Shortly after my return from Vancouver, I was thrown into a whirlwind of nausea, diarrhea, and regurgitation known as food poisoning. In order to keep this space as hygienic as possible though, I'll skip over the details.

IV therapy and 1.5 days of a congee cleanse later, I found myself suggesting a trip to Foodie North for some Northern Chinese comfort food.

The conclusion of my 26-day vacation came and bid farewell like the wind.

Prior to my early morning flight - which would later become one of the most despicable experiences of my entire life of flying - I refueled with fresh fruit juice, a mocha, and breakfast in the form of eggs and toast.

I made several attempts at editing photos throughout the flight, but was constantly interrupted by the obnoxious, middle-aged European crudeface seated in front of me. She made several excuses about an aching back - or knee or whatever - to the flight attendants such that they would tell me off and allow her to harshly decline her seat into my immediate working area. Plane seats aren't very spacious to begin with, and I had found it downright outrageous that she was imposing her own personal preferences on my seating arrangement. The flight attendants paid her an unnecessary amount of attention, even daring to utter the words "She's allowed to bend back as far as the chair permits."
This was not the first circumstance in which I had encountered this issue, though the passengers seated in front were normally kind enough to compromise. Adding to the fact that I, personally, had experienced being told to sit straight for the sake of the person working on a laptop behind me, I found it extremely unfair that I was being targeted from both sides.

But I wasn't about to retaliate until the fossil era brat in front began to tattle. The unjustness was not addressed; instead, the older flight attendant simply gave me atttitude. It'd be a lie to say that they weren't being biased towards the elder woman with seemingly invisible body issues. As a paying customer (with a misaligned patella), I was extremely taken back at the horrendous amount of inequality. I was entitled to same rights as any other, yet was forced to endure the entire flight in claustrophia, helpless.

An open message to Air Canada: Have faith that this memory will remain deeply embedded in my mind for the remainder of my flying lifetime, for not only have you removed the most necessities of survival from a paying customer - breathing space - but also performed an act forcing an already claustrophic being into deeper depths of psychological damage.

Recapping the trip on a more constructive note, though, let me summarize the main findings of my trip:

1) Translink is a flawed public transit system
While the SkyTrain operates at acceptable frequencies during weekday afternoons, this is completely reverted as the day eases into the evening hours. Waterfront-bound trains from Richmond depart every 12 minutes instead of 3-4 minutes - this is reduction of four times! In addition to this, trains headed towards the airport were practically nonexistent.
Buses, while decently frequent during weekday afternoons, were nowhere to be seen after dusk. Even during regular hours though, not a single one followed the designated bus schedule. Several times, I had waited aimlessly for a collective period of forty minutes since the vehicles failed to adhere to a proper schedule. It was frustrating and instilled feelings of helplessness, but over anything it was inefficient.

Needless to say, commuting on weekends was even greater challenge: majority of routes had significantly lowered frequencies, and some didn't operate at all!

The 1.5 h transfer period is also of major concern - it's simply not enough time to transfer considering that bus/wait times are never accurate. Adding to this would be the snail-like speed at which the Compass fare gates read payment statuses: PRESTO operates rapidly and accuracy, with a read speed of under one second; Compass requires up to three seconds and often more than one tap.

Being car-less and all, few things were able to convince me to leave the house following four consecutive days of commuting and eating out. (No, not even late afternoon tea with a ride included.)

Among the numerous spots on my to-go list, only a small minority hadn't been toured during my 26-day stay. A particular bubble tea shop was on the agenda: Jazen Tea.

I had only caught sight of the storefront once while being whizzing by, but hadn't had the opportunity to stop by for a proper inspection. On my second last day in the city, I was offered the choice of having anything I desired being brought to my door, so I opted for Thai Milk Tea.

No words could express my gratefulness for two stout cups of tapioca-filled, vibrant orange liquid being delivered to my working area. Even the bag was adorned with the shop's logo.
​(Apparently, half of the shop was a pho restaurant, while the other served as a bubble tea counter. This has yet to be verified personally, of course.)

Jazen Tea offered the popular concoction in two varieties: Regular (mixed with milk/milk powder) and Traditional (crafted with coconut milk). Both types possessed an equally bright hue, though the overall consistency of the Regular Thai Milk Tea was more consistent than the Traditional, which exhibited signs of separation from time to time.

