Out & About #1010 | Auberge du Pommier Wedding Lunch + Star Dance

"Don't forget you have a wedding to go to." my browsing partner had warned. "If you show up with bright orange hair..."
The voice trailed off, with the potential consequences never revealed. Such statements had assumed the response to my declaration of colouring my hair while on vacation. When I returned with a faded grey though, no further concerns were uttered.

With the coming of age, weddings have transformed from a fun social outing that enabled an opportunity to dress up to a financial burden and substantial time commitment, encompassing not only participation in receptions, but the ceremony and - often dreadful - commute as well. When presented with the chance to try Auberge du Pommier though, I eagerly requested to be added to the invitee list. After all, Summerlicious/Winterlicious prices weren't going to be get any cheaper.
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In order to prevent a prolonged stay amongst unfamiliar faces, I took to handling my own logistics. Upon conclusion of the reception, I'd be relieved of further social interaction and happily carry on with my own itinerary instead.

​Traffic was awfully sluggish for a Saturday morning, and my usual tardiness hadn't helped the situation either. As per the given directions, I'd descend into the underground parking garage upon arrival. Parking rates were posted just before the entrance gate arm. Grudgingly, I pressed the button for a ticket. It was with much relief that I later learned of the restaurant's complimentary parking validation.

The ceremony would commence at 10:30 AM, leaving me with just enough time to find the washrooms at the bottom of a carpeted stairwell. One accessible stall was located at the same level as the entranceway. Though, the establishment was still far from accessible given that transitioning between the foyer to the dining room to the covered patio involved steps and stairs. These marbled tiles camouflaged into the rest of the décor (read: low visibility) and sported propagating cracks at areas of high usage.
Generally speaking, the bathroom facilities were well maintained, but not exceptionally clean. The stalls utilized a white wooden frame with bevelled surfaces, on top rested a thin layer of dust. They were wide enough to accommodate voluminous attire and featured sturdy hooks on the back of the door. Tissues and thick, disposable hand towels resided by the sinks. By the end of the event, these hand towels had vanished entirely, an indicator of absent mid-reception bathroom checks.

​A cool white tone was embraced by the establishment: the exterior wooden and the interior stone. The design was slightly reminiscent of Italian eateries, but differed in its incorporation of flat ceilings (instead of cave-like curves), abundant light fixtures and illumination points, ashy stone furnishings, and choice of centrepieces (angels, baby ducks, etc.) Auberge du Pommier's wine inventory, along with glassware in various shapes and sizes, could be spotted lining the walls. Perhaps one of the more interesting tidbits was the fragile nature of said glasses: Guests were advised against clinking glasses in celebration due to fear of breakage.

​Steps from the dining room was a stunningly beautiful outdoor venue. Despite compact, the area was bright and vibrant: edged in greenery and stone, shielded from the sun and other elements, and featuring a fountain at its centre.

​Setting foot into the aisle led to an influx of inquisitive glances. As one of the few without any relation whatsoever to the couple of the hour, my presence summoned curious glances from surrounding attendees. The bulk had comprised of family members and/or family friends; the older ones immediately requested introductions. Frankly, I would have preferred being prepared for this moment, for the overwhelming number of new faces caught me by surprise.

​Once the ceremony had concluded and the bride and groom commenced in photo-taking ventures, guests were free to roam about and socialize.

​Hors d'oeuvres from O&B circulated the floor, though spurred little to no interest from yours truly. The trays emerging from the kitchen paled in comparison to those served at Arcadia Earth's launch event.

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​Guests would take their seats around noon. Bottles of red and white wine from O&B would be presented to those interested. Once depleted, a bottle of Cave Spring would be warily offered to those interested in a half-glass refill. Auberge du Pommier apparently belonged to the O&B restaurant chain, thus would take advantage of the parent company's catering service before moving onto in-house offerings.

​Two aluminum trays of sourdough bread would accompany the wine and ice-filled tap water. Served at room temperature without a napkin shield, the slices were dense and not particularly appetizing. Comparatively less appetizing was the service received though.
The tables had been covered in two layers of white tablecloths. Lanky vases had been positioned at each table. For the first ten minutes of being seated, the arrangements poked at my face and hindered image-capturing maneuvers. By the time meal orders had been taken, one had been knocked over by my neighbour, toppling before me with a dramatic tumble. Needless to say, the section before me remained sodden for the remainder of the meal.

