisping process was repeated until a lovely goldenness had been obtained on both sides. In the absence of fresh scallions, the ingredient was omitted from the dipping sauce. Dark soy, white vinegar, sugar, and gochukaru formed the tangy condiment instead. Feedback received was positive. I was in utter awe of the impeccably crispy surface and tender interior; my only dismay: the lack of crunch and sweetness in the supposed star ingredient. 2) Hoddeok / 호떡 My all-time favourite K-town snack had long seen its depletion from my freezer. Frankly, I had been procrastinating a homemade rendition for as long as I could possibly withstand. It was strenuous to contemplate the various ways the dough could falter: What if it's too stiff? Too spongy? Too tacky? Too...disgusting? The plethora of unfavourable results roamed rampant in my mind, leading to indefinite postponement each time. It hadn't mattered that I had acquired tools dedicated for the very street snack well over a year ago. Fear of failure had delayed the attempt, just as it had with pies, which no longer serve to supply as much trauma as roll cakes.
The entirety of the GTA was met with the first major snowstorm of the season (and the year, for that matter) upon confronting on Monday. Any residual weekday blues were replaced with anxiety and awe - for either you calmly observed as a work-from-home-er (myself) or were already knee-deep and digging yourself out of the house. In the face of a rippling blizzard, there were still some that took to the 401 for work and non-essential travel. It was ill-advised, and many were left stranded on the highway or trapped within snow banks. As the once grey skies began to dim, I could withstand a bread craving no more. Digging a path just wide enough for the wheels of my vehicle, I dashed out onto the partially ploughed streets, heart yearning for COBS. The dangers had not been cleared away in their entirety, for while major streets had been mostly cleared, lanes were reduced tremendously and plaza parking lots remained inaccessible. Extra caution was exercised to navigate safely within the plaza and back onto arterials. A Country Grain Loaf, two Hot Cross Buns, and six-pack of Butter Tarts accompanied me for the ride. Though, the latter will likely never enter the household again: excessively sugary with the unnecessary addition of raisins, we deemed the palm-sized pieces edible, but far from enjoyable. Witnessed the next day were glorious blue skies, as if the previous day's mayhem hadn't occurred at all. I remained within, observing all from my ever-consistent, second-floor window. The sole creation of the week was a second attempt at the Oat Fudge Bar. Out & About #781 | Week #96 Quarantine Update Feat. Whole Wheat Loaf Revisited + Oat Fudge Bar1/16/2022 Although undeniably scrumptious during immediate consumption, I won't deny that Chicken Plus left my stomach feeling quite wonky for the ensuing week. Loss of appetite and irritation of the digestive track were not uncommon. Obtained after munching on leftovers for lunch and dinner was excruciating bloating, which was appeased only slightly by mild, "safe" snacks (read: contributing no further greasiness). The Rose Tteokbokki sauce, in particular, was a component to wary of, in spite of its addicting palette. Naturally, the squirmy repercussions and overall lethargy founded grounds for thorough contemplation of any potential revisits. Creations of the week included: 1) Whole Wheat Bread Despite a flawless turnout last time, odd imprints were derived at opposite ends of the loaf. A member of King Arthur's social media team responded that the phenomenon may have resulted due to excess flour when shaping, leading to the dough's inability to adhere during the second proof and, later, in baking. From past experiences, it appears that while whole wheat loaves do not expand in volume to the same degree as white bread, they readily adopt height once exposed to heat. Ultimately, the quantity was unable to fill a square loaf pan and proved quite damp even after 35 minutes at a high temperature. Removing the lid for even distribution of heat would serve to contribute colour to the surface. Lowering the temperature and covering the top with aluminum foil assisted in removing excess moisture in the bottom third of the loaf. The floral essence of honey remains to be a stunner in this recipe, along with the barely-there, crispy crust. Breakfast slices were commonly adorned by margarine and/or homemade strawberry jam, though could be incorporated into sandwiches as well, if desired. I was also fond of the uniform height, achieved by nestling four large sections into a single loaf pan rather than dividing between two shallower ones. Extra heed shall be taken in the next iteration to ensure excess flour is dusted off after shaping. 2) Mexican Hot Chocolate On a particularly chilly, dreary afternoon, I sought out a spicier rendition of our nation's favourite winter beverage. Google results were quick to rectify my perception of Mexican Hot Chocolate being no more than a pinch of cayenne pepper for heat. Instead of the sweetened drink mixes, the traditional treat relies on unsweetened cocoa power for depth and is then sweetened with sugar and, of course, marshmallows. Vanilla, cinnamon, and chili powder (in my case, gochukaru) were other flavours used for distinction between the typical Timmie's creation. 3) Oat Fudge Bar - Bettered and Nearly Remastered! When the same instigator of Cranberry Bliss Bars sent a video for Oat Fudge Bars my way, the next steps became all too clear. Little is required to motivate me in the direction of the kitchen for the next experiment, especially when all of the bar's ingredients were on hand and available.