Nonetheless, both versions were "refreshingly good" as the slogan had advertised. The Regular is the safer bet for those looking to venture into a new world beside the standard milk tea; Traditional is an undoubtedly more flavourful approach to the beverage and, in my opinion, even tastier than the former.

Jazen Tea's Thai Milk Tea formulae have earned a high ranking in my books, though I do have some brief tapioca complaints: the pearls were extremely soggy. The translucent green - you read that correctly, not black - tapioca pearls had evidently been sitting around in sugar syrup for some unspecified duration for time; each sphere was a depressing mess with a soggy exterior and firm core.

Next time, I'll be sure to skip tapioca, and simply order the Thai Tea for my own sheer pleasure.

​Ever since the evening we briefly dropped by the Richmond Night Market, I had been itching to try poke. By the third last day of my trip, it was no longer a wish, but a mission.

A game plan was devised to obtain Poke Bowls from Poke Time and Garlic Bread from Spaghetei for lunch and commute home in time for lunch, all within the 1.5 hour transfer period. Strategic scheduling was involved, as was the checking of downtown bus routes.

SkyTrains serviced Waterfront Station along the Canada Line from two terminus stations: Richmond-Brighouse and YVR Airport, with the route splitting at Bridgeport station. Trains were quite frequent during weekday afternoons: each four-car vehicle pulled in at intervals of 4-5 minutes, enabling customers to reach their final destination - be it the airport or the downtown core, within a reasonable time frame.

I needed not ride the train to the northmost terminal station, so I hopped off at City Centre. Immediately after making my way above ground, I sped across the street to catch the bus heading towards North Vancouver. I had barely made it.

The first stop of the day was Spaghetei. As mentioned previously, the Japanese-style spaghetti restaurant would be closing soon, and I knew I'd regret not tasting their Garlic Bread once more before my return to the East Coast. While en route, I made a quick call and placed my order.
Another sprint ensued after disembarking the bus. I bolted into and out of Spaghetti within record time, then ran across Robson to catch the next southbound Translink vehicle.

​Poke Time was located relatively close to Robson and Jervis, so there was minimal walking involved. To my delight, there was no lineup inside the shop whatsoever. The Works and a Zen Bowl (both large) were swiftly prepared to go. Neither girl minded as snapped shots of the ingredients being mixed, though one was clearly less patient that the other.

The Works was Poke Time's ultimate bowl: it included three choices of protein along with their entire selection of toppings and garnishing elements called "mixers". BC Salmon, Tuna, and Ahi Tuna were my selections, though shrimp and tofu were also readily available for the crustacean- and soybean-saavy. It should be noted that Ahi Tuna prompted an additional charge of one dollar.
Zen Bowl was a tad smaller than The Works but equally colourful and packed with delicious, good-for-you ingredients. I had been provided the option of adding crunchy toppings for the final touch; dried coconut shreds were chosen for the Zen Bowl and a mix of crispy garlic, shallots, and coconut for The Works.

Click HERE to read about re-visiting Benkei and trying out an incredibly dilapidated Bubble Tea Shop!

​It may be possible that I'm an exception, but I personally find the opening hours of many businesses in Richmond to be completely random and inappropriate. The standard opening hours for lunch spots in the suburbs back home range between 11:00 AM and 12:30 PM, while bubble tea and specialty dessert shops won't open later than 2:30 PM.

The market is undeniably different in the smaller city: peak and off-peak hours play no part in determining traffic times nor periods of high (customer) volume. Specialty food stores tend to only operate in the late afternoon and evening hours, but do not extend their services into late-night; restaurants are only fully functional past noon, and never prepared to open past 10 PM.

​Snowy Village had been our primary destination of the day, and happened to fall precisely within the category of shops with inappropriate store hours. But for the purpose of experiencing authentic Korean bingsoo, we had devised a plan revolving around their extremely odd store hours of 1:00 PM on select days of the week and 5:00PM on all other days.

We began our trek from Superstore around 4:45 PM, unaware that a lineup had already begun to form outside the green-hued establishment.
As we marched across the final stretch of shops, a small vehicle pulled into and promptly stopped at the entranceway. The passenger door was flung open, revealing a thin-framed, short-shorts-wearing girl with a messy bun. She took one glance at the steadily growing lineup, grimaced, and absentmindedly took a step forward.

