"Nothing could have ever prepared me for this moment." I found myself thinking time and time again.
A singular creation graced my countertop, its construction spanning half a day and cleanup procedures lasting until the late hour of 11 PM.
Lending inspiration from Chinese bakeries, I determined the requirement for an airy, chiffon-like base, yet one that wouldn't collapse when piled high with fillings of cream and diced mango. Turning to the Sheldo's Kitchen once more, I'd adhere to the 6" recipe, but construct a total of two rounds for testing purposes.
Due to other responsibilities, the cakes weren't removed from their parchment-lined moulds until later that evening. While my primary fear had been dryness, keeping the cakes inverted and bottoms sheathed had caused excess moisture to form on the underside, consequently making for damper rounds that demanded more care in handling.
Frosting the cakes was a tedious and stressful ordeal, at least for the likes of me. Swapping to a metal piping tip ensured clean strokes, while the scraper assisted in ensuring a smooth exterior, camouflaging blunders ranging from cracked, uneven cake layers, crumb fallout causing contamination, and lopsided stacking.
Neither variation yielded flawless slices. Vanilla bean-speckled lobs of cream oozed out from between the sponge. Chunks of mango escaped the stack, rolling onto the serving plate and wedging themselves onto the knife. Nevertheless, the cross-section was beautiful: wonderfully airy, golden layers of sponge that - as odd as it may sound - truly tasted like cake.
The cakes each had their merits, and I enjoyed them both. By the fourth day of QCing, however, I was more than ready to move onto alternative flavours.
Amongst the selection were:
- Cocoa Chanel
- Double Baked Apple Pie
- Dulce & Banana
- Lemon Curd Blueberry
- Maple Pecan Crunch
My pick of Lemon Curd Blueberry ultimately proved to be a bland, miserable attempt at "ice cream" comprising of a greater proportion of stabilizers than dairy and artificial flavourings. Dissolution speed was atrociously swift as well, failing to retain its shape by the time I had reached Bay/Adelaide from Yonge/Dundas.
Despite instilling a sense of coolness, the coffee was simply not potent enough to sustain me for back-to-back meetings for the remainder of the afternoon. Moreover, it was also far too milky for my preferences.
A quick search confirmed the event to be a fundraising event known as the Second Harvest Truck Pull. It operated in a similar fashion to any fundraising event, in which a registration fee and minimum donation amount was required for participation. Teams of 10 fundraising over a given amount would be permitted a chance to pull the freight truck across the square.
The scrumptious fried Sesame Balls first acquired at the Fairview location was also spotted and promptly procured.
As I reached into my tote for my camera however, it dawned on me that the device had been forgotten in the office. In consideration of foodrealm's delayed arrival, I reluctantly retraced my steps in the heat, once again unable to avoid perspiration.
Returning to the reception area involved descending one platform step. With the floors adopting a glossy sheen and consistent black-and-white palette, the difference in grade could be easily missed if not careful. Those donning heels and/or those with a few drinks in the bloodstream would benefit greatly from a hi-vis delineator - perhaps yellow and black striped warning tape or even cautionary signage.
I joined foodrealm at a semispherical booth by the window. As she transformed into attire fit for Happy Hour, I took note of my surroundings in the meantime. Checkered coal placemats on black wooden tables contrasted against the white cloth napkins and shiny silverware. The menus would adopt a similar black-white colour scheme, featuring the Happy Hour menu on a double-sided menu panel.
At the early evening hour, a total of four parties occupied the seating floor. The minimal volume was handled adequately by two junior staff members, one senior staff member (waitress), and one sommelier. About four members of kitchen staff could be spotted from our seat, conversing minimally while undertaking preparatory activities.
Nevertheless, my consumption levels fared better than my partner-in-crime. Despite advocating sobriety, her drink request resided with a glass of Pinot Grigio with a splash of cranberry juice. She hadn't intended to drink it, but merely desired a "pinkish glass" for photo-taking purposes. Our waitress, knowing this, proposed a cocktail/mocktail such that the glass would dually function as a backdrop prop and beverage. To my surprise, the non-drinker declined. Tap water would, apparently, suffice. Meanwhile, I'd request warm water to appease a queasy stomach.
