Out & About #321 | Cafe Princess, Cheese Garden, and Joons

​The list of casual hangout spots surrounding the Yonge and Finch intersection is supposedly endless. Just between Soban, Orange Caramel, and Cafe Bene, there's bound to be at least one open on Sundays and holidays.
These second floor cafes maintain a steady customer base consisting mainly of teens and students, so it's no suprise that a speedy, reliable Wi-Fi connection takes priority over accessibility.

A year ago, I chanced by Miss Rushka and Thinknu while attending an event in the downtown core. While expressing admiration for their most recent photoshoot at the time, my was piqued at their choice of venue. It occurred to me that while I had dropped by both Soban and Cafe Bene for bingsoo and desserts, there was one spot that I had omitted.

​"But Cafe Princess is the starter cafe!" was the cheeky lighthearted response I received. They had nodded in unison. Miss Rushka then warned me that the coffee shop was not much to look forward to.

While I had been instructed to keep anticipations to a minimum, I couldn't help but remain 
inquisitive about this old-comer. On the date that a friend and I had planned to watch Fabricated City, I suggested squeezing in a quick bite at the cafe to test this theory.
Location-wise, Cafe Princess is more than convenient for commuters and drivers alike. Those heading to Finch from York Region and east/west ends of the GTA will discover that it's only a few minutes from the bus terminal. The TTC subway exits on Yonge are even closer. Drivers have the option of parking in the ex-Scotiabank or CoCo parking lots and trekking over, if street parking generates anxiety.

​Climbing up the flight of twenty-something steps to the cafe, I creak open the peeling wooden door to unveil a softly-lit establishment with plenty of pink decorations. Beside the obvious rose-hued overdose, I come to the realization that Miss Rushka was indeed right: The couches are mismatched and dilapidated, the tables are scratched from years of wear, and the chair arms bore to the frame. Even the window sills are dusty and scraped. Outlets were minimal for the window tables.

The menus placed before me were laminated sheets bound together with flimsy notebook coils, edges peeling away and stained with grime. At the least the covers featured shrewd-looking "princesses" for amusement.
To be fair, the layout of the pages it housed adopted a far better appearance than Soban. Images were available for reference and prices were clearly stated. It was also noticed that the cafe imposed a 2-hour seating limit as well as one minimum order per person, though I cannot comment on whether either was strictly enforced.

​I suggested sharing a combo that included two "regular" teas and a waffle. Unfortunately, my friend had already placed an order for the Green Honey Citron Tea prior, and "regular" teas only comprised of the generic green and black varieties. Instead, we merely opted for a standalone Princess Waffle with Green Tea and Cookies 'n' Cream ice cream.

A steaming cup arrived shortly in a white ceramic cup accompanied by a tiny spoon. Two spots were lightly damaged (ie. chipped) but otherwise free from any other age-indicating traits. For $4.58 though, I expected a little more than a heaping spoonful of yuzu concentrate dissolved in generic multi-packs.

​The Princess Waffle arrived surprisingly quickly, especially given that only one member of staff was managing the entire floor. Aromatic and uniformly browned, it appeared promising. Plating and decoration tactics were also surprisingly attractive: a delicate drizzle of caramel sauce and chocolate syrup and squirt of whipped cream were the finishing touches to the skillfully-arranged dessert. Still warm, the quartered waffle pieces were styled in a fan-like formation; three wispy slices of kiwi fruit and strawberry served as the "seasonal fruit" components stated in the menu description.

For waffles, the bottom line is that they must never be soggy. Cafe Princess met this basic requirement. In terms of taste, however, it was relatively...empty. Swapping satisfying egginess for a soft, fluffy interior meant decreasing the amount of substantial ingredients (such as eggs and butter) and upping the baking powder content. The crisp edges and corners were welcomed with open arms, but the distinctly dry aftertaste from flour overuse was unmistakable. Smooth ice cream and powdered sugar gave off the illusion of a well-proportioned early afternoon snack, but upon closer inspection, there were several aspects still in need of improvement. Along with the waffle batter itself, the frail utensils could also be substituted for more fitting versions. ​

​Halfway into the visit, I stood up and sauntered towards the opposite end of the cafe, past the cashier and preparation area, and past the doors beneath the illuminated "EXIT" sign. Behind this door lay two bathroom stalls (as well as several more unidentified rooms), one of which I later discovered to be as dim as that of the now-shuttered L'Opera. Although, in contrast, was much more user-friendly - a basket of paper towels and small side table increased ease of touch-ups. I can't seem to recall whether hooks were present, but I did express concern to the fragility of the facilities to the girl before requesting the bill.

