When it comes to tackling house duties, 48 hours is hardly a lot of time.
My browsing partner would be slated to return for a short-lived stay, and there were a number of preparations required in advance to ensure unobstructed execution of tasks.

​Navigating the aisles was a breeze, save the horrible cart with wheels full of hair. With time, wielding the dysfunctional apparatus and arranging the weighty items would lead to fatigue. I hadn't realized that the warehouse and common items (storage cases, plates, etc.) were stored separately either. Although I had managed to procure all articles of interest - and a few extras - the solo expedition on a schedule was not amusing in the slightest. And I'd envision the trip to be even more stressful during peak hours. People were already speeding through the aisles in the covered parking area!

​A Cinnamon Roll with Icing would serve as my reward. The base of the bun was barely cinnamon-y, but passable. Horrendously tacky and cloying were the centimetre-thick squiggles of icing, being comprised of just icing sugar and water as opposed to cream cheese. The concoction would be wholly better without it.

​Around 10:20 AM, I'd climb back into the car, head throbbing but ready for my next schedule. The touch-up appointment with Kettle had been arranged several weeks ago, with the location being a relatively new studio in the Yonge-Lawrence area.

BRINGMEYOURSKIN was located about five minutes south of Auberge du Pommier, just a short drive away from York Mills station. Street parking would be enforced along Yonge Street, thus I took to the nearby side streets. Posted signage confirmed that one hour parking was permitted Monday - Saturday between 8 AM - 6 PM.

​I walked past the studio without realizing, as the second-level storefront did not really attract attention. Despite being denoted as "Open", the metal door did not budge. I hovered about for at least five minutes before realizing that it was, indeed, open, but just too heavy to shift with a light tug.

Climbing the steep stairwell, I was immediately welcomed by a member of staff. "I have an appointment." I voice trialed off while scanning my surroundings for Kettle. The space was compact, with a coat rack and tattoo chairs positioned near the landing area. Admittedly, it was odd to find the studio's waiting area and reception desk further away from the entry path than the servicing grounds. The constant inflow of customers posed somewhat of a distracting presence to artists and clients alike.

​Kettle would emerge from her station by the window, then gesture towards the waiting area at the rear of the unit. Similar to La Maison, a waiver would be required of me before proceeding with the appointment. Situated on the stout coffee table was a double-sided menu stand: one side featured the QR code for PMU (permanent makeup) for brows, while the other for tattoos. The listed clauses were near identical to the Vancouver parlour, but did not require proof of ID to be attached to the form.

Located in the corridor between the waiting area and servicing chairs was a cramped single stall washroom with grimy shower stall (used for storage). The layout was astoundingly typical of Toronto, being both poorly maintained and difficult for guests to move about comfortably. Given the downstairs neighbour of My Roti Place/My Dosa Place, greasy fumes laced with Indian spices wafting upwards were also inevitable.
BRINGMEYOURSKIN was roughly one fifth the size of La Maison, if at all. That said, the studio was located in a much, much nicer area than Hastings, as Kettle would agree.

​Since our first encounter in the sketchiest section of downtown Vancouver, she had been travelling the world - and also received hair extensions. Having visited Bali and other parts of the nation (Banff, Montréal), I was eager to ask of her Canada travels briefly. She noted preference for Toronto over Montréal due to the availability of Korean food, and also expressed relief towards the cleaner, calmer neighbourhood of Yonge-Lawrence, understandably.

The touch-up was remarkably quick, just as the original tattoo had been. With the reference image beside her, she retraced the ahgase outline, etching the shape in darker, bolder lines. 

At the end of my visit, I extended a number of recommendations for coffee:

• Don't Yell At Me for lattes, namely the Brown Sugar Coffee Latte, Sea Salt Caramel Coffee Latte, and Osmanthus Coffee Latte
• Third Wave Coffee for black coffee, namely the Cold Brew
• Hazukido for americanos, namely my beloved Orange Americano

​The same care instructions previously provided would apply for the touch-up, though this time she had recommended Aquaphor instead of Vaseline.

