Out & About #766 | Axia + Nani's Gelato

Delayed from mall errands by creature of unsalvageable incompetence, I adopted an early mat pilates session as I wasn't about to enter the premises amidst Black Friday pandemonium. Instead of grocery shopping, I proposed eating out - a rarity in this household - to alleviate the time crunch and avoid the hassle of post-consumption cleanup.

Close to home was Axia, a restaurant we had frequented in my childhood days and driven by on countless occasions. Their menu had been expansive, offering popular Asian dishes in the Western world, hence its name. Fond memories surfaced of pad thai occupying the same table as stir fry and sushi. Unfortunately, we learned that this was no longer the case.

​Our reservation was slated for 7:15 PM. It was prime supper- and takeout-time, entailing an approximate five-minute wait before being seated.
The interior had retained the same design backbone as I recalled, though was now furnished with physical panels separating the tables along the south perimeter of the eatery. These new installations alluded to a sense of privacy - a semi-enclosed partition that still enabled easy access to serving staff.

Brought to the table by a male manager of staff seemingly of manager-level authority, we gazed questionably upon the damp chairs and somewhat tacky table. The shine was minimal on my end, thus I sat down without qualms, though the same could not be said about the chair opposite. A request for wipedown was responded to with a leer and grumpy buff from a petite, middle-aged woman, followed by "It's Lysol! We clean it." The reply carried animosity, as well as explicit reference towards lack of awareness and education.
I sure hope you clean it. But what needs more cleaning is your mouth.

​Menus were folded at the edges, sticky, and beckoned not a thorough flip through. Unlike most restaurants, the availability of a QR code was not made aware to us. We discovered it on the inner flap of the flimsy brochure, which led us to their online ordering platform.
My dining partner was quick to select Cantonese Chow Mien given the elimination of the coveted pad thai. I had hoped for a well-rounded medley of sushi, or at least some hearty rice-based entrée. At failing to find it on the menu, I inquired of the availability of one of my favourites.
"Do you have Unagi Donburi?"
"No." came the piercingly blunt response.
"Is there something similar? Or something with unagi?"
She made an "ehhh" sound before muttering "Dragon Roll", which did not speak to the appetite.
"Can I swap in unagi?" I pointed to one of the bento sets.
"No."
"Can I add it??"
"You can get a side unagi." she offered briskly, but did not provide any further details.
"Is it on the menu?" My eyes darted to the paper for more information.
"It's not there." came an exasperated sigh.
Seeing my confusion and hesitation, she huffed, "I'll give you a minute. What about drinks?"
We relayed our request for warm water, but not before she spun on her heel without a glance at our irked expressions.

The irritable woman disappeared for a brief moment, and a younger girl was sent to our table. I stated my case once more, and she resorted to listening and seeking confirmation in an earnest manner. Several trips between our table and the kitchen would confirm the older lady's words of no permitted substitutions, but the availability of unagi "sashimi" as a side order. A total of three pieces would ring in at $5.95 - the worst $5.95 I would have struggled for.
A Nigiri Sushi Bento Box was requested as the main, salad dressing on the side to save a flourishing canker sore from exposure to acidity.

​The Cantonese Chow Mien was spectacular: the noodles were eggy, satisfying, and crispy. The surface bore a shiny coating of slightly savoury, cornstarch-thickened glaze, as it should. Bite-sized pieces of sweet peas, chicken, cha siu, baby corn, and bok choy were woven through the nest-like creation in abundance. Offering nothing but contentment, the only aspect warranting point deductions was the inclusion of raw baby carrots. Its snappy centre yielded stark surprise and affirmed the need for parboiling.

​My own Nigiri Sushi Bento was decent. It served as a balanced meal with greens (undressed as requested), a horrendously salty miso soup, mayo-topped shrimp tempura rolls, and crunchy deep fried beef gyoza (from a package). Shockingly, the nigiri were the least desirable specimens of the box. They lacked freshness, bearing a feebleness that not even heavy doses of wasabi could overcome.

Yet, the worst of all was the special add-on of Unagi Sashimi. Its taste was peculiar, and its texture dismal at best. The pieces were smothered in sauce - a condiment with minimal depth but plenty of sugar and salt - and plastered next to each other atop a leaf of romaine. I had reached for the first slice with anticipation, only to have my excitement shattered by a mushy mess that would disintegrate in one's mouth. I finally came to comprehend the reason behind the ingredient being an option exclusively in maki rolls.