Cakes, as witnessed in the refrigerated display case, were provided by La Rocca - the same wholesaler that supplies Green Grotto with its merchandise. Board games were also available, but for an additional charge of $2.50 per game. The boxes were already rather weathered from what my eyes could discern, but I suppose this was irrelevant since I rarely ever participate in such games.

​A feature unique to the establishment included the duo of pillars dressed with heart-shaped sticky notes. Nearby was were standard water jugs and disposable plastic cups situated in the centre of the room for ease of access.

Having been to Pastel further south of the intersection, I'd have to admit that it outdoes Cafe Princess in all aspects except service - both establishments offer equivalent levels of friendliness though the more senior is a tad less attentive to details. A girl donning bright fuschia blush served us with speed and precision during our stay, but for the most part, Cafe Princess was a limited service spot.

​With the plethora of casual hangout locations in North York, I'm genuinely surprised that Cafe Princess still exists today. Their methods of conducting business are old-fashioned (cash-only, snail-like Wi-Fi connection, and overpriced items), and the dining area/washrooms are in dire need of an upgrade.
I can proudly announce personal conquering of the "starter cafe"; that said, it is now time to move onto bigger, signficantly better things. (Farewell, Cafe Princess. It seems that I'm just not fit for your type of royalty.)

​Next on the day's agenda was a mid-afternoon showing of Fabricated City at the Empress Walk theatre.

Given the mild spring weather, I suggested popping into Formocha to grab a drink for the movie (soft drinks aren't my thing).
The shop is impossibly tiny with only a bar seats in a cramped L-shaped counter, so it's reasonable to assume that their emphasis is placed on takeout and delivery orders. Further proving this hypothesis, a lady waltzed in not even two minutes after our arrival to pick up two heft bags of bubble tea through Uber Eats.
We were finally spared a blank-looking glance from the girl behind the counter at this point. Completely disinterested in earning orders, I resisted the urge to recoil in sheer disgust when she spat out my order confirmation. Her attitude was downright dreadful and degrading. I also winced when she attempted to strategically dodge direct questions by providing willy-nilly answers.

"What size?" The words rolled out of her mouth without any sort of sequence nor intonation.
"How much is it?" I responded in a neutral tone.
"(It's a) fifty cent difference."

The menu provided the demanded specifics faster.

My Formocha Milk Tea wasn't particularly easy on my wallet either. With the addition of tapioca, the medium-sized beverage set me back a total of $5.43. And I didn't even taste a hint of "real" vanilla bean I had been promised.
When asked for a bag, she ducked behind the kitchen to produce one of the oddest cardboard carrying contraptions I've ever witnessed for bubble tea. Despite the size being an optimal fit for the drink, the fact that I wouldn't be able to discreetly stash it away was an emerging issue.

"We don't have plastic bags." she flatly responded.
"Didn't she just hand that lady two large bags?" my friend later reminded me.

​From this date forward, Formocha is officially shunned for abominable service and mediocre drink quality.

​Empress Walk was the sole location in the GTA that was airing Ji Chang Wook's action thriller; we marched onwards. Along the way, a reservation was made at Cheese Garden for one of their Japanese Cheesecakes. I specified a pick-up time of 6:00 PM, paid in full, and continued with my day.

The Cineplex location was located directly across Mel Lastman Square/North York Centre station, making it a prime spot for post-work entertainment and/or grocery shopping. Surprisingly few movie-goers were present for our film selection, so we essentially had the theatre to ourselves.

A complete commentary on Fabricated City can be found HERE .

​Our steps were later retraced to Cheese Garden, where I was naive enough to instill faith in the bakery's operations efficiency. The doe-eyed employee I had placed my order with had gone, and in her place was a dark-haired girl who was clearly distraught at having to tend to more than two requests at once.
Sans-lineup, a total of ten minutes passed before she addressed my gradually encroaching presence. More confusion took place as she rummaged through order slips and bags to locate my prepaid cake.

​This enabled me sufficient time to adjust to the glare of sun penetrating the glass storefront, grow accustomed the stares of cheese tart-munching customers in the shop, and observe the cake production process happening in the back kitchen. Double Fromage Cheesecakes and Cheese Tarts seemed to be their best-sellers; at rather hefty prices though, the target market seemed to be the wealthy Mainlanders hovering outside in squeaky clean cars. I was more than glad to remove myself from the harsh evening UV rays when she handed me my well-deserved yellow-white bag.

