​The new year starts with more food. More chocolate, more leftovers, and more cooking.

Weight gain is inevitable over the holiday season, and especially this one with majority of the population's relatively sedentary work-from-home lives. I started with leftover roll cake from NYE, which paired wonderfully with cold brew and cold frothed milk. It was no Irish Coffee, but a decent drink nonetheless.

Creations of the week (and a half) included:

1) Sablé Cookies w/ Chocolate Ganache

​Cookie cravings rang loud and clear the moment the household was devoid of the dainty, buttery biscuits. Relishing in the orangecane's trademark Santa sugar cookie didn't help either. I consequently set out in the name of creation; running low on my preferred pick and with Président cultured butter on hand, the opportunity to attempt sablé was naturally declared.

Inspired by the admirable Sunday Baking, I followed the formula closely...until I forgot the vanilla. Its taste was subpar to the Lactania edition, but undeniably more buttery in terms of fragrance. While this may be owed to a horribly sticky dough (even after chilling!) and a perceptibly high amount of flour for dusting, the experience did not warrant the extra effort nor the steep premium. ​Conclusive findings aligned with Sunday in that cultured butter ought be used where possible, independent of brand and origin.

​The original intention had been to populate the pieces with pandan and ube fillings, yet the plan had been scrapped when the mixtures failed to coagulate overnight. Melding chocolate couvertures and heavy cream to form a classic, tried-and-true chocolate ganache, I antsily began sandwiching the cookies as the mixture came to room temperature.

2) Nama Choco / 生チョコ

​Influenced by the gradually descending Valentine's spirit filling the d̶e̶p̶a̶r̶t̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶e̶ air (and with immense hatred towards overbearing soft centre truffles), the search began for a Nama Chocolate recipe - a cult favourite in Japan.  ​The foundation was no more than a 2:1 ratio of chocolate and heavy cream, with the only downsides being mandatory refrigeration and inescapable breakouts.

3) Lemon-Rose Braised Chicken Drumsticks

It was an odd combination, even if I do say so myself. Seeing success in a soy-star anise (683) braise, I opted to experiment with lemon and rose this time around. The juice of a shriveling lemon, rose cooking wine, dried rose buds, and even cinnamon sticks lent a lightly savoury tone with prominent citrusy kick. In the absence of dark soy sauce, light soy sauce was supplemented with an extra dash of sea salt; light brown sugar was supplemented with molasses.

4) Coconut Chili Basa Stew

Pictured while being consumed in conjunction with the above, the stewed basa dish materialized out of need to relieve the freezer of bulky packaging. Pan-fried scallions and a knobby nugget of ginger established a fiery framework, into which a pinch of chili powder, fennel seeds, and and heaping tablespoon of paprika were added. Coconut milk assisted in moderating the flames, though the broth was ultimately too gingery yet very anti-inflammatory.

5) Black Sesame Coconut Milk Jelly that oddly turned into a three-layer concoction

Happy New Year!

Another 365 (+1) days have passed us by, and we've arrived at yet another period of sappy recaps. (But is there even anything to recap?) The last nine months have likely been as vague for me as any other human requiring to interact with the outside world, with the COVID virus and its prominent, indefinite presence.

​A time of reflection comes with each year's end, but rather than recounting those that rouse regret and resentment, the approach ought be constructive. Too soon have I noticed those on the interweb bidding riddance to the year of 2020; optimism should be carried forward, but not without comprehensive review of the year's happenings.

​Over the course of the pandemic, the global community has been stretched with no expected end in sight. Majority of occupations were shifted to that of a virtual working environment, with the exception of the essential services that support our lives silently in the background. And the non-essentials, some of which I shall not deny contempt of, dissolved - either out of lack of need or lack of financial support. The shift towards electronic processes for municipal and provincial services were well overdue, yet materialized only in the wake of a crisis.

​But, as a civilization, we are dynamic creatures, adaptable and resilient in the face of change. The show must go on.