Beyond simply remaking the Starbucks bakery item, I was on a mission to redeem it. Flat and mushy it would be no more! The chocolate would be firm, offering a toothsome first bite and luscious centre, while the oats would have height - not the rigid slab I had excitedly ordered in the past and received sheer disappointment from. The first week back to reality has confirmed a number of suspicions. Among them is the foreboding feeling of loathing - an indubitable disgust for the corporate position consuming the bulk of my current lifestyle. Yet, I can escape not - not until a new milestone is attained, not until new bargaining attributes are acquired. Though accumulation of sleep has been made easier with the seemingly eternal work-from-home environment, it leaves much to be desired. The exercise of discipline has never proved an issue, but I thrive not in circumstances where exchange of information is limited. I am appalled by my dwindling inventory of stats from the happenings beyond my window, and even more by the every-man-for-himself mindset of those digitally too close for comfort. Long relationships have never been my forte. I can no longer exert efforts when any further action conclusively leads to futility. I was once called out for a world perspective through rose-tinted glasses - a reference to naïveté that remains unshaken even after seven eventful years in the workforce. Artificial personalities deserve wariness; laziness warrants denouncing. At the end of the day, I strongly believe that nothing can undo the power of dedication and hard work. Persuading others to adopt this concept, though, is merely an ideal. My days of project progress tracking and utility drawing review are mundane, involving matters more trivial than fruitful. I stealthily escape my desk for errands under the sun in the latter half of the week, finding myself not far from my assigned office location. I haven't seen my fellow ahgase in quite a number of weeks, though the LCBO location remains a go-to for hard-to-find European brews. Kronenbourg Blanc had long been confirmed a worthwhile purchase. Sighting of the Strasbourg brewery's "non-Blanc" edition prompted curiosity, prompting placement of both a Blanc six-pack and two cans of the original for comparison. Qualms were appeased with a 낮술 day: the original was declared a delicious brew combining aspects of a standard lager with the citrusy notes of Blanc. Gooey holiday Rice Krispies served as a sweet 안주. The trip also marked my first foray into the vision of Coco Chanel. Behold: the first Chanel beauty item to ever enter my cosmetic repertoire! I was made aware of Starbucks' newest release by orangecane: an intriguing beverage centred about a popular Middle Eastern nut. Obtained at half-sweet, the Pistachio Latte was noticeably less sweet than the likes of Vanilla Lattes or Mochas, but nonetheless contained a perceivable amount of sugar. This reduction in sweetness made the synthetic butter base more obvious; the ingredient granted creaminess, as to replicate the texture of the botanical nut. It was unfortunate that its aromatic properties could not be recreated in a manmade environment. I enjoyed the drink's potency, along with its untainted surface (read: no toppings!).