"I detest having to wait." would be an understatement. In a world where modern society is directly influenced by individual and collective productivity levels, efficiency is key to the constant development of our current and future generations. As someone whose aim is to reduce congestion for the sake of reduced waiting times, the sheer presence of a lineup was a nuisance to me.

Bolting across the parking lot, I managed to snap into the queue just before the thin non-commuter and another middle-aged lady joined the lineup. Approximately several minutes after 5:00 PM, the doors opened and customers slowly filled the dessert parlour.

​I guess we had lucked out, seeing as we were the last group to obtain a table for dine-in. Others were either put onto a waiting list (indeed, the community addiction to bingsoo was severe) or requested to take the coveted shaved ice creations to go.

​The Melon Bingsoo was the single item on my mind: a towering pyramid of fluffy ice decorated with small, spherical melonballs enough to feed five. The cashier at the Robson outpost had informed me that the twenty-dollar creation was an item exclusively limited to the months of June to August, and ensured that it was available at both locations.
Contrary to his words, I was devastated when we were told the opposite. To make matters worse, only specific flavours of bingsoo could be ordered in a large size - quantity control was executed to prevent particular items from selling out too rapidly.

I longed for a mix of Blueberry and Cheesecake, seeing as Melon was no longer an option. Unfortunately, only fruit flavours could be compiled in a half-and-half format.

The final decision lay with me, so I ultimately settled for two regular bingsoos - one Blueberry and one Cheesecake - and three pieces of Croissant Taiyaki.
Taiyaki, or bungeoppang in Korean, was given a unique twist with the addition of a layer of flaky pastry that I hadn't witnessed being done anywhere else (at least, not in the GTA anyway). Priced at $10 for three pieces, the crisp, rectangular pieces of carby goodness were quite economical in my opinion.

​Our party had requested fillings of sweet potato, injeolmi (Korean rice cake) and red bean, and custard. The boy at the cashier misheard my order though, and we eventually ended up with Nutella instead of an eggy custard cream. Sweet potato was decent; Nutella was sticky and chocolate-y, as expected. The combination of injeolmi and red bean was the filling we found to be the most intriguing: the exceptional degree of chewiness was very much unexpected from such a buttery snack.

Contrary to the title of this post, the day hadn't commenced with a pleasant lunch of ramen.

My commute had taken an absolutely frightening turn upon the realization that a mentally unstable, skateboard-wielding homeless had boarded the SkyTrain at some point during the trip. The fact that Translink had failed to enforce sufficient security on the train was evident as the filth-covered man hiked up and down the aisles with cardboard signage, requesting funds to continue sustaining his current lifestyle.
All was peaceful until the brief moment between King Edward and Broadway City Hall. While travelling through the quietest point of the underground tunnel, the man suddenly broke down. He began yelling and swearing (at who knows what), and even began throwing things. Given that he was standing no further than 2 metres from me in diagonal distance, I was thoroughly experiencing shivers each time his tantrums escalated in severity. No one had dared to budge even an inch from their original positions.

It was also of extreme concern to me that he was blocking my closest exit and that I would need to disembark at the next station. In fear that he was going to lash out at the first person he saw move, I scurried to next closest platform door as rapidly as possible once I caught a glimpse of his head being turned away from my direction. Running up the stairs and through the fare gates, I made sure to not turn back until I had safely made my exit. Phew​.

If there's any aspect of a proper public transportation service that Translink executes correctly, it's definitely not passenger safety and security. Never had I felt such immense vulnerability in my life while commuting.

By the time I had met up with my friend, a local who had temporarily moved to the East Coast for academic purposes, I was intensely shaken and desired nothing more than the caress of a familiar face. (Yes, it had been that horrendous of an experience.)
We wanted to shift our focus elsewhere, preferably to food in the nearby area.

Alas, I hadn't realized that I forgotten my SD card in the slot reader of my laptop until we found ourselves at the storefront. My friend was kind, not even minding to trek an extra few blocks to Broadway Camera with me to purchase a backup card.

When we finally made our return to Benkei, it was observed that the ramen joint had completely filled with patrons - reasonably so, considering that it was now lunchtime. Thankfully, we were seated after a very brief wait.

My dining partner-in-crime, knowing me to be the "planner" type, had bestowed me with complete control of the day's munching locations. I had decided upon Benkei Ramen for lunch, with the main reason being that the greatness of their Gyoza and Chashu Onigiri had remained vivid in one of my distant memories.

