"Hey!"
Lucid in my memory was a girl with a coppery-red lob plopping down beside me.
"How'd you know it was me from the back?" I had greeted her inquisitively.
"You're the only one sitting alone."
Three years (and one day) later, orangecane remains as savage as ever. More familiar, undoubtedly weirder, and perhaps a bit wiser, the free spirit within her remains consistent. She's a creator in many trades, a contemplator of daily happenings, and a producer of witty - and sometimes borderline crass - remarks. Most importantly, she's someone I'm proud to call my friend.
Lucid in my memory was a girl with a coppery-red lob plopping down beside me.
"How'd you know it was me from the back?" I had greeted her inquisitively.
"You're the only one sitting alone."
Three years (and one day) later, orangecane remains as savage as ever. More familiar, undoubtedly weirder, and perhaps a bit wiser, the free spirit within her remains consistent. She's a creator in many trades, a contemplator of daily happenings, and a producer of witty - and sometimes borderline crass - remarks. Most importantly, she's someone I'm proud to call my friend.
Our long-awaited meetup commenced with Barre, a class intended to attack the calves and cement poise. The one-hour programme supposedly meshed pilates fundamentals with ballet-inspired positions (and a hint of cardio); incorporated were three-pound free weights (for resistance), cork blocks (for elevation), and small, inflatable balls (for posture control).
Different teachers bring forth different routines, or so I was told. Our specific class engaged various components of the body for total physique toning, however fell short of difficulty expectations. We progressed speedily through the class: repetition was minimal and form was left unrectified. That said, I did appreciate the cleanliness of the Modo Yoga's Markville location overall.
Different teachers bring forth different routines, or so I was told. Our specific class engaged various components of the body for total physique toning, however fell short of difficulty expectations. We progressed speedily through the class: repetition was minimal and form was left unrectified. That said, I did appreciate the cleanliness of the Modo Yoga's Markville location overall.
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Fast-forward some two-or-so hours later, we were heading south to the 14th/Kennedy plaza on foot. The Lucullus plaza was cramped, thus we had settled for leaving the car elsewhere out of parking concerns, only to catch sight of three cars departing the lot upon our arrival at Chiang Rai.
Initially penning down Jatujak with a penchant, I later revised the itinerary to include this Northern Thai cuisine newcomer. Positive recaps had led us to the otherwise dismissable Chinese-dominant strip mall.
Initially penning down Jatujak with a penchant, I later revised the itinerary to include this Northern Thai cuisine newcomer. Positive recaps had led us to the otherwise dismissable Chinese-dominant strip mall.
The interior was hip, as one ought as a self-proclaimed "kitchen and bar". Small party booths featured patterned tabletops and outlets for refueling handheld devices, while larger groups had the option of communal tables (sans-hooks) and raised patio chairs. Curry, stir-fry, and pad thai formed the basis of the menu; alcoholic varieties were housed in a separate booklet.
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Our eyes - or stomachs, really - unanimously voted in favour of the Khao Soi. Prompted by my two-minute delay in opinion-voicing was a snarky utterance of "copycat". Her ability to exploit these opportunities never fails to catch my off guard.
Hers was Beef, while mine was Chicken. A side of Thai Fresh Rolls was appended to my order for the sheer sake of having greens in presence.
Hers was Beef, while mine was Chicken. A side of Thai Fresh Rolls was appended to my order for the sheer sake of having greens in presence.
Should my memory continue to serve me correctly, the broth/sauce was thicker than that of Khao San Road and Pai, and its hue a faded orange instead of glimmering gold. In absence was the quintessential bundle of fried noodles normally in accompaniment; supplementing this loss were strange additions of red pepper slivers, red onions, and a grotesque, fully-cooked hard-boiled egg. Droplets of chili oil swirled about the surface, even though ultimate mildness had been requested.
Chiang Rai's Khao Soi was, conclusively speaking, very underwhelming. The flat egg noodles had a different calling, seeming to belong anywhere except in the ceramic bowl before me. With each forkful of noodles, the sauce increased in viscosity, until it became clear that the noodles were swelling with the formula. Creamy as it was, the solution was goopy and inadequate in delivering the anticipated notes of golden curry.
The Thai Fresh Rolls were passable with its side of sweet tamarind dipping sauce. Otherwise, there was little to reminisce about. Royal Orchard's Cold Spring Rolls had been tastier in comparison.
Washrooms were situated by the entrance in the form of three individual stalls. Tiling was consistent within the space; overall hygiene had also been maintained, though flushing capacity was mediocre at best. Surrounding the mirror was a circular wooden fixture prompting flashbacks to that of MeNami's ground-level accessibility stall.
Service was friendly for the majority, but lacking in terms of efficiency. Roles had been distributed amongst the afternoon crew, restricting the already limited band of floor staff to specific roles of bartending, meal delivery, and customer correspondence. Our demands for water and chopsticks were tended to in several intervals.
Service was friendly for the majority, but lacking in terms of efficiency. Roles had been distributed amongst the afternoon crew, restricting the already limited band of floor staff to specific roles of bartending, meal delivery, and customer correspondence. Our demands for water and chopsticks were tended to in several intervals.
It should come as no surprise that I'll be seeking out Jatujak for my next uptown foray into the realm of Northern Thai provisions.
Postponing our movie plans, orangecane kidnapped me for a ride through L'Amoreaux, then Pacific Mall to satisfy yearnings for caffeine.
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Following the acquisition of Dak Lak's Condensed Milk Coffee was a stopover at Tak Fu for Salted Egg Yolk Buns. Known officially as "Steamed Sweet & Cream Bun" (德福流沙包), the piping hot trio tied us over until discount movie tickets were obtained.
Upon departing the establishment, the Styrofoam box was shoved into my lap - and for good reason. Consuming these small sweet-and-savoury packages were no easy feat.
Saltier than they were custard-like, Tak Fu's version was the grown-up edition of Summit Garden's back home. The bun was fluffier, allowing distinctive contrast from the lava-like filling.
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First Markham Place was our next destination for movie snacks: A Cream Cheese Bun à la Guschlbauer for her, and an Original Egg Waffle from Eggette Hut for myself.
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The Original set me back four dollars and was quite tasty for the first few bites. Waves of nausea later caught up to me and I stuffed the paper bag into my tote with no remorse for its pending sogginess.
My recollection of the original Disney run is faint. That said, such vagueness did not obstruct me from enjoying Frozen II to a tremendous extent. At times, the camera (animation?) movements were a tad overwhelming, a tad too close to inducing motion sickness. However, I managed to persevere through without tossing any cookies.
The production was strategically portioned into segments of seriousness, action-packed adventure, comedic relief, and even a nostalgic 2000s boy group throwback, ensuring that not a single member of the audience would dull over its two-hour-ish duration. Embedded within the popular sequel are underlying messages of righteousness, courage, family, and acknowledgement of individuality. Frozen II was every bit as much a visual rollercoaster as it was an emotional one.
My health status had plummeted over the course of the day, likely due to a result of poor eating and sleeping habits. Orangecane kindly offered a section of her supper alongside warm cups of ginger water. A certain prehistoric creature then generously offered a ride home, despite it involving a whopping travel distance of 80 kilometres. And for that, I am incredibly and eternally indebted.
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