Calgary | DAY 3: (Pt. 2) Wedding + T.Pot

Read Part 1 HERE !

​Returning to the hotel with less than forty minutes till we were to report downstairs meant hasty moves. In order to remove all obstacles in my path, the sleepy polar bear was urged to remain in the lobby as I scurried about the room, fixing my makeup and unveiling the second bulkiest pair of footwear in my luggage.

Getting ready in a foreign environment is never an easy feat. As such, I was grateful for the choice in ceremony venue, and consequential minimal travel time.

​At the core of this last-minute Calgary trip was the wedding celebration of my dear friend. Our friendship commenced in ̶t̶h̶e̶ my first year of high school, persisted well into university years, suffered a brief period of stagnancy during the post-grad, job-hunting phase, and was ultimately revived upon reaching some degree of life and career stability.

​Having witnessed how several of her past relationships had unfolded, I was extremely thrilled at the news of finding her Mr. Right.

​The exchange of vows took place in a conference room at the basement level of our hotel. Family members had ventured far and wide to assist in room setup, wedding dress train handling, and, most importantly, to witness the "legal joining in matrimony" of two loving parties.

It was a tremendous honour to partake in the ceremony, for the primary constituents of the audience were family members. A total of three Torontonians made up the close friend list in attendance.

​The ceremony would take place over a ninety-minute session, inclusive of rehearsal, readings from the commissioner, and signing of documentation. Rarely have I been present for such practices, as I often opt out of ceremonies for friends on the account of logistics hassles and schedule conflicts. But this one was one of grand significance, one that I had travelled roughly 3000 km to attend.

​When we concluded the first segment of celebratory activities, the bride informed us of a three-hour rest period. Frankly, the downtime had been intended for her own recovery, as she had been out and about with hair and makeup, tea ceremonies, and tending to relatives. For us, it would constitute a period of latency.

​I proposed exploring the pool and gym facilities down the corridor. It was entirely vacant at the early afternoon hour, much to my surprise.

​We also uncovered coin laundry machines on our way back to the elevators.

​Plopping into our respective rest areas in the room, we began to discuss possible pursuits. Three hours was insufficient to journey a new neighbourhood in its entirety. Furthermore, neither was willing to sacrifice styled hair in exchange for temporary entertainment.

Ultimately, we resorted to snacking, then fighting fatigue by sitting upright.

​Makku, an exclusive makgeolli brand to the states and certain parts of West Canada, proved tastier than the standard Jinro, which often reeks of gritty artificiality. Not overly milky, fizzy, nor too sweet, I appreciated the beverage the most for its absence of a synthetic aftertaste. Furthermore, the small can format was fitting as a one-person portion.

The beverage paired well with the remaining Vegan Sea Salt Choc Chip Cookie from the previous day. The cookie dried out to be crisper, disparate from the soft, pliable consistency on day one.

​Element's Birthday Cake Cookie was also consumed. Within the thick round was a hospital portion of confetti, otherwise known as rainbow sprinkles. Despite its sturdy presence, the cookie wasn't excessively sweet, as most structured ones tend to be due to their high proportion of granulated sugar. Distinct pellets of white chocolate enabled crunchiness throughout.

Eventually, we geared up once more. The winter edition encompassing a cozy checked scarf and intermediate layer of Uniqlo Sherpa was donned for departure from the indoors.

​At the nearby T.Pot, my dear friend had reserved three tables for the Chinese-style reception. The largest table had been allocated for family members, while the other two housed colleagues and friends alike.

​I had almost strode by the lady of the hour while in search of my name. Trading in her dreamy wedding gown for traditional Chinese attire, she was obscured by the makeup artist injecting ruby vibrancy into her lips.

Clad in red, gold, and shimmery threads, her ensemble was undeniably more vibrant than the cosmetics themselves.

​In the corner of the room was a three-layer wedding cake - perhaps the most Western-looking element in sight. Bottles of gold, silver, and rose gold ("bronze") Bottega Prosecco resided on each table, along with several bottles of red wine.

​At our seats were wedding favours of rose gold stylus pens and either teal or lilac plates bearing the names of the newlywed couple. Adjacent were wet wipes sealed within red packaging.

​As with any Chinese wedding, the evening commenced with an introductory speech from the new couple and a table-wide raising of glasses. Then, one by one, came the infinite platters of food.

​Cold appetizers are common: lightly marinated Jellyfish Threads and Roast Pork assumed the upscale take of spiced jelly fish fragments and beef cold cuts. My go-to starter (minus the roast pork) was then succeeded by impeccably crispy Deep Fried Crab Claws, Scallops and Snow Peas, and the infamous Shark Fin Soup.

Noteworthy was the 炸子雞 (Crispy Chicken), which succeeded in earning even my approval via wispy thin exterior and supple, fleshy interior. Abalone on Spinach was another pricey platter to behold, despite the sizable braised molluscs not speaking to either of our palates.

​Satiation permeated my stomach even before the arrival of the fifth dish, leading me to skip nearly all platters following golden pieces of battered lobster. That said, food quality was quite impressive overall. None of the dishes carried the miserable air of greasy arrogance of Scarborough or Richmond 酒樓s.

​Those around us continued to deplete the subsequent platters of sustenance as they arrived. Once the Prosecco had vanished, many turned to the bottles of Duckhorn Cabernet Sauvignon. Not nearly inclined to wine as I am craft beer and cocktails, my alcohol consumption ceased early into the night.

My appetite returned only as the marbled buttercream cake was plated by restaurant staff. The slices were deemed "too sweet" by our middle-aged Cantonese neighbours, yet thoroughly enjoyed by us Westernized suburban folk.

Mango pudding with evaporated milk, red bean soup, and egg yolk-and-sesame-topped pastries were served simultaneously. By this point of the supper, I was ready to head home.

​Eager to change out of our formal attire and begin preparations for the next day's hiking, we bid the new couple farewell and proceeded to head back.

​Amongst the many thoughts racing through my mind, two distinct conclusions were drawn:

1. Thank goodness for my decent command of the Cantonese dialect and a functional database of vocabulary (for not a single attendee spoke with preference for English)
2. Asian flush or not, people can definitely drink a lot of red wine.