They say that time is but an illusion - an identity created for humans to measure their existence in space. It may arguably be so, yet persists as the most reputably quantifiable unit worldwide, on Earth that is. There is a sense of pride in this declaration, for while I admit pressure in this constant battle of inevitable time flow, the perception also serves to stimulate and motivate. But in a "New Day" sense. This underlying sarcasm is tied to balking at the talk of New Year's resolutions. Goals are as dynamic as those that create them: sturdy like 35 MPa concrete in their early conception and fickle like kite strings amidst 70 km/h gusts as the days of January drag on. It was always beyond me why such an extravagant portion of the population allowed themselves to be dictated by the calendar, rather than exercise discipline in monitoring progress and accomplishing tasks with the existing circumstances in mind. Ultimately, time waits for no one. The arrival of January 1st tends to hold less meaning with each passing year. We are older, our society is supposedly more advanced, and the planet continues to rotate. Truthfully though, my present situation differs not from one second, one minute, nor one hour ago. I carried on with my regular roster of tasks, extending hope at a last hurrah before resuming the repulsive work ritual. Skies were finally clear after over forty-eight hours of dull ashiness. Sunshine and a coat of cerulean awaited us as we pulled into the Celebration Square parking lot. After roughly twenty minutes of hesitant laps about the rink, I somewhat regained composure on the ice. Whatever muscle memory that remained had been summoned, and in quite the enjoyable atmosphere. Popular pop tunes could be heard from all corners, its origins several standing speakers under which a series of lights could be seen. With the reduction of sunlight in the early evening hours, they would cast coloured beams on the blade-streaked grounds, making for a fun, winter disco. Strides were executed more confidently than the teetering half-glides at Harbourfront Centre and forward-hinged treading at Waterloo Public Square. In addition to the critical warm-up period, the facility itself presented a welcoming, judgement-free atmosphere for refamiliarizing oneself with the nation's favourite seasonal pastime. The Celebration Square rink was spacious, enabling uninterrupted gliding and easy acceleration. Congestion was undeniable at the narrowest section of the rink, though fellow skaters either navigated swiftly between the crevices, or alongside the edge of the rink with maximum finesse. Skate-friendly pads lined the perimeter, permitting access and egress from all sides; seating and more padding could be found about the centrepiece, serving as an interim rest stop or emergency landing area.
My recent loss of appetite hasn't yet been amended, and fatigue seems to catch up with me steadily. No amount of caffeine or sugar has proved to alter energy levels. But I ingest anyway, thinking little of the things before me and instead invest in constructive contemplation: How to stop being stagnant? Beyond an apparent decline in physical strength, mental capacity seems limited these days. It is within me to keep progressing and to keep being productive. And while navigating this path may not be valuable to those that question the "rules" of society, I believe in its significance. For without evolution, we are nothing. Without taking action, thinking is aimless. For the second New Year in a row, we arrive to find yet another period of reflection: an analysis of progress, global and local. But there are many that caution diving too deep into one's achievements, or rather, lack thereof. "Highlight reels" are not fraudulent, and neither is hard work. Perhaps it is my limited spectrum of emotions that prevents me from wading in ponds of pride and inferiority. Metrics of measuring betterment of oneself lies not with comparison against others, but merely in the regular evaluation of personal developments since the previous check-in. Our goals ought not be to outdo anyone but ourselves from the past - to be a better human and, collectively, a better functioning society. The imprint of the pandemic is irrefutable, with only further fears surrounding the next up-and-coming variant. The reveal rate of new mutations lies on a similar wavelength to new groups in the K-Pop industry: Will the next one be more memorable? Stronger? Do we even care? As far as health and daily life are concerned, I'm convinced we are entering the stage of Terrible Twos - a seemingly endless battle against COVID-19, an entity with a mind of its own and no intention to subside without a wicked war. I claim nothing within my power beyond an ever-resolute desire to keep progressing. Regardless of the size of the steps, I shall stand not for backtracking. The path forward has never been clear, so why the hesitation now? Opportunities should be taken advantage of, coexistent with the review of risks. Affirming this belief is a follow-up attempt at recreating a Bûche de Noël - or my own take, the Bûche de Nouvelle Année. Roll cakes and I have had a stormy history: from the ones with Salted Caramel Glaze to the scarily soggy one that made me cry, I've gradually grown accustomed to their sensitive nature.
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Who Am I?Formerly an avid owner of several interest-based portals, Random Thoughts of a Quirky Blogger presents precisely the elements expected. From experiments in the kitchen to miscellaneous musings, from IGOT7 reflections to developments in transportation infrastructure, it's all consolidated here. Welcome to the raw, unfiltered side of Quirky Aesthetics. Archives
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