Out & About #356 | Wong's Ice Cream + Momo San

Read Part 1 HERE !

​Exiting the doors of Little Pebbles, humidity rudely made an aggravated appearance on us. The anticipated thunderstorm was still nowhere in sight as we marched up along Spadina. Having decided to make the grueling trip across College on the streetcar, we ought to have been thankful that congestion was minimum and a refreshing breeze could be felt while on route. Towards the end of our ride, we switched to the detour bus on Gerrard, and continued until the Halloween-toned signage flashed by our eyes, peered out from the other side of bus and its grimy glory.

A hybrid ice cream shop and snack store, Wong's was essentially empty at our time of arrival. As the two customers before us wrapped up their order, the lady behind the counter offered to provide us with samples. As it felt demanding to request trials of all nine options, I held back initially but grew continually curious with each wooden spoon delivered to our hands.

Their flagship flavour of Black Sesame with Salted Duck Egg, which was also referred to as "Black Tiger", is the unpredictable marriage of nutty black sesame and a savoury Chinese preserved condiment. Charcoal in colour with bits of vivid yellow peeking through, the sweet-savoury combination took classic Black Sesame for a spin by adding mooncake-like elements; the fine chunks of duck egg were chewy and a tad sticky, somewhat like seasoned mochi. The manner in which Wong's invented the formula took me by surprise: pairing two already renowned East Asian flavours yielded a stunning new product.
Both occhung and I also agreed that the bestseller was a steal for the ratio of duck egg to ice cream.

​Amongst their vegan flavours were: Orange Candied Ginger, Coconut Mango Sticky Rice, and Lemongrass Lime Sorbet. The first was pale and creamy - it was sweet, but without noticeable traces of orange and only a shy aftertaste of ginger.
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

​Used throughout Filipino cuisine (and especially Halo Halo), Ube is a purple sweet potato that Toronto locals and tourists alike cannot seem to stop loving. Wong's prides themselves in abstaining from artificial colour dyes, which caused their formula to emerge with a cool blue undertone as opposed to the warm pink roots of other establishments riding the trend. This particular spoonful seemed a bit bland in my eyes, though perhaps I was subconsciously making a comparison to Quiapo! Quiapo!'s robust version before closure.

​Vietnamese Coffee was, hands down, the most impressive one by both of our standards. Fragrant bits of roasted coffee had been blended into the silky, tan-hued specimen, adding stronger notes of caffeine and mild bits of texture. It had both of us contemplating abandoning our original choices.

​Wasabi Honey certainly shocked my taste buds and zapped my olfactory senses. The pungent Japanese horseradish could immediately be felt slamming into all corners of my mouth with the first bite. Its strength could not be denied, but only relieved as the swirls of honey enveloped and gripped onto my tongue at the end.
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.

​Rosewater White Chocolate Jasmine was the second blandest of the nonet: besides a brief waft of aromatic florals, neither white chocolate nor jasmine could be tasted. (Sorry, but Bang Bang has the upper hand on this one.)

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. 

​Ulimately, ochungg sustained loyalty to the Chinese Tiger Tail, while I chose the Coconut Mango Sticky Rice. Purchasing options were either in Single or Double Scoop forms, with nothing in between. It would have been pleasant to have the option of pairing smaller scoops of Chocolate Yuzu or Vietnamese Coffee as well.
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.

​Though I quite liked the sample, I must admit that I was not impressed by the full-size portion of melty Coconut Mango Sticky Rice. Half of the scoop had disintegrated within a few minutes, and the underlying layer did not cease dissolution even after I had consumed the rich blob above it. Each mouthful became increasingly sweeter, to the point where I felt ill.
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.

​The East Chinatown dessert parlour/store did not offer a public bathroom, so it was imperative to take our business elsewhere (literally). We set out to find the nearest McDonald's/Starbucks in the neighbourhood, which happened to be located at Queen and Logan. 

​Two Shaken Iced Tea Lemonades and a relief of A/C later, we returned to the Downtown Core. A quick, impromptu stroll through Eaton was later succeeded by a visit to the Uncle Tetsu - I mean, how could anyone resist the patriotic cheesecake stamp?!

​A mental note was also made to try out the Black Tea Angel Hat on a future visit.

​We marched onwards towards our dinner destination amidst the sweltering conditions. Reservations had been made out of worry (ochungg was on a schedule) and hatred for lineups (me). By the time we arrived, it was exactly seven minutes before the scheduled appointment. I had expected to be told to wait, however the hostess ushered us inside, albeit looking a little perplexed.