​It wasn't until later that evening that the cake hadn't been stored properly at all. In spite of heat radiating from the bottom, it had been prematurely wrapped and placed in its box. Condensation caused the paper bottom to fray away, consequently adhering to the base of the paper bag it was contained in. What a splendid way to maintain freshness, indeed.

​Texture-wise, Cheese Garden's creation is sturdier than Love Me Sweet but more crumbly than Uncle Tetsu. In addition, it is eggier and sweeter than the flavour I was expecting. Other reviewers had found the cake to be denser, thus harnessing a more intense cheesiness. However, I beg to differ: it was almost devoid of the savoury silkiness I was searching for.

​< Pictured above: Japanese Cheesecake from Cheese Garden + Homemade Matcha Latte >

All factors taken into consideration, the 7-inch Japanese Cheesecake is a decent alternative to the cult favourite at Bay and Dundas. Similarities in price ($10 plus tax) and consistency render it a suitable cure for curbing cheesecake cravings. Personally, I would found further enjoyment in more cheesiness, higher levels of efficiency, and a more convenient location.

​The day wrapped up with Dakgalbi at Joons. ochungg and I actually engaged in a heated discussion during our visit to Hancook; this debate consequently prompted a trip to the original dakgalbi restaurant of North York.

Comparisons between the two restaurants are inevitable, but I shall comply by making strict correlations only between the dakgalbi dinners.

​The first item of observation was that Joons presented a more familial aura than Hancook. The waitresses wer more experienced, exuding a calmer, calculating vibe than the young servers at Hancook. Tables were relatively similar in terms of size, material and cleanliness, as was the presence of an ice water jug at our table.

Where the Bloor Street restaurant was primarily filled with young Korean professionals, Joons retained a balance of local residents, Chinese students, and Korean families. Four-person tables filled up quickly come dinnertime, but I can't be sure whether this is because the staff members occupy one of the large group tables by cooking dakgalbi over a tabletop gas stove.

​The most prominent difference lay within the description of the dakgalbi itself. Cheese and ddeokbokki (rice cake) were classified as additions, all requiring extra charges of two dollars.
"Even the sweet potato slices are few." Our waitress piped up, "There are only three pieces." An implied instruction to add extra everything reverberated towards my ears.

The final decision came to adding one portion's worth of shredded cheese (for $2.00) and a bowl of steamed rice (for $1.75). Banchan of semi-cooked broccoli, butter-infused potato salad, kimchi, and pickled radish slices arrived shortly after, again, with each container containing a single person's portion.

​Some ten to fifteen minutes later, a weighty pan of sizzling dakgalbi made its way over. The visible gochujang flakes and vivid red hue should have been evident enough to invalidate the waitress's claim of the original spicy sauce being "only a little spicy", but it was the first bite of stir-fried chicken that catapulted me into blazing inferno. From my tongue and throat to my ears and temples, the fiery flames set everything alit.
Joons' was far spicier than Hancook: the chicken bits had been tolerable with spoonfuls of rice/potato salad/radish at Hancook, but this pan was simply a red-hot glowing abyss of torture. I couldn't taste any other seasonings beyond gochujang at all.

​Of course, one can argue that my frail spice tolerance was the culprit behind the dread that was undergone, and not the dakgalbi itself. I also admit that I could have opted for the sweeter, sans-spice Teriyaki sauce option, though it honestly just felt inauthentic.
​
Points worth noting though was the size of the two-person platter, number of side dishes, and accompanying prices. Instead of providing a tabletop gas stove to keep the contents of the pan warm throughout the meal, Joons' version was merely served on top a sun-shaped silicon mat and allowed to cool to room temperature. The pan was larger than of Hancook's, but the amount contained within was still evidently lesser. Both banchan and toppings were meager, especially considering the cost difference. Service was almost nonexistent as the evening progressed due to a sudden influx of hungry customers.

​Joons accepts both cash and debit, though cash is the preferred method of payment. (My guess is that it makes splitting bills easier, since the middle-aged lady stared at me with a look of concern before I pulled out my ten dollar bill.)
All meals were paid for at the cashier area outside the kitchen; on the counter ledge were business cards as well as individual squares of gum for post-dinner minty freshness.

​While Joons is the holy grail dakgalbi location for many in the North York/Markham/Scarborough region, spice-vulnerable peasants such as myself shall be sticking to Hancook for the milder, more comfortable, and more economic option.

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