I can never quite predict my sleep patterns. Sometimes, I crash into bed and remain stationary until the whirring buzz of my alarm. Other times, my body is fatigued yet the mind is restless, pouncing back and forth between thoughts conjured by recent stressors.
​
Truth be told: alcohol aids not in promoting deep sleep, but rather a drowsy, relaxed sensation that transitions to disrupted slumber. Small quantities rarely render an impact, however, but I'd be mindful of consuming too much too late.

​With barely four hours of sleep under my belt, the morning commute was indeed a struggle. Nearly zombie-like in my demeanour, I sluggishly eased into the morning after an incredibly justified intake of cold brew.

​My coworker surprised me, along with another member of the team, with a handmade bead bracelet. While slightly juvenile for my tastes, the gesture was appreciated nevertheless. Mine would be appropriately themed in green, with colourful, cubed letter beads strung together to read "Jinyoung". Naturally, it summoned a giggle from me and I happily slid it on my wrist.

Despite the splendid weather, inadequate rest had suppressed sharpness, diminishing my ability to command alertness and consequently discouraging my initial contemplation of cycling in the city.

Recently introduced by Amazon was a streamlined return procedure. Instead of a shipping label, a QR code would be sent to customers to enable drop-off at any Staples, Canada Post, Purolator, or Intelcom location. The method neither required a shipping box or printer, nor incurred any additional charges to the customer. If desired, though, one could opt for a Purolator drop-off with "box required".

Located at the northeast corner of Armoury and University is likely one of the neatest, most spacious Staples outposts in the city. Besides a Mos Mos coffee counter and dedicated workspace with glass walls (termed "Staples Studio"), the location also offered a "solutionshop" section with a separate counter for Amazon returns. A member of staff would scan the QR code, print a label, and tack it onto the return item in a matter of seconds. Then I'd be on my way. The process was swift and seamless, and ideal for individuals without printers such as myself.

IKEA would constitute the following stop.

In response to move-in week for post-secondary students, the homeware giant had introduced a number of new dorm-friendly items. Although the selection was impressive, I ultimately strode out without making a single purchase. For starters, I'd need to take measurements to ensure feasibility of the items. Secondly, I was keen to avoid transporting items back home on a rush hour commute with limited GO train seating.​

​For the past two weekends, I contemplated matcha shortbread cookies - in particular sablé. The image in mind was of a dainty round, speckled with glimmering granules of coarse sugar and adopting a diameter just slightly larger than a ping pong ball.

​Similar to last weekend, however, these tender-textured treats would not see materialization. Instead, I appointed a batch of crunchy granola as the project of the weekend. With an entire day of dedicated kitchen experimentation though, one can rest assured that more than one creation was undertaken.

1) Granola with Toasted Almonds and Pistachios

​Inspiration would originate from a desire for crunchy breakfast food and a desire to deplete the remainder of my allergen-unfriendly supply of pistachios from Tavazo before the brief return of my browsing partner. As depicted in countless iterations in the past, granola is a hassle-free approach that transforms the basic pantry staple of oats to guarantee amplified flavour and texture. Homemade renditions are endlessly customizable, forgiving, and preposterously budget-friendly. While I've experimented with a variety of add-ins, dried cranberries, sesame seeds (black and white), and almonds constitute my regular picks, namely for their long shelf life but also for their unrivalled complexity.

Deshelled pistachios and whole almonds would be toasted beforehand at 350 F for 5 minutes. Consistent with Pistachio Butter findings, the nuts were fairly easy to deshell (in contrast to the bulk barn variety) and the direct application of heat unleased impressive aromas. Almonds paled in the fragrance department, but had their signature hearty crunch revived during toasting.
The chopped nuts were then folded into unmeasured quantities of rolled oats, golden yellow sugar, olive oil, sesame seeds, and three egg whites. In learning from previous trials, one egg white would be insufficient in offering binding properties, though three would contribute a granola bar-like cohesiveness. Two egg whites was the ideal amount for my usual recipe, though I decided to increase the amount given that I had unintentionally crafted a larger batch than normal, simply by using a larger bowl for rough measurements.