​She gestured towards a round table by the window and directly across from the bartending/cashier area. Chairs had been swapped for backless booth seating in the form of angular dark, slimy wood (sans cushions). Easing into the spot, we couldn't help but furrow our brows in response to the glimmering smudges lining the perimeter of the area. Neither of us could bring ourselves to place our belongings and recently-obtained cheesecake onto the griminess, so we resorted to stepping back into the corridor for some sort of assistance.
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.

​Once finally seated, it came to the realization that the area was stuffy from a lack of air conditioning. The entire interior of the restaurant comprised of at least seven tables for parties of four and several lengthier spots for group gatherings. Supposedly spacious Patio spots could be found outside, lining the northeast corner of Baldwin and Henry.
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.

​Menus had been placed next to black-and-white utensils beforehand. Carefully separating the individual sheets allowed spotty patches and numerous pieces of adhered debris to come to light. I shall not fib: the menus were nasty to touch.
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.

​Not a single soul stopped by our table to describe the restaurant's top plates nor best-sellers. No matter, as we had already drawn a clear picture in our minds based on existing knowledge of the cuisine. For first-timers with little background information though, introductions would have assumed critical roles in the decision process.

​Our corner spot directly overlooked the computer and bar. It was amusing to lay eyes on the two food preparation areas: a bartending spot filled with two young men with thin builds in button-downs and slicked back hair vs. an obtuse-angled sushi area with beefier, more mature-looking staff members in t-shirts and baseball caps.

​Momo San's oshizushi selection comprised entirely of flame-torched specimens and had its name shorted to a simple "Oshi". This was an indication that oshizushi would not be available in non-Aburi forms. Specialty Rolls and Entrées such as Soba Peperoncino were also on offer.
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.

​Bathrooms were situated at the foot of a flight of steep stairs. There was minimal lighting except for a dull glow radiating from beneath the dark panels lining the staircase. Thankfully, at the very least, there was handrail for catching myself should I fall to my doom off the shallow, slippery steps.

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.

The Momo Tart made its appearance first, with alarming speed if I must add. In regards to presentation, it wasn't difficult to conclude that vast efforts had been exerted to render its appearance as close to the Chirashi Tart as humanly possible.
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.

​The product was a knockoff of the original Miku contender. Despite the Baldwin eatery's desperate attempt to recreate the popular West Coast dish, it was incompetent in debuting a cohesive flavour profile. Garnishes and plating styles can be copied and pasted, but one cannot be fooled by gustatory depth. Ratios of rice to fish were appropriate, though the overall product still lacked in comparison. The contents seemed to adopt roles of individual elements as opposed to interlacing to yield complimentary components.

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.

​Saba Oshi arrived next, abruptly slid onto the outer edge of the table without warning nor introduction. Minimal interaction/facial expressions were involved as the waitress shoved the awkwardly lengthy plate with one hand, murmured the name of the dish, whisked herself away after dropping bits of unknown species from her hand onto our table. Grimacing silently, I brushed the stringy yellow fragment away before my appetite was upset further. I shifted the platter closer, withdrawing my hands immediately upon noticing that its edges either were greasy or had food remnants stuck on them. 

​Six pieces of oshizushi equated to three units of boxy, charcoal-torched cuboids per person. The dish was decent given its associated price tag. The mackerel's natural oils were summoned via searing with a blowtorch, and the rice was compacted well enough to resist collapsing underneath the pressure of chopsticks, yet not overly stiff. The fact that soy sauce and wasabi had not arrived in accompaniment exhibited authenticity by method of serving and presentation.

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.

​Visible from our table were a crew of two waitresses on the floor, one hostess, one floating bartender/helper, one bartender, and two to three sushi chefs. Despite the overall tranquility of the restaurant, waitresses were not attentive at all. The specific one attending to our table did not remember to split bill in spite of our foreword, nor did she cast a single glance in our direction while we impatiently waited for her to turn around and amend her mistake.

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.

Given that the aura of the establishment was intended as a spot for leisurely conversation and comfortable dining, I was strictly unimpressed - and rather horrified - with the blasphemy of a meal I had just experienced.
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?".

​I cannot, for the life of me, why young couples and chatty groups choose to hold date nights and girls' nights at Momo San. Most patrons are dressed sleekly, either as if they just abandoned their afternoon retail shift in Yorkville or ventured to Baldwin Village in their air-conditioned vehicles specifically to try the restaurant. Prices were quite fair; service, in contrast, was significantly below par.

If anything is to lead to Momo San's steady downfall, it will not be the sticky menus nor the counterfeit clone of a Momo Tart, but the extremely poor attention to detail and painstakingly imprudent service.

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