Out & About #436 | MeNami, Yorkdale + El Jefe (Round 2)

​It honestly hadn't been that long since our last visit. A certain potato had been whisked to the North York udon bar just hours before her departure; coincidentally, this was also the case for our West Coast visitor.

Few and scarce are the destinations I would recommend to out-of-town-ers with minimal hesitation, but MeNami has remained amongst the top since their initial opening two years ago.

​This time around, we were seated in a booth that overlooked the bar area as opposed to the small stretch of tables that were arranged parallel to Yonge Street. Lighting was less abundant here, space was limited, and temperatures were significantly chillier. (Apparently the heating system was malfunctioning.)

​Corn Kakiage, Smoked Salmon with Parsnip Sauce, and Beef Sashimi were chosen again,, though instead of the Fresh Fried Ika, I suggested the Ika Sashimi Salad. Quite a substantial size for a starter, the dish arrived with a cold, soy-based broth ("tsuke sauce") with a small smear of wasabi. The provided directions involved mixing the wasabi into the broth and pouring the homogenous mixture over the raw salad in its entirety.
The constituents of the dish were thinly-sliced pickled cucumbers, a heaping handful of slippery, chewy strands of squid, wakame, and a bed of glass noodles ("harusame"). For those that appreciate the intriguing textures and nasal-clearing properties of Tako-Wasa, this was a levelled-up version with chewy cuttlefish and milder notes to finish.
Beware: Those unfamiliar with the slimy texture may require a few bites to adapt, though it may be seen as an acquired taste as well.

​We chose two mains from the soup udon category and one from the sauce variety - the seating conditions were cold, which meant automatically defaulting to substances that would likely bring about instant warmth.

​Spicy Pork Udon was a gamble for us, really, for not a single member of the party possessed a particularly strong spice tolerance.  My presumption of the product was a bowl of simmered pork shabu shabu slices submerged in a clear broth in which the essences of gochujang and kimchi would slowly infuse to yield a progressively fiery orange pool. The result did not veer far from this vision, except that the broth arrived densely laced with red pepper flakes to begin with. Even from its initial impression, it seemed more than capable of powerful ignition.

​The pork was well-seasoned, however one solid spoonful already had me gaping for a glass of water. Despite not assuming the spot for our top pick, it'd be a great choice for lovers of spice.
A little less tradition, the option of adding cheese would serve to neutralize its raging effect, though may conflict with the chef's intentions for the dish.

​A bowl that stunned and surprised was the Yaki Niku Udon. In concept, it sounded quite plain - dissimilar to the contemporary them of MeNami's Korean-Japanese fusion dishes. Reality was that the bowl offered comfort in its purest form by adding tender and astoundly fragrant beef slices to classic casual Japanese fare.
​I greatly appreciated this dish, not merely because it was soothing to the soul after back-to-back meals of boldly flavoured items, but since it also provided drastic relief from the draft above our heads. (Apparently the heating system was malfunctioning.)

​Black Sesame Puree with Beef was, of course, added to the request list and did not disappoint in the slightest.

​Mochi Ice Cream bites were graciously provided to conclude the meal. The individual pieces bore a high degree of resemblance to the four-pack series that occasionally makes its way into our freezer from T&T; the difference lay in the generous dusting of matcha powder and crunchy coconut flakes, both of which served to contribute pizzazz and texture to the otherwise ordinary vanilla ice cream enclosed within.

​As one of the first parties to arrive on Sunday mornings, the downstairs bathroom stalls are always upkept. Might I add that I always experience feelings of guilt after my visits due to my constant testing the washroom's flushing capabilities. The limits are actually quite low, so I would wholeheartedly suggest using the facilities with utmost care. Speaking from a personal perspective, I have yet to determine its limits and therefore resort to repeated apologies. (I'm sorry!!)

​While driving down Yonge Street the evening prior, I had caught sight of a decidedly assertive sign that read "GRAND OPENING" hanging outside the spot of a former hookah bar. I deemed it the next stop of the day, along with a brief stopover at M Brand.

​​Palgong Tea was its name and a BOGO promotion was the grand opening special.

The interior was compact, but very cozy. orangecane's recent favourite, BTS, played on a small screen near the entrance, while an expansive menu board hung above the cashier.
Drinks were priced reasonably given the location. A large-sized Grapefruit Green Tea set me back $3.79, while the upsize charge was a mere extra dollar. An Original Milk Tea with tapioca would have induced a measly charge of $2.99, though came costless as a result of the shop's three-day BOGO campaign.

​Having opted for 25% sugar, I anticipated the Grapefruit Green Tea to be refreshing with a slight citrusy zing. On the contrary, the base of the tea remained too sweet for my liking and the bitterness of the grapefruit essence was found to be overwhelming.
The Original Milk Tea, on the other hand, was much more pleasant. In spite of the obvious usage of milk powder, the underlying notes of tea were fragrant and enjoyable.

​It's debatable whether Palgong will survive in the thick of the saturated scene brimming with other similar establishments. Speaking on behalf of myself, it's more likely that I take my business to One Zo across the street or endure the drive back home for CoCo.

​Some few hours later, I set off to Yorkdale to spend the remainder of my Sunday afternoon.

The Disney store was a must-visit: Sulley count had reset to zero, but a single unit of an infant version was found instead.

​I've been meaning to revisit El Jefe for a proper trial since my first drop-in last spring. Service had been friendly and accomodating, and the freshly-made Guacamole en La Mesa had left a strong impression in my mind. Moreoever, it was (somewhat) on the route back from Yorkdale.

​We stood near the entrance for a brief moment before being acknowledged by one of the two waitresses. Shortly after, we were guided to a small brick seating area at the back of the restaurant and provided sticky laminated menus.
A great deal of inflation had taken place over the past ten months, I observed, with the Guacamole en La Mesa surging to eleven dollars from its original nine-dollar price tag.

​Huevos Chingones, a seventeen-dollar dish which was formerly sixteen, and a newcomer to a menu by the name of Cactus Salad were other picks of the evening.

Out of curiosity, a Sangria Rojo (Roja? Rojo?) was chosen from the cocktail menu. Having anticipated a fruity, fizzy beverage with main notes of pomegranate and underlying jolts of red wine, I was appalled to find that the glass was filled mainly with headache-inducing alcohol instead of the invigorating blend I envisioned. Soda water and berries had only assumed a small fraction of its composition, lending more heat than desired.

​The Guacamole en La Mesa was just as tasty as I had remembered, though ordering the Huevos Chingones was avocado overload. I could not comprehend why we had not been advised against ordering the sunny-side-topped plate, since a substantial portion of the dish was warm, heavily salted smashed avocado. With the exception of perfectly runny yolks, the dish failed to impress.
Supposedly crispy corn tortillas emerged soggy, while pineapple chilli marinated pork belly was dry and firm - far from the customary image of supple layers of intertwined fat and flesh. As for the oven roasted tomatoes, they weren't anything beyond chunks of tomato I could have easily seasoned and tossed into the toaster myself.

​The most disheartening of them all was the Cactus Salad. Drenched in an unnecessarily generous amount of slick dressing, the platter of grease-dripping greens and fluffed quinoa was completely undeserving of its fourteen-dollar charge. Pickled cactus fragments were few and disappointing. Frankly, I found that any aunthetic flavours had been masked by the incredulous amount of dressing that had been slathered on top.

​Lighting is dim and atrociously dingy. As I had predicted previously, the washrooms had indeed deteriorated (read: grew less hygienic) with time.

Nonetheless, I would suggest visiting for the table-side guacamole (and the patio during the warmer summer months). Keep expectations to a minimum in all other regards though.