​The mass would be distributed in a single layer across a Silpat as evenly as possible before baking at 365 F for 30 minutes. In the absence of a watchful eye, the tray's contents emerged a tad burnt along the edges, but otherwise still delectably crunchy and gratifying. Having switched to Costco's whole dried cranberries, I observed significant puffiness in the berries after baking, but luckily less charring due to reduced surface area.

​Unsurprisingly, the granola ordeal had left me with three egg yolks. In consideration of the spectacular praise received from last weekend's Almond Frangipane Tart, I decided to craft yet another tart. One of the yolks would be used for a tart shell, while the other two for lemon curd.

I had originally thought to portion out the dough to bake five small tarts, distributing 78-80 g across my range of mini and medium-sized tart pans. In the end, the quantity amounted to the equivalent of:

• Three medium aluminum tart pans
• Two small non-stick tart pans
• One small non-stick casserole dish
• Two mini aluminum tart foils
• One large aluminum tart foil

When office days take an unexpectedly steamy turn, one is compelled to consider indoor alternatives for lunchtime ventures.

The trek towards the office usually spans no more than fifteen minutes. Before I had even reached the halfway mark though, I had already shed my cardigan and powered on my neck pan. Extremely humid days make for miserable walks in the city, and when the early morning hours had already posed difficulty breathing, I knew Mother Nature was foreshadowing an imminent surge in mercury levels.

​By the time noon rolled around, I had secured a last-minute admission pass for the Bata Shoe Museum using the TPL Map. The reservation enabled a total of two adults and four children to visit; I proposed the idea to my coworker, who eagerly joined me upon hearing the word "museum".

​To combat the dreadful heat, we opted to take the subway from St. Patrick to St. George. Mind you, as someone seldom takes TTC nowadays, I did struggle slightly with finding the correct exit from the Line 1-2 transfer station. Upon rearing our heads onto St. George and Bloor, we were graced with the sight of ongoing cycle track work at the intersection.

New asphalt, fresh pavement markings, and dazzling concrete came into view - all much to my delight as a recent member of the Bike Share community.

On the southwest corner of the intersection was our destination of interest, the Bata Shoe Museum. I led the way through the accessibility-enabled glass doors, then halted by the elevators as it occurred to me that I hadn't downloaded the pass as yet. I quickly saved the PDF, then approached the counter with both the pass and library card in hand.
"I can help you over here." a young gentleman offered. "I'll just need your order number, library card number, and a piece of ID."
This was possibly the most comprehensive check to date, for not even Ripley's had verified that the name of the booking member matched the ID of the member on site.

Following check-in, the man provided an overview of the museum. Spanning a total of four floors, he recommended commencing from the basement level and working one's way up. Besides a spacious staircase, visitors with mobility needs could also utilize the nearby elevator and Wave-to-Open sensors to access each exhibit.

At the bottommost floor were washrooms, a seating and lounge area, and an area where one could try on shoes of various styles and sizes. I wasn't particularly keen on touching surfaces with which others' soles have come into contact, though I did enjoy the amusing array of footwear available.

The basement level also featured an exhibit titled "All About Shoes: Footwear Through the Ages". As the name implied, it showcased various styles of shoes worn throughout the decades. These styles would vary drastically in size, shape, and material to reflect the needs of those inhabiting different parts of the globe. 

An Ameblo Pigg-style staircase would lead one up to a smaller section of the same exhibit. This portion featured comparatively modern styles: suede, leather, and hide were shed for patent leather, canvas, and rubber. Sneakers and loafers announced the departure from moccasins, cowboy boots, pointy heels, and sparkly platforms.

​"All About Shoes" led us back to the ground floor, where we'd climb up the stairs towards the second floor exhibits. Immediately piquing our interest was "Exhibit A: Investigating Crime and Footwear".

Themed in black and red, this compact room garnered immediate interest. Neither of us had envisioned a possible link between crime-solving and shoes! The tidbits were exceptionally engaging, and we wished that we could have read them all during our stay. Unfortunately, the lunchtime visit had restricted the duration of stay per room to a mere few minutes.