I'll admit it:
I missed experiencing work life in the flesh, whether it entailed office-bound overtime or not.
I missed the opportunities to engage with members of my social circle, whether we were on tight terms or not.
I missed outings that didn't involve running back to the house because I had forgotten a mask.
I missed the potential trip to see GOT7's domestic anniversary concert.

Most importantly, I missed the daily activities we took for granted. Every instance was a privilege, from every step to every living breath. Mere survival is already an opportunity. COVID couldn't depict more clearly that having health is having wealth.

​Throughout these "trying times", I blamed not once the incarnation of such a lethal bug. In a society employing the survival of the fittest, our fate alters only with the actions we choose to execute, irrelevant of third-party stimulants. We, as a species, are given two options: live to learn, or learn to live.
​
From here, the only way is up, up the knowledge chain on a quest to conquer coronavirus and re-instate the activities we loved and will love again.

One of my fondest childhood memories involves Pokémon - the original 150(+1) to be exact. I owned not a single handheld gaming console, though was an avid enthusiast of the N64 system renowned amongst 90s youngsters. Further positive flashbacks can be derived from the Mario Kart mini-games, where shell-throwing and ramp-racing constituted perfectly normal acts in the quest for balloon accumulation.

This affection for games later led to fascination with RPG games in my tween years and frequent arcade visits post days of license acquisition. Impromptu Playdium visits were not uncommon practice in my regular hangouts, but at-home gaming was no longer a pastime I found myself investing in. It seems the opposite effect has affected the masses amidst the coronavirus pandemic; yet, in-person face-offs remain the most appealing for me. Human interaction is scarce these days, and I shall eagerly latch onto the opportunities that chance me by.

​In response to Peel Region'sreversal into a modified Stage 2 and Halton's maintenance of Stage 3, my extremely belated birthday plans were shifted towards the west end of the GTA, where Dave & Buster's replaced The Rec Room for our dose of friendly arcade competition.

​​The Oakville location appeared larger than the Vaughan outpost, or appeared in such a manner given the spacious arrangement of the games floor. Much like The Rec Room, attendees were required to complete a sign-in sheet with name and phone number details, though were not subject to symptom screening. Labelled glasses were used to distinguish between "used" and "clean" pens for peace of mind; disposable gloves and sanitizer were also situated at various stations throughout.

​We strode past relatively densely-populated dining booths before finding ourselves amongst the flashing displays of simulation and redemption games. Noteworthy was the sheer variety of available attractions: beyond the inclusion of both DDR (malfunctioning at our time of visit) and Pump It Up platforms, D&B was also home to several games I had yet to witness in other establishments. Among these was a single-player module employing a VR headset, which we opted against trying for obvious health reasons. 

​Bathrooms were pristine and wait times were essentially nonexistent. Admittedly, the price per ticket is atrociously steep. This, presumably, bears a direct correlation to the quality of goods within the prize cabinet. Two visits' worth of points would have been adequate in earning oneself an avocado-shaped wireless charger at D&B, yet the equivalent of a dusty pack of Nerds at Playdium.

As it neared the 8:30 PM mark, we declared that dinner could wait no longer.

Prior to the incarnation of the space, I had visited Song Cook's on a handful of occasions. The most prominent in my memory are the dim ambience and partitioned dining floor. Returning to the tiny storefront nearly six years later, it dawned upon me that the restaurant had undergone extremely few modifications. The interior was precisely have I had remembered, as was the layout. Perhaps the only departure from the original Song Cook's was dual title of "Chi-Mac", which consequently broadened the menu with several saucy Korean fried chicken options. Naturally, the change summoned an advantage over nearby eateries such as The Fry and Sikgaek, which also offers indulgent, modern Korean cuisine. 

In Ontario, fall is the shortest season of the year - COVID times or not.
​Hiking is the ideal activity to make the most of the forgiving temperatures, though road trips to cottage country are a swell alternative for the less mobile members of society. Not to mention: both of these engagements comply completely with public health guidelines.

​orangecane and I started the day at McDonald's. What was to follow constituted our  ̶f̶i̶r̶s̶t̶  third meeting of the year (excluding the brief exchanges of In the Kitchen happenings), as well as our second hike in orangeaesthetics history - a now-hijacked hashtag.