It's been well over four years since the last time I was brought to any Benkei location, so I wasn't entirely sure of the exact coordinates of the shop I had visited previously. Upon our entry though, I was convinced that the Broadway location was not the same one: it was narrower and much smaller, with some tables jutting directly into the main pathway. The seats weren't bulky enough to pose as a potential fire hazard, though could have been easily tripped over if not careful.

Service was also several notches less friendly than I recall. Even during the lunch rush, a loud Japanese "Welcome!" soared over the voices of hungry customers at their old Thurlow spot. But this wasn't the case here at all: even waitresses had rather unenthusiastic demeanours when taking orders.

​I must admit that I had found slight difficulty in adjusting to a lifestyle of complete leisure while many of my friends were still tackling the final few weeks of their work terms. Many of these friends' schedules were occupied with work, whereas I was now the one without much to do.

Two weeks of planning later, a successful meet-up plan was executed in my final week in the city.

On my solo walking adventure downtown, I had unknowningly passed by Laduree's single confectionery outpost in Canada. The Parisian macaron boutique was hidden in a shady section of Robson, situated beside Telus (amusingly enough). Neither of us were particularly keen on sugar paste-stuffed meringue shells, but we headed inside anyway.

​From the mint-teal exterior with gold accessibility push buttons to the ornate jars of jam and cylindrical containers of tea, Laduree was one hundred percent exquisiteness and ten percent affordability. After filling up my SD card to the point of satisfaction, I suggested making a quiet exit, seeing as the individual items weren't of a high degree of interest to us. My partner-in-crime headed towards the counter instead, and picked out Orange Blossom and Rose macarons before leaving. "I felt bad not buying anything." she later admitted.

The macarons were indeed pleasing to gaze at: uniformly round, smooth shells in subdued warm shades. But there wasn't much else besides that.

​We marched onwards to our lunch destination: Spaghetei. Hailing from Aoyama, the restaurant offered Japanese-style spaghetti - not udon - in several select flavour combinations.

The space itself was quite small with minimal lighting and absolutely no windows whatsoever. Decor was simple: brick walls, wooden furniture, and Daiso-style woven utensil baskets. A familiar, comfortable vibe resonated from within; the feeling was reminiscent of dining at a friend's house with parents with extraordinary culinary skills.

Acknowledged promptly by a cheerful waitress with a mahogany half-apron, I immediately gestured for the table closest to the entrance for the sake of access to natural lighting. Laminated menus were shortly brought over and drink orders were placed.

Our plan was to eat light in preparation for indulging in dessert afterwards. Although I had been wanting to order two varities of pasta and share them between us, I eventually settled on one spaghetti dish and two side orders after taking the size of my appetite into consideration.

A unanimous vote was cast for Mentaiko Spaghetti. Garlic Bread and Mentaiko Tofu seemed to have earned significant recognition on social media, so we opted for those exact two sides. Unfortunately, we were informed that the latter was unavailable, thus picked Stir Fried Scallops with Garlic Butter as an alternative.

​Mentaiko Spaghetti emerged in a round, shallow ceramic bowl some ten minutes later. Strands of semi-firm pasta had been generously coated in a creamy pink fish roe sauce, then topped with dried seaweed strips, blanched shrimp, and shimeji mushrooms. The dish was superb in that it was well-rounded in terms of individual flavours and consisted of enough textures to keep customers on the toes - or perhaps, tongues?

Click HERE to read about exemplary Japanese-style spaghetti at Spaghetei!

Downtown, Gastown, and Chinatown are merely separated by a few major streets, but it's honestly quite amusing to find such distinct characteristics in each neighbourhood. Where the core is lively and colourful, Gastown is serene and quiet, making it the ideal tourist location.

One bus ride and a seven-minute walk through homeless-ville later, we arrived at Vancouver's version of the Gooderham building. To its right was Alexander Street, and to its left was Powell. Even further west was Water Street, which denoted the boundary between terrain and shore.

​With the aid of Google Maps, navigating the area in search of Soft Peaks was made incredibly easy. Before long, we spotted its gate-like entrance and bright yellow patio umbrella.

The interior was a work of art in itself. The two-floor dessert parlour featured a wall covered in black outlines of milk bottles and ice cream cones, a pillar supporting an LED screen displaying social media posts, and a mirrored menu board assuming the shape of honeycomb. The milky white cashier counter was equal parts order-taking area, popsicle display case, and self-serve water counter.