"I'll get you another napkin." The short-haired, bespectacled server told me.
"Can we just move the flowers altogether?" I asked with a distinct edge in my tone.
The server seemed irritated and unwilling to move. Eventually, he shifted the flowers in a hasty, disagreeable manner underneath one of the stone arches.
It is worth noting that his curtness did not improve during subsequent encounters. The request to swap a soiled fork for a clean one was met with a rude grab of the dirty utensil and indignant toss of a new one.

From a different member of staff, I requested warm water. This inquiry was responded to with courteousness, albeit lack of promptness. 

​Between my browsing partner and I, all of the menu items were selected for sampling.
 
Salade Composée, which was described as a platter of "greens, crispy chickpeas, pickled red onions, sheep yoghurt, and lemon vinaigrette" was disappointing at best. The pre-dressed leaves were slick to taste and not very crunchy. Supposedly substituted in place of nuts for a soft crunch, the chickpeas did not constitute a pleasing contrast. In fact, once roasted, the centres separated from the exterior, resulting in a flimsy "shell" of sorts.

​Soupe aux Champignons had been my pick. Otherwise known as "truffle mushroom soup", the starter arrived in a wide, shallow ceramic dish. A blended concoction resided at its centre, topped with a "Parmesan cream" and two sprigs of microgreen buds. Pointed spoons had been provided in place of round soup spoons. Attempting to commence consumption, I found the fluid to slip off the tip of the spoon. On the third trial, an odd garlic-y aftertaste was experienced. Earthy without the exquisiteness of truffle and creamy without complexity, the homogenous formula contained distinguishable components, but failed to exude an enjoyable profile.
My platter was handed over to my browsing partner after just a single (successful) spoonful.

​With some degree of relief, the entrées were much better, though not comprehensively.

Truit Pochée, an "olive oil poached trout with leeks, squash, vadouvan curry, and watercress" was the tastier of the two options. Although the sauce was hardly complementary, the fillet was impeccably tender and supple. It had been arranged atop a pickled root vegetable hash that smelled like Parmesan, yet tasted more acidic than creamy, in all making for a combination of unmatched peculiarity.

​The timeless option of Steak Frites emerged with two halves of a beef round perfectly cooked to Medium Rare. As with the trout, the beef was impossibly tender, with gorgeous marbling and texture. Unlike other steakhouses, the exterior was neither heavily salted not crisp. Without its accompanying black pepper sauce, the cut was admittedly bland. Nevertheless, my preference shall always lie with the lower sodium option.

​The grilled rapini landed on the bitter end of the spectrum, even in consideration of rapini's innate astringency. The fries were dismal, being neither crisp, crunchy, or seasoned.

​New York Cheesecake, or "Cheesecake à la Vanille", was far too satiating as an after-meal dessert. While milder and smoother than its extremely dense North American counterparts, the slice was overly decadent and not well-received by majority of the table. Blueberry compote, fresh blueberries, Chantilly cream, edible flower petals, and graham cracker crumbs adorned the dessert; none were as delectable - nor as refreshing - as the tablespoon worth of jiggly transparent jelly.
Coffee and tea would be served as well, though the brew was merely passable, veering into watery territory

​Just prior to cutting the wedding cake, the groom approached our table to verify allergy sensitivities. Resulting from this interaction was the knowledge that the three-tier cake hailed from Daan Go and comprised of three flavours: Matcha, Milk Tea, and Hazelnut, as per the bride's request. The groom's own interest in cooking and baking translated into a promising cake choice. I was excited, and waited with enthusiasm for the slices to be distributed.

The Matcha slices vanished within seconds of being laid on the table. Rich, indulgent, and positively potent, each layer exuded splendid grassiness and structural integrity. I would have returned for a second serving had they not been depleted. Milk Tea and Hazelnut were also delicious: where one was aromatic and robust, the other was subtly nutty. The wedding cake was undoubtedly the highlight of the meal, as well as the entire event.

​Being the newcomer to the group, it was understandable to be excluded from the experiences and inside jokes of the larger group. This exclusion made for unpleasant feelings and an overall sense of not belonging, for opportunities to take part in conversation were eliminated. My loudspeaker of a neighbour blared on for most of the meal, leaving me to my own antics and, later, boredom. Never one to participate actively in group activities, it finally dawned on me why some choose to participate in events of no interest: exclusion and isolation.
Nonetheless, my stance was firm: Such gatherings shall not pique my interest unless good food and dynamic pursuits are involved.

​Wedding endeavours were anticipated to conclude at 2:15 PM, however ultimately terminated around 2:35 PM instead. At this point, I needed to make haste. The second half of my afternoon required arrival at Star Dance at 3:30 PM.