​Washrooms were located towards the back of restaurant, or, more precisely, the east end. A waft of unpleasantness would fill the air upon drawing close, however there were no issues to be witnessed in terms of general hygiene. One out of the three stalls had been blocked off for distancing. The door remained propped and open to nix the need for touch.

The grouch of a server came back in the latter part of our meal, probably against her will (and us against ours for the interaction). Not once did she follow up on our orders, though the supposed manager did with a smile. Her presence was also nonexistent when our departure time loomed near. At being able to flag only the manager once again, we gestured for the bill and takeout containers. As she emerged from the kitchen area, their eyes met, and she turned in the direction of the Styrofoam containers, likely with half-rolled eyes and upturned corners of the lips.
Had the younger member of the serving staff not appeared at our table, nor had the manager compensated for the grump's lack of general respect, I'd have likely opted out of the tip option altogether. A distinct change in attitude was witnessed in her communications with neighbouring tables, concluding that her demeanour was purely situational.

We gathered our belongings and headed into the Great Outdoors. Axia's evolution had attested to a solid position in the takeout community, with the caveat that desires for raw fish be banished and replaced with the ssafer option of hot plates.

I suggested a stroll through Loblaws prior to acquiring dessert. The trip for eggs and sour cream would enable sightings of plush wreaths and festive holiday décor.

At long last, we set out northward to Nani's Gelato. Fellow residents of Mississauga have informed me of this establishment through positive reviews and enthusiasm and, despite living within biking distance, I simply hadn't managed an opportunity to visit.

I assumed their coordinates in the Masrawy Egyptian Kitchen plaza, but was wholly mistaken. The compact establishment was but a few steps from Aunty's Kitchen at the northeast corner of Erin Mills Parkway and Britannia.
Greasy fumes welcomed us back into Canadian climate, likely the culprit of Nani's next-door neighbour, Gladiator Burger and Steak.  The intensity of these fumes grew more prominent inside the gelato parlour, leading one to hypothesize the possibility of a shared ventilation system.

​Flavours were posted outside the unit, as well as within, noting availability of pints, scoops, soft serve (discontinued after the summer season), and even cookies. Accessibility push buttons were also featured on either side of the entrance and the bathroom stall inside.
We joined the lineup, which moved at an ever unhurried pace. The three staff members behind the counter were ridiculously patient, and the dessert shop's patrons operating at an equally leisurely manner. When our chance finally rolled around, I vocalized the trip as our first visit. Without hesitation, we were given brief introductions of the gelato assortment - rotated every two weeks - and made aware of sampling privileges. Two samples were permitted per customer, thus we opted for Pistachio, Purple Rice Coconut, Tiramisu, and Rosewater Cardamom. The second and third flavours were deemed bland, in particular the Tiramisu with its lack of Kahlua and strictly vegan properties.

​In review of their cup sizes, we resorted to Kids Cups of Pistachio/Earl Grey and Rosewater Cardamom/Meyer Lemon Sorbetto. Payment was accepted via Square, with prompts available to customers via a(n exceptionally slow) tablet on the other side of the plexiglass barrier.
Earl Grey offered a subtle hint of black tea and indiscernible quantities of vanilla. It adopted a similar texture to the Rosewater Cardamom, which was as creamy as it was delicate. Softening even in the bleak outdoor conditions was the Meyer Lemon Sorbetto - a tangy upgrade from commercial-grade, sugar-laden sorbets à la Baskin Robbins. Pistachio, known to be their most adored flavour to date, was crowned the favourite of our picks. Richly flavoured, velvety smooth, and brimming with shards of the vibrant green nut, the formula was so impactful that I rejoined the queue minutes later to purchase a pint. A couple who had preceded us in the first queue did the same, then retreated to their car as giddily as I had.

At seeing bike racks, I was quick to propose a joint adventure to another cycling enthusiast come warmer weather. The location was ideal for connections: Erin Mills Pkwy MUP to the south, Britannia MUP to the west, and Lake Wabukayne Trail to the north. Streetsville wasn't too far either, though lanes in that area are generally too narrow for enjoyment. My proposal garnered interest, along with an astonished "You chose a cold day for gelato."
To which I was compelled to retort: "Are you really Canadian if you haven't had ice cream in the winter?!"

Pistachion pint in hand - er, trunk - we zoomed back home. I had utilized my rare departure from the house to test new contacts; visible from the left eye were standard traffic lights, and perceived in the right were V-shaped rays of varying heights. OD had a higher reading of astigmatism, instilling amusement in the familiar, short-lived drive I had undertaken countless times before.