​Soft Peaks prided themselves in crafting soft serve creations, ice cream bars, and milkshakes with organic milk; the description was found in almost every corner of the shop. We had hunted down the shop for the sake of obtaining soft serve ice cream, so we proceeded as such.
They were offered in two sizes (Small and Regular) and could be customized with various toppings and syrups. The base of vanilla organic milk ice cream remained consistent though. Signature combinations were listed on the honeycomb; seeing that Green Forest and Honeycomb Peak seemed to have raked in the highest order count, we asked for two regulars without another thought. I wasn't too keen on red bean though, so I substituted Himalayan Pink Salt after confirming that there would be no extra charge.

​The staff, none of which appeared particularly friendly, prepared our orders at incredible speed. We swiftly carried the two pricey creations off to the side as the shop suddenly filled with eager ice cream-goers. "Luckily, we managed to escape the lineup!" both of us nodded in agreement.

Reality is vastly different from the image captured behind a lens. Mercury levels probably hadn't even grazed 24 degrees, yet both cups began melting almost immediately after they were presented to us. We struggled to capture the best shots of our elaborately decorated swirls before they transformed into a sad, toppling mess.

View the full album HERE !

It's safe to say that Miku Harbourfront in Toronto doesn't have the wondrous view of the lake that one would so assume. In place of the concept of a modern, fine dining sushi restaurant, the first of Aburi Restaurants' East Coast endeavours was a complete disaster.

Truth be told: I had never actually bothered to write about my visit last October since the experience had been flat-out depressing. Lighting was practically non-existent - it was all but tiny candles that cast a hideous glare on everything and anything that arrived on the table - and the "harbourfront" view was nothing more than a ground-level display of passerbys and the neighbouring buildings. Service was also found to be lacking on our server's part - did you think we couldn't tell you were rolling your eyes as you snatched the menus away? - and food was, generally speaking, unimpressive.

Having undergone such a subpar dining experience back home, I definitely had my doubts when Miku was suggested as the family lunch destination of choice. But one thing was definitely different: the restaurant was equipped with a proper, waterfront view.

Our reservation was secured for the earliest slot - 11:30 AM. I genuinely didn't think anyone else would have bothered to drag themselves up for early lunch on a Tuesday afternoon, but I was soon proven wrong. The restaurant wasn't in operation yet when we hiked up the flight of approximately thirty stairs; we were asked to take a seat in the waiting area until the clock struck half past eleven. It was at this point that we all took turns in visiting the immaculate, but fatally dim washroom stalls.

In the meantime, crowds of customers of all ages and sizes began to pour into the reception area. Couples, young families, groups of friends, and 9-to-5-ers gradually filed in, some with reservations and some without. It was a startling sight to witness.

​Neither of the two hostesses were particularly friendly when they had told us to wait, and that attitude only changed slightly when we were guided to choose a table by the window. The restaurant featured a variety of different dining areas: booths, bar seats, sushi bar seats, and balcony patio tables. For those looking to enjoy an abundance of natural lighting and a clear view of the Vancouver harbour, there was a separate area situated adjacent to the patio.
I suppose I should consider myself lucky, as I happened to seize the first table in the room; it provided the best view of Canada Place and the waterfront.

The decor itself is worth mentioning: intricately-painted fish swirled around the ceiling of the main dining area and along back wall of the smaller section of booths and tables. The latter also featured an intriguing light fixture reminiscent of a family of sea urchins.
Peace and quiet lasted for a total of two minutes. Then, other tables began being seated and creating noise pollution. The spacing of the tables along the window was rather tight, rendering the process of lifting our bodies from the seat and carrying ourselves to a different part of the restaurant quite a strenuous task once others were seated around us.

​We leisurely evaluated the various menu options, with me making great attempts to differentiate the selection from that of Toronto's. Several of the tables surrounding us had already confirmed their orders while we were still choosing, so we caught glimpses of their dishes arriving during the decision process.
Boxed lunch sets were ruled out for the sake of trying their speciality items. An Aburi Sushi Lunch, Aburi Chirashi Tart, Aburi Saba Oshi Sushi, Miku Chopped Salad, and Miku Roll were requested to start.

View the full album HERE !