A Signature Wrap and Junior Chicken later, we were on our way to Elora Gorge, a destination I became acquainted with while compiling a Kitchener itinerary in the summer.

​Several other spots had been shortlisted in the week leading up to Thanksgiving long weekend, but Guelph seemed most reasonable for a day trip in terms of travel time and fall foliage potential.

​Our collective first impression was utter disdain towards the provided trail map. The single-sided sheet lacked clarity. Besides the relative positioning of on-site campgrounds, parking lots, trail entrances, and routes were vaguely presented.

​Admission fees relinquished and parking spot secured, we were about to embark on the journey as orangecane gestured to the printout on the dashboard.
"Did you want to take the map?"
"I'm not going to look at it." I shrugged. "It's also essentially useless."
She nodded in agreement, side-eyeing the folded rectangle before summoning her trusty hiking gear.

​With full confidence, I declare that majority of us have become homebodies as a result of this ongoing pandemic. Involuntarily in the case of eager adventurers, the transition from daily downtown discoveries to dormant, deskbound drudgery was far from facile.
​The inevitable "quarantine fifteen" prevails even in the face of countless up-and-coming online workout channels. And while homemade meals tend to prove more flexible and budget-friendly, the act of composition isn't entirely easy, especially when slotted between periods of tremendous anxiety and impromptu teleconferences.
​
I'm looking to start the roundup with several of the week's creations, as time in the kitchen has constituted for the vast percentage of my waking hours, whether it be a frantic fury of dinner assemblage or the undertaking of sweet treats for the sake of stress relief.

Creations of the week include:

1) Chocolate Chip Cookies​ - the last of the Epicurious batch, to be precise.
​
​Baked in the oven at 350 F for roughly 15 mins, the yield was softer than toaster oven with, oddly, sweeter results. My preference lies with the toaster oven, for it maintains height, limits spread, and leads to an overall crisper cookie. Furthermore, it nixes the need for preheating (and its associated energy wastage).

2) Financiers
​
After adhering to a 12-hour chill - as directed by Sunday Baking - the batter was spooned into madeleine and mini muffin molds. Despite a small mishap along the way (ahem misreading the baking temperature), the results remained stellar.

​In an attempt to recreate my fave specimen from Third Wave, I proceeded to coat a handful of the pastries with melted chocolate and chopped, toasted walnuts; it was a regrettable decision that contributed an excess of moisture, dissimilar to the King East coffee shop's heavenly incarnation. That said, the mighty morsels managed to disappear quite rapidly.

3) Penne with Chicken Breast using last week's fresh tomato pasta sauce
​
I won't even lie: work happenings resulted in complete obliteration of the starchy pantry staple from the grocery list, prompting me to run back for its sole acquisition. The pasta was enjoyed alongside defrosted kale and a shredded Edam & mozzarella blend.

At 2:57 PM on Monday afternoon, I joined the lineup for Bobooya. Food inventory was low at home, thus making for the perfect excuse for a trip to North York.

​Katsuya's "sister brand" had secured a storefront at the densely-populated intersection of Yonge and Sheppard, south of Han Ba Tang and adjacent to Pujukan. ​With the stretch already saturated with similar pub-like establishments, it was a questionable location in terms of competition. However, given the team's success in launching specialized tonkatsu eateries throughout the GTA, I have high hopes for the new venture, which pays homage to their Korean roots.

The peculiar name was derived from their signature items: bossam ("bo") and budaejjigae ("boo"), however the true stunner was the jokbal. The fare was undoubtedly traditional, though zoning in on the niche market was an unprecedented step in the uptown dining scene.

As part of the restaurant's grand opening promotions, five menu items were granted a 50% off discount. Of these five items, only two were devoid of the "spicy" description. The full menu was more extensive, spanning Red Carbonara Bossam and BBQ Cheese Jobkal, but the cash-only event operated on a limited selection.