"Is the bread made in house?" I inquired, receiving a hesitant "Yes." in response.
There wasn't a specified order to enjoy the butter, feta and oregano, tomatoes, and marinated olives. Equivalently, neither had the sampling order of wine.
- Mushroom Agnoloti with Lobster
- Branzino Taradito
- Winter Green Salad
- Tempora Rock Shrimp
My dining partner expressed distaste towards Oysters, and merely capitalizing on the outward appearances of the dishes. "Food is food. I'm not a picky eater." had been declared beside me. I couldn't necessarily agree with the sentiment, for not all food is made equally. Dining out presents an opportunity to experience entrées that may seldom/never materialize in one's own home - to relish in the creativity of and evaluate the culinary skills of trained professionals. Needless to say, I wasn't about to suggest an item that could easily be recreated at home, or one that utilized unappealing, economic ingredients.
Branzino was a species that I had strongly associated with Italian cooking: usually primed with oil and grilled to exude a wispy, crisp surface. Given that it was a leaner fish, the heavily acidic and spicy additions had appeared to stiffen the slices, overwhelming their inherent consistency and masking its attributes with saturated add-ons rather than accentuating them.
"Ahhhh." I nodded in acknowledgement. The décor choices had certainly been consistent with this objective, though the entrées appeared to remain in the R&D phase.
"We're still figuring out our identity." the experienced waitress admitted. And I would concur with this statement, for culinary concepts are often easier contemplated than executed.
Nevertheless, it was a scrumptious salad, with just enough dressing to glaze the tops of leaves without drowning them or causing disintegration.
For those looking to relish in a tranquil, early supper, the Happy Hour menu provides a range of tapas that could also serve as dinner items. That said, one ought be mindful of the associate price tag, for our chosen assortment, inclusive of alcohol, came to a whopping total of $200 before tax and tip.
Evidently, we weren't the only ones excited for the show, for the venue was positively brimming with patrons eager to catch a glimpse of the Greek mythology-inspired work. Following verification of tickets, we filed into the lobby of the theatre and slowly navigated towards the washroom facilities. The queue had extended past the doors and into the corridor, enabling wafts of butter popcorn to be perceived. While the first floor offered merchandise and popcorn for purchase, the second floor boasted a bar area, water fountain, and additional washroom facilities.
The performance told the story of a young couple, who found their way into Hades' Underworld amidst tough times and a quarrel. The first half of the show allowed for recognition of the actors in their given roles, and further identified those that had hailed from a dance background versus a vocal background. Acting experience was also apparent: Navigating the stage while dancing, handling props, articulating scripts with overflowing emotion and perfect pitch was no simple feat.
Disposal of empty cups, acquisition of merchandise, and impromptu photoshoots along the stairwell also took place during this time. Prior to the continuation of the show, an announcement could be heard overhead. We were first given a five-minute warning notice, then a one-minute and, finally, ten-second countdown until the doors to the auditorium would be closed.
This procedure eliminated the entry of late guests, clearing the scene of any potential disruptions and allowing the audience to focus on the stage and its actors. I silently commended the crowd management measures, for it ensured discipline and respect of all attendees, unlike the often liberal nature of stadium shows.
Being more acquainted with the concert scene, my musical attendance revealed the existence of an entirely different demographic. The average age was higher than most K-Pop concerts, which is to be expected, and spanned couples, families with adult children, and small groups of friends. The dress code was business casual, usually a neutral shade accented with a dramatic, glittery accessory. This was a group that appreciated art, perhaps in various mediums, but weren't about to groove, dance, or sing along. With the exception of applause and cheers, the performance was largely kept separate from its viewers, proving to be significantly less interactive concept than a concert. In fact, my enthusiasm and lack of stillness had caused few nearby audience members to glance over, probably in wonder of my constant movements. I was simply reacting to the show in real-time, as one tends to do when deeply invested.
We parted ways shortly afterwards, with me heading back to the office to retrieve the rest of my belongings. My browsing partner had graciously agreed to provide a solution for my homebound logistics. Along the way, we passed by a miFuel gas station, which had temporarily been renamed as "Vought Petroleum" for filming purposes.