Both occhung and I also agreed that the bestseller was a steal for the ratio of duck egg to ice cream.
Coconut Mango Sticky Rice comprised of all the essential elements of the tropical dessert that inspiration had been derived from. Packed with creamy coconut goodness and dollops of mango syrup, it was the closest attempt to the real deal, minus the actual sticky rice. While we had been informed that bits of sticky rice had, in fact, been introduced to the mixture, I honestly could not perceive it in the slightest.
Lemongrass Lime Sorbet was an undeniably refreshing choice with a strong base of citrus. Unfortunately, the heavy dosage of sugar rendered the flavour less invigorating than it could have been
As someone who constantly complains about weak menu items branded as wasabi-containing, this was the single selection that left me flabbergasted at its intensity. This pick is unlikely to become a crowd-pleaser, as everyone possesses varying levels of wasabi appreciation and spice tolerance, though a sure hit for the particular green mustard-loving few. An entire scoop of this concoction would be overkill, even for me.
One of my preferences was actually Chocolate Yuzu. Chocolate Orange is a timeless pairing for cakes, and Yuzu Hot Chocolate is amazing. The style at Wong's adopted a lighter, airier flavour and paler colour. It sported a base reminiscent of Chapman's Neapolitan (airy, creamy, and rich), though the faint hints of citrus lent a lighter profile.
Single Scoops were priced very reasonably at $4.50, while Double Scoops rang in at $7.50. Waffle cones induced an additional cost of one dollar, though cake and sugar cones were complimentary. For those that chose to consume their ice cream cone-less, Wong's substituted plastic, lid-less cups with vibrant orange takeout containers. They appeared difficult to enjoy ice cream out of, so we simply stuck with the sugar cones.
As I did not want to dispose of unfinished food, the remainder was hastily licked away with the assistance of water. In the end, the compilation felt overly excessive in terms of sugar and cream. "I should have stuck with Vietnamese Coffee after all..." I had thought.
Footprints and smears remained on the seats from the previous diners, and they remained unwiped until we requested. Additional patience was exercised as the waitress retrieved a spray bottle and cloth, only to polish the surface of the filth with a light hand. She did not smile while assisting the simple request; rather, there seemed to be some suppression of annoyance.
Access to illumination varied across these arrangements: group seating was positioned under a network of incandescent bulbs, patio couches were subject to the decree of natural lighting, and small party tables were uniformly lit with a circular coil that glared onto the black marble below.
The ordering sheets were not the only elements on the table requiring replacement. Greasy plates bearing specks of leftover scraps had been strategically camouflaged by overlaying napkins, unintentional or not. Even the dark hue of the chopsticks was insufficient in hiding slickness from neglectful cleansing procedures. Little attention was paid to the curved chopstick rests, though maybe they should have also undergone careful scrutiny for the sake of our overall healthy and wellbeing.
Saba Oshi as well as the infamous Momo Tart were requested from our lackadaisical server. My true intention was to compare Toronto's only sushi tart to the luxurious Chirashi Tart that bestowed divine glory to my taste buds in Vancouver.
The bathroom composed of three stalls and a low ceiling with exposed pipes. At first glance, all seemed well. Looking closer, however, one would discover that the faucet was rickety from failing to be bolted in properly. Cheap pink liquid soap was inserted in the manual (ie. not automatic) dispenser. A pine-tree-shaped car freshener dangled from a fire sprinkler. Paper towel dispensers ceased to exist altogether; barren rolls of paper towel were plunked onto the countertop, edges sodden and frayed from the touches of damp hands.
Each stall featured harsh overhead lighting; Doors were constructed of flimsy wood that was merely painted black (without lacquer) to give off the illusion of sophistication. I could not perceive dust on the toilet paper dispensers or toilet, though closer inspection may have proven otherwise.
It featured two types of salmon: an oleaginous, charred surface and spicy chopped middle layer. Presenting the fish in a chopped manner was not an issue, though occasionally coarse bits would have prevented the loss of texture and supported seasonings better. Avocado slices were ripe and of good proportion; a generous portion of tobiko added satisfying pops between chopstick-fuls of rice. I did not try the partially-deshelled ebi and retained neutral feelings towards the scallop.
"Momo Sauce" had been added in the description for extra pizzazz, but bore an identical profile to bottled Teriyaki Sauce. Personally, it was deduced to be too thick and centred directly underneath the tart instead of around it in a thin layer for dipping according to customers' desires.
Put short, it was simply not deserving of immense applause howbeit an innovative take on sushi by Toronto standards. In addition, it was an incredible hassle to slice and nearly impossible to maintain grace while eating.
On the other hand, the fish's natural oils had not seeped into the rice, leaving it left with only the flavours of rice wine vinegar, sugar, and possibly mirin/sake. The squirt of miso sauce could be clearly tasted if sampled on its own, but was not discernible when consumed in conjunction with the mackerel. It was a shame that the sauce had been overheated to a point where its oils had escaped and the sauce separated into clarified/unclarified regions. The pile of low-grade yellow ginger was familiar-looking, like the ones from extra-economic eateries but more depressing. It failed to cut greasiness considering it was spicier than it was pickled.
Also repulsive was the steps she engaged in to settle the bill. For reasons beyond me, she not only TOUCHED but SHOVED my payment card into the machine when I could have gone about the process independently following the machine's prompts. Annoyance was only further elevated when the receipt paper jammed in the machine, which the waitress, with her lack of overall competence, was unable to fix. She called out for help from a bartender in Japanese instead. After witnessing the duo fumble with the machine for several minutes, I finally received my wrinkled, crudely ripped duplicate copy.
Disgusting plates, utensils, and seating area aside, we were rushed for majority of the mediocre meal. The waitress also hadn't bothered to ASK if she could clear plates away, but simply snatched them and tactlessly tossed them into a large grey plastic bin, ever so loudly. They were also spotted picking up remnants of food that had fallen onto the ground with bare hands; it is questionable whether they bothered to wash their hands afterwards.
As we polished off the remainder of the Momo Tart, the waitress came by to ask if we would like to order anything else. At this point, we were sufficiently full and informed her that we would not be making any further demands. The stained, sticky menus were returned and the phrase "We would to sit for a while." was uttered. The waitress appeared confused, so I simply reiterated the statement in an identical manner, to which she responded with a nod. I had assumed the message had been communicate properly until she followed up with "Do you want the bill now?".