​As if they had been keeping a keen ear on m my not-so-silent grievances, the peaches ripened up immediately the following day. Their skins remained fuzzy and dry to the touch, yet the surface yielded ever so slightly when pressed. Taking them over to the cutting board, I'd be graced with fabulous, fragrant slices bursting with juiciness. The peaches were now positively perfect for eating out of hand.

1) Peach Slab Pie with Oat Streusel

From the day the video materialized on my feed, I was determined to recreate it, or at least a version of it.

​Slab pies were a variation of the circular Thanksgiving centerpiece that utilized a sheet pan. The intent was to serve a large crowd without fear of distribution uncertainties. In my case, I had hoped for it to be the answer to quickly ripening peaches.

I turned to SK's familiar all-butter dough, but took to gathering the floury pieces into a single mass instead of dividing into halves, as I usually do. This would be chilled overnight, then thawed for use the next morning.

Upon rolling, I learned of the potential rationale behind splitting the dough into smaller portions. For starters, the smaller discs were easier to roll. I struggled tremendously with flattening the rectangular block into a usable shape. They would also enable more uniform thawing, while my single slab saw pockets of melting butter on the surface and a relatively rigid centre.

Cut into thin slices instead of chunks, I opted against the blanching step - it was, indeed, too fussy for me. The fruit would then be macerated in 82 g of golden yellow sugar (in place of Demarara), vanilla extract, a pinch of salt, and warm spices of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ground ginger. Thirty to sixty minutes would have been sufficient in drawing out the natural juices, though the bowl would again reside in the fridge overnight until use.

​Straining the macerating liquid from the peaches and thickening them on the stovetop provided insurance against a soggy pie bottom, which is likely crucial for a slab pie of this size. I frequently skip this step, instead incorporating cornstarch directly during maceration and intentionally choosing low-moisture fruit for use in pies and galettes. (Early season apples are great for this application.) One would be also required to allow the mixture to cool down slightly after coagulation, as to prevent melting the butter in the pie dough. This would consequently entail additional dishes of a saucepot, spatula, and heat-safe bowl.

Ontario is a paradise of seasonal produce, ranging from berries in the early summer to stone fruit in mid-to-late summer, and apples and root vegetables in the fall. Various guidelines exist across the web to inform interested residents of picking season, which assists both consumers and local farmers in making the most of annual harvest periods.

Raspberry picking had been unsuccessful, thus I reiterated the need to undertake at least one instance of fruit picking prior to the end of the season. Such an outing was easier said than done, however, for ripening periods  of most fruit last for two weeks at most; the schedules of my browsing partner and I are not exactly fluid enough to accommodate weekday afternoon trips to Niagara. (I can hardly set aside enough time for chores on a good day!)

With these factors in mind, an incredulous amount of planning would be required leading up to the event. Peaches would be the next item of desire following berries. Of all the farms in the GTHA, there were few that offered peaches, and even fewer that enabled pick-your-own opportunities. Cherry Avenue Farms and Parkway Orchards would constitute the sole contenders, with opening hours subject to crop inventory and their ripening status. Hours and updates were provided on the farm websites on a near-daily basis. I had held out hope for either establishment, though concluded that the Winona Peach Festival for marketplace baskets would be the next best option should the pick-your-own destinations not be attainable.

​On Friday evening, I'd conduct my last check. Cherry Avenue Farms had noted a pending availability of blue plums but a low inventory of peaches; the Vineland orchard would be closed throughout the weekend to allow for crop ripening. This led me to investigate the further option of Parkway Orchards, though distance was hardly a consideration at this point. The website had been revised to included limited hours of Sunday, though a quick call to the farm informed that the hours were merely tentative. The man on the other end of the line confirmed hours of operation for Saturday, but explained that Sunday hours would be dependent on stock. This was a reasonable approach, and also one that steered our Saturday itinerary.

Swift travels enabled a bathroom stop at Niagara Gateway in Grimsby. It was an ONroute-type fixture with a streamlined food court, indoor plumbing facilities, and information booth (with souvenirs). At our time of visit, all food vendors were observed shuttered with the exception of Tim Hortons. Surrounding the dining area were promotional banners for local happenings.