​Despite being fourth in line, the ordeal demanded a lengthier slot than allocated. Succeeding a 10-minute wait to reach the front counter was 25-minute wait to receive my order. Thankfully, the nearby side street offered parking, albeit enforced by the metre. For commuters, the Yonge Sheppard centre acts as a source of A/C, retail therapy, and, most importantly, toilet facilities.

My order of a Large Bobooya Bossam and Large Bobooya Jokbal was packaged neatly in partitioned, spillproof packaging - Go Topokki-style (which apparently is no longer a go). ​More often than not, my driving tendencies possess the potential for unforeseen calamities. Secure casing was greatly appreciated in this regard; moreover, the recyclable containers prove more eco-conscious than Styrofoam, though are sadly not resealable.

​At 50% off, the meal was a steal with extremely generous portions, wide array of toppings (ssam sauce and fresh garlic!), and phenomenal kimchi - dare I say, the best I've tasted in my lifetime. The quantity of romaine lettuce included was insufficient for wrapping. That said, the leaves were fresh, slightly damp, and free from visible curling or blackened edges.
Leftovers carried us through the week: While the bossam was great on the date of purchase, it grew tougher with each passing day. On the contrary, the jokbal grew tastier, attaining new depths of delectability. Reheating the slices rendered them positively tender, prompting instant dissolution.

​With all that said, undertaking a visit at full price would constitute a topic of discussion. Bobooya's asking price is mind-bogglingly steep, with two large orders totalling over eighty dollars.

In keeping with the positive vibes acquired from Canada Day's Scenic Caves nature pursuit in Collingwood, I had proposed a subsequent hike with a fellow July baby (yes, another one). It was, coincidentally, another semi-annual meetup.

​My original destination of Kortright - a name made familiar with while researching Maple Syrup Fest - was closed due to the pandemic, thus shifting the focus to other TRCA lands. Between the Nashville Conservation Reserve and Albion Hills Conservation Park, I settled on the latter out of consideration for its seemingly larger area of exploration.

​High levels of humidity had been predicted for the day, though thunderstorms were, thankfully, at bay.
​
Setting out from opposite ends of the GTA, we converged at a nearby McDonald's for a late lunch (which was really intended to be "just lunch", but delayed due to tardiness to which I own complete responsibility). A McChicken and Spicy Habanero Chicken (not mine, clearly) later, we began the twenty-minute-ish drive north.

Admission fees were but a small chunk of Scenic Caves' at $6.50 per adult. That said, signage was extremely minimal - near nonexistent, really - and so were members of park staff. I pulled into the first parking lot to appear, with my partner-in-crime following suit. The supposed "Trail Access" vanished with the departures from our respective vehicles. Hopping back into the driver's seat(s), we proceeded to travel upon other barely labelled routes, eventually reaching staff-only areas and a dead end. It wasn't until we accidentally pulled onto the campground area that directions were obtained from two friendly cyclists.

​The dusty gravel lot housed only a handful of vehicles. Surrounding the area were several picnic tables, all sufficiently distanced. For the vast majority of our trek, not a single human was witnessed. Accompanying us on the journey instead was the force of Mother Nature: agonizing dry heat, obsolete tree cover, unkempt paths laden with weeds, and as many flying/skittering/crawly creatures as fathomable.
​
Even at the early point of entry, our fate had been foretold.

​The burdensome weight on my back had been in vain, for views were dismal and insects were rampant. Maneuvering at arguably peaceful speeds rendered us targets for blood-sucking, and halting for swift snapshots was far worse. Commencing at marker no. 45, we plodded along the narrow grooves, constantly searching for indication that we had not strayed from the proper path. Much like the start of our journey, signage was extremely minimal; black and yellow arrows affixed to stout wooden poles served to guide us, though there was more than one occasion where a fork in the road coexisted with only one sign.

​We headed in the direction of a river, which ultimately reared itself as an incredibly still strip of murkiness - an opaque beige of filth and other organic compounds. Stumbling upon a shaded strip of shrubbery, we somehow managed to catch a glimpse of a blueish reflective surface - water. Beyond the a barbed wire fence was a wider section of the river, and beyond that a single accomodation and connecting grade-separated roadway.

​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.

View the full album HERE !

​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.