​Disappearing downstairs, my mustard one-piece was swapped for an all-black ensemble, dangling earrings removed, and hair gathered into a ponytail. Interestingly enough, the black blazer, dainty necklace, and baggy pants evoked the aura of my childhood era dance director.
Hurrying out of the venue, down the concrete staircase, and into the newly paved asphalt garage, I bid my browsing partner farewell and zipped off to North York.

​A stopover would be made at M Brand first, as to procure A'PIEU's Green Tea Roll-On. Next, I'd trod south along Yonge until reaching the Emerald Park Towers.

Uncle Tetsu was observed to have taken over the former Tsujiri and Daigyo outpost on Spring Garden.

​Parking options surrounding the condo buildings have been limited since the onset of deep foundations at the 4800 Yonge lot. Green P spots surrounding the building had reached capacity when I rounded the corner from Poyntz Ave to Beecroft Rd. The UPark garage was priced at a whopping $6 per hour until 4 PM, at which point a $6 flat rate would apply. In review that my class registrations would last from 3:30 PM to 5:30 PM, totalling over $12 in parking fees, I braved myself for pending thunderstorms and opted to park on the residential side of Poyntz Ave - the "free parking" side, as noted on Star Dance's website.

Making haste, I dashed up towards the third level of the retail building. This floor housed a handful of dental clinics, shared bathrooms, and a number of individual studio rooms utilized by Star Dance. Impossibly humid was the corridor, with not a single window or respite area to relieve oneself of the stuffiness. My 3:35 PM arrival and washroom-locating ordeal had sent me in a panic; with some degree of relief, I learned that classes had been delayed due to children's programs concluding with tardiness.

​The first session, a Hip Hop Beginner class, would be held in a small studio. A sink and cabinet were found immediately behind the door, while a bench, floor fan, and closet to the other side of the door. At the far of the studio was a large window, and adjacent to it a bar for practicing ballet. Affixed to the ceiling were coloured fabrics intended for aerial yoga.
While the class did not comprise of more than twenty attendees, the microscopic room made for challenging maneuvers and restricted movements. The instructor had shuffled our position in the room several times over the course of the class, leading me to discover the interesting addition of mirrors on a pillar.

Having attended class at BGM, I was ready to experiment with other "beginner"-level courses back home. To my surprise, the Intro class was far shorter and easier than the BGM equivalent. Despite finding myself in a room of regulars, the pace was found to be relatively slow. Choreography-wise, the piece was simple and capitalized on repetition of hip hop fundamentals. When reviewing footage of my session, I couldn't help but observe my footsteps being lighter and more precise than the rest of the group. That said, my performance lacked the groove and bounce associated with the genre, lending my version a somewhat bland, out-of-the-textbook vibe. In addition, counting also still proved a personal challenge. A fellow class participant had noticeably more groove, though her moves weren't as sharp or thoroughly developed.

The subsequent K-Pop Beginner class was even simpler in terms of choreography. Alas, the segment taught relied heavily on counts for accuracy; I found myself either chasing the instructor's movements or rushing my own limbs. There was minimal continuity between the moves to start, but the inability to count hindered precise execution.

In hindsight, my experience to date has likely rendered me capable of Beginner-Intermediate classes at a decidedly swifter pace, or at least the equivalent of BGM's "Level 3" courses.

Both instructors had been friendly, helpful, and encouraging towards class participants. Furthermore, the regulars of the Hip Hop class were very supportive when I was unexpectedly summoned for a solo performance.
Comparing against BGM, however, I did not find the facility to be effective in developing dancers, even at a recreational level. Those at BGM, in particular Yaebin and Nancy, were fantastic mentors, exceeding their roles as mere instructors. Classes were taught in a concise, progressive fashion to encourage and hone existing skills, incorporating just enough challenge to serve as opportunities for growth. Star Dance, while wholly supportive, could be described as "fun-centric", as opposed to "student-focused" and thinking from the perspective of a learner.

​As part of the three-class Intro package, one more visit shall be paid to the dance centre in the next four weeks.

​Descending one level down to LCBO, I spotted a variety of sakes and even Won Soju. In fear of having to walk in the rain, I took to only one small bottle of sake and made my way back to the car. By sheer luck, the downpour had been evaded by taking two back-to-back classes.

​The drive back totalled thirty-six minutes. Impressively, my lashes remained intact after ten hours, inclusive of two hours of dance (with minimal A/C) and staggering levels of humidity.