In contrast to the modern, brightly-illuminated ONroute stops, the Niagara Gateway presented itself with a casual, cabin-like appearance. While condensed into a small area, the bathrooms facilities were arguably cleaner, equipped with at least four dyson airblade hand dryers - not one bearing a speck of dust (Ahem, Square One!).

Continuing towards Niagara-on-the-Lake, we'd pull into the asphalt (not gravel!) lot of Parkway Orchards at 8:54 AM. We were the first patrons to arrive, but were slowly joined by other visitors as the clock neared 9 AM. Admittedly, it was shocking to see the handful of people that managed to make their way out this early in the day.

​At the front of the farm was a deserted Bake Shop of sorts. To its left was signage that indicated an entry point on the north side of the building.

Most Mondays start with sleepy entries into the morning. Mine started with a hangover after indulging in sake after the departure of Beer Garden vendors at Japan Festival.

The afternoon would see creation of an Ovaltine Matcha Latte. Put to the test was Hokusan's pricey Niju series. While the use of ceremonial matcha is excessive in my opinion, I was curious to observe differences between my go-to pick of Momo Tea's Matsu.

It was with shock that I learned the tins to be without freshness seals. A muted green hue with yellowy undertones would be revealed, followed by an extremely floral fragrance that I was none too fond of. Upon crafting the beverage, I could perceive mild notes of grassiness, though the floralness continued to overwhelm the olfactory palette. The resulting colour wasn't revolutionary, though the formula does indeed shine with milk, making it the ideal contender for the ever-basic matcha latte.

I never did understand the cult following behind Hokusan, and perhaps I never will.

​Meals of the week comprised of Steamed Pork and Turnip + Choy Sum (and Furikake) over Rice, Braised Chicken and Lap Cheong with Congee, Fuzzy Melon Soup, and homemade Cha Siu.

I'd also prepare two servings of Black Sesame Glutinous Rice Balls - one with crystal rock sugar and another with a ginger-infused version of the syrup.

My alarm clock would be compromised the morning of my required in-office presence, leading to a mad scramble and dash for the train. Miraculously, I made it to the station and charged up the platforms just in time to catch my regular freight. "Noooooo" could be audibly heard by fellow commuters just before the doors closed.

​Thankfully, the morning had proved cooler than most, keeping perspiration at bay as I blazed through my morning routine.

​These cooler temperatures also encouraged further foray into the realm of Bike Share. Over the course of the morning, I'd review options for my lunchtime route, eventually settling on traversing northeast in the first half and southwest for the return route. These decisions had been intentional as to prevent a sweaty uphill return and ensure a timely return for an afternoon meeting.

With some difficulty, I pedalled up Bay Street, and was immediately faced with aggressive drivers. The vast majority rushed through right turns, obstructing the crosswalk and curb lane, and even through intersections. The lack of dedicated cycling facilities and high pedestrian volumes made for a generally unpleasant and unsafe experience. Uni-directional cycle tracks on Bay Street did not commence until north of Dundas Street, pending curbside construction activities.

I continued until Wellesley, then Sherbourne, then Bloor St E, as per my planned route. In cycling through the various high-density neighbourhoods, one could clearly distinguish the respective demographic and income levels.

In the planning stage, I had intended to dock the bike once at Castle Frank station. Along the way was a more convenient Bike Share station at Bloor and Parliament. A cycle track that gradually ramped up towards the sidewalk served as incentive to disembark briefly. Being situated at the base of a new residential tower, all docks were empty, meaning that inhabitants of the building had likely taken to the service for commuting purposes.

I continued along Bloor, but stopped within minutes due to concerns over squeaking sounds arising from the left pedal. Considering a bike swap, I docked at Castle Frank, only to undock the same bike again upon discovering the remainder to be e-bikes (extra charge) or those with peeling seats.

Interestingly, the pedals no longer squeaked as loudly upon undocking. I'd then continue along the Bloor Street overpass, which offered the typical Ontario lookout of leafy shrubs and the generally unimposing Don River. While I cannot compare directly to the Burrard Bridge, even Mississauga's Credit River featured grander scenery.

My annual attendance at Japan Festival has seen an even longer history than Thanksgiving weekend hiking. With the exception of 2020, wherein the pandemic had eradicated most festivals, I can proudly declare that I've not missed a single occurrence of the event since its introduction to Celebration Square in 2016. Fortunately, the venue has not been altered since the summer of eight years past: stress-free and fee-free parking remains in the garage beneath the Civic Centre.

​Intending to embrace the festival-going vibes of the previous year, I reached for my wide-brim straw hat once more. My browsing partner arrived punctually, though ominous grey skies prompted us to round back to the house for an umbrella. And thank goodness we did.

Though the earlier hours had seen glorious blue skies and plenty of sunshine, these conditions had receded to a foreboding dullness come the early afternoon. Our 3 PM arrival had intended to coincide with the Origami showcase taking place at 3:45 PM, whilst enabling a brief perusal of the festival grounds in advance of drawing near the stage.

There were a handful of independent artists present, including a few long-time vendors with familiar stall configurations. My priority was none other than CHOYA's booth, however. I was due for a restock of Choya Umeshu Plums, along with a new batch of (non-alcoholic) Yuzu Soda. ​These were promptly placed in the car to prevent transporting the cans for the remainder of our stay.

View the full album HERE !

Clouds began to move in steadily as we took our first steps about the fountain, and by the time we had re-emerged from the parking garage, showers would descend on festival attendees. The large droplets rapidly transformed to a relentless downpour, causing many to take cover under the nearby library pillars and vendor tents. We too took shelter within OOMOMO's booth, watching with amusement as the staff avidly promoted their availability of umbrellas and rain ponchos.

​Some weeks are a bit crazy, and others crazier still. The temporary return of my browsing partner gave rise to a plethora of unplanned engagements, which strictly intensified the impacts of my existing commitments. Energy levels were running low without many opportunities for recovery, if any.

Work-from-days would entail arguably low-commitment kitchen endeavours, endless chores, and munching on the remnants of Pecan Pie and Russian Honey Cake.

Having been sent a number of images and videos about a certain "viral" cracking chocolate shell beverage, I decided it was time to validate my suspicions once and for all: It would not taste any different with the exception of added chocolate shards that do not incorporate readily.

​​My rendition would involve my go-to Thai Tea as of late and a thin layer of Surfin. After melting an approximate 50-75 g of the semisweet couverture, I took to carefully lining the inside of one of my many plastic cups inherited from previous purchases. The unsealed would then be placed in the freezer until solid; just five minutes were needed for the thin coating.
Once the prepared Thai Tea was poured within, the chocolate lining softened slightly, causing the sides of the cup to yield with ease. To achieve the signature shatter effect, the cup was placed back into the freezer - sealed this time - for about 20 minutes to harden. Within this period, the shell solidified and the ice melted, allowing the beverage to remain chilled but not icy.

The chocolate coating cracked readily, though did not alter flavour of the drink drastically. At best, one could taste faint hints of chocolate as the drink came to room temperature. Consuming the drink indoors in an air-conditioned setting had preserved the temperature of the beverage, thus I was merely left with chocolate shards at the bottom of the cup that had to be scooped out separately.
Should I have taken the drink to a saunter in thirty-degree weather outside, I may have experienced a mocha-laced Thai Tea of sorts, though the creation wasn't novel enough to warrant a second trial. Furthermore, I did not enjoy that the creation was limited to cold drinks and the mandatory use of a plastic cup. This material neither serves to insulate its contents and is also susceptible to warping and deformation if smeared with hot, just-melted chocolate. As with many food trends as of late, the venture sought out additional labour efforts and time without producing justifiable results.

​Another recent fad circulating online has been Dubai Chocolate. Those acquainted with my habits ought be aware that Swiss chocolatiers of Lindt and Läderach constitute my consistent favourites. Budget brands, or even those with Belgian origins (681), have wrecked havoc on my skin. In other words, I wasn't excessively keen on ingesting chocolate with unknown origins, or bracing myself for potential breakouts resulting from consumption.

That said, I recalled my forgotten stash of pistachios from Tavazo Nuts, as well as a handful of bulk barn specimens. The latter proved nearly impossible to deshell, and my thumbs were aching terribly afterwards. Surprisingly, the pinkish variety from the Middle East opened quite readily. Nevertheless, the process was lengthy: approximately thirty minutes would pass before I successfully obtained 150 g of the coveted nut.

Ingredients

• 150 g pistachios, no shell
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 40 g raw creamed honey *
• 46 g canola oil *

Yield:

• 610 g bowl + pistachio paste (not sure about this? XL bowl weight is 1007 g, L bowl is 686 g)
• 175 g pistachio butter (no oil)
• 221 g pistachio butter (with oil)

​Infrequently do I subject my mini food processor to such strenuous tasks. Nut butters are finnicky in the sense that any liquid will cause seizing - an aspect I'd come to discover firsthand. As noted above, neutral oil assists in restoring its consistency. Beware though, for it also reduces shelf life.

​I could have - and perhaps should have - stopped at homemade pistachio butter. It was scrumptious, slightly coarse, and the perfect, stabilizer-free peanut butter substitute! But, of course, these projects do not cease so quickly.​

I had intrepid plans for my upcoming in-office days. Beyond a pantry clearout of ancient tea bags, my newly acquired neon bike helmet and cycling gloves from MEC would venture downtown with me.

Squeezing in a trip to Koreatown between two meetings made for the most hurried lunchtime expedition to date, especially when the route was unfamiliar and the Bike Share login process not nearly as seamless as before.

Not withstanding these obstructions - inclusive of nearly sliding off the seat and maneuvering around a lane closure at Bloor St W and St. George, I'd arrive unscathed at the doors of Hodo Kwaja in under twenty minutes. The bike would be parked at the northeast corner of Bloor St W and Euclid, any otherwise empty station during lunchtime.

My picks of the day would include a standalone Brown Sugar Pancake (Hoddeok) and 6-piece set of assorted Walnut Cakes (Hodo Kwaja) for my coworker, followed by a 5-pack and 30-pack of the traditional treats respectively for myself. These items were bestowed upon me using my own sturdy reusable containers. The initiative delighted the ever-amicable lady behind the cashier, for it not only lessened her workload (box folding, etc.) but further demonstrated a sustainable approach as a consumer. Neither fell within my core objectives, for my priority was to ensure safe packaging for transit and eliminate the need to transfer greasy items out of their paper and Styrofoam packaging once back home.

In addition to my usual selection, I also inquired about iced coffee - reasonably so, given the weather conditions and activity levels of the day. The cups were priced based on size: 10 oz for $1.75 or 12 oz $1.95. With some degree of uncertainty, I retrieved my tumbler for the request, noting its capacity of just over 1 cup / 250 ml.
The lady offered to rinse the tumbler, which had previously held this morning's cold brew. Next, she filled it to the presumed 10 oz mark, adding ice, milk, and sugar with my confirmation. "There's still some room - would you like more ice? More coffee?" she offered with a big smile, "I can fill up with coffee if you'd like - it's cold! I'll only charge you for the 10 oz." It was as if she had read my mind regarding temperature qualms.

The stopover was incredibly brief and efficient. Within minutes, I crossed over to P.A.T. Supermarket, where a second Bike Share station could be found. Located at the southwest corner of Bloor St W and Manning Ave, this station offered a greater number of bikes, with nearly all positioned under the shade. This feature was worth noting, as well-illuminated areas generally equate to scorching seats.

My return was made in under thirteen minutes, for most of the route was downhill. Midtown-downtown cycling connections were surprisingly good, with plenty of one-way residential streets surrounding K-Town, uni-directional cycle tracks on Harbord Street, narrow-but-functional cycle tracks on College, and a seamless connection at the southwest corner of College and University. Contrasting against the horrifically narrow segments surrounding the University of Toronto St. George campus, the southbound segment along University was extremely wide. Fresh asphalt had been laid not long ago, along with pavement markings, tactile strips around bus stops, and two-stage crosswalks/concrete barriers to delineate between pedestrian, cyclist, and vehicular traffic.