Out & About #772 | Holiday Shortbread Box + POLAR Winter Festival

Treacherous high winds had nixed arrangements from the evening prior, and rightfully so given the corresponding safety hazards for drivers and pedestrians alike. A splendid Sunday surprise welcomed me the next morning, strictly speaking in the sense of shortbread.

Issho Bakery's Holiday Shortbread Box was a cookie lover's dream. Neatly nestled within the white paper box was the most festive assortment one could ask for.

Fruit & Nut Biscotti: Thinner than your typical coffee-dipping biscuit, Issho's version spanned no more than one centimetre in thickness, and proved proportionally brittle. The walnuts were mere slivers, while the apricot and chocolate were packed tightly, offering a subtle crunch with each bite. Admittedly, they were less suitable for dipping into a caffeinated beverage due to its delicate composition. That said, they were nonetheless enjoyed alongside one's cup of morning joe, serving to provide a touch of sustenance with a lingering citrus aftertaste.
The slim appearance further instigated possibility of a mechanical bread or pastry slicer in the production process, for biscotti is sliced and baked twice, making thick cuts more preferable for maintaining intactness. Less rigidity in the loaf would pose difficulty in maintaining narrow, uniform sections.

Brown Butter Shortbread: Absolutely toothsome with a thorough infusion of woody spice, these chunky rounds were enjoyed best by those appreciative of full-bodied, holiday flavours. Specks of brown butter brought about an undeniably nuttiness; herby notes of rosemary followed, while a zesty zing would cling to the tongue after the last bite.

Chocolate Shortbread: Seemingly identical to the Brown Butter Shortbread in terms of visuals (thickness, coarse sugar coating, circular form), its profile was anything but similar. The stump-like discs were noticeably less dense, even threatening fragmentation under the pressure of firm digits. For the first time ever, I would taste a mild fluffiness in a shortbread cookie. The texture was foreign, yet not unwelcome. Fine cocoa nibs contributed crunch, while mintiness would befall midway through consumption and persist well after the final crumb was devoured.

Ginger Snap: Since last year's dive into gingerbread cookies, I was eager to not make them again. Our household is accustomed to the molasses-free editions, normally associated with the components of a gingerbread house. The centrepiece of Ginger Snaps was very much to my liking, for gingery, citrusy, and snappy they were. The potent properties may not be to the preference of all, but I rest assured that even the most spice-adverse entity can appreciate the harmonious amalgamation of spice and snap.

Matcha Snowball: Snowballs are a classic Christmas treat, yet one that is rarely executed well. Without insight, they can emerge starchy, bland, and unattractively sweet. My dabbling in Sunday Baking's recipes had enabled acquaintance with a nutty, crunchy specimen for easy eating, but the experience was reinvented entirely with Issho. Beyond the inclusion of almond powder were small bits of white sesame - impressively aromatic and oozing of depth. It was a revolutionary addition that promptly rid my memory of any predecessors without it. I swore to incorporate the ingredient into my next batch going forward.

Around the 4 PM mark, we began the trip downtown. Winter's early sunset painted a lovely blue-lilac gradient about us as we inched along the Gardiner, accompanied by countless other vehicles.

​Parking was a mission in itself, as transit-opposed thrill-seekers shall come to learn. While having conducted extensive research the evenings prior, our first choice was unavailable. A backup plan entailed a loop along the city's many one-way, streetcar-supporting streets and into the underground lot of Radisson Blu.
By the time we emerged above ground, the sun had descended. What remained was a receding lining of tangerine, vibrancy gradually suppressed by a sombre navy. The gusty bursts felt along the waterfront proceeded to question our outfit choices, and why scarves and down coats had been shed. By daytime temperatures I had been misled.

The Harbourfront Centre Rink had been reconfigured from the imperfect rhombus of the Natrel Pond to an odd-shaped, half-hollow/half-filled figure 8 before the Harbourfront Centre Concert Stage. 

Ample space was found along the west side of the concert stage, with a small section to the right separated for skating lessons. An abundance of benches had been arranged along the rink's perimeter for storage and ease of shoe swapping. The primary issue lay with the layout: the loop was compact to start, then converged to a narrow U between the stage and Ann Tindal Park. The lack of width posed a hazard for experienced and new skaters alike, for reduced surface area equated to greater pressure. These deep ridges, in conjunction with slow speeds and the underlying foundation (ie. the ground)'s naturally occurring slope changes, made half of the trail largely unenjoyable. The ice had been formed around trees; despite gymnastic pads wrapped around for safety, the grade difference and non-uniform state of matter offered another obstacle to weave around.

​We resided in this space for approximately one hour, mainly to satisfy my skating itch as my partner for the day had lost familiarity with her hockey skates. As the toes began to cramp, our minds wandered to the topic of food. My historic log of the Waterfront District had not escaped me, and I was quick to point out the Queen's Quay Terminal building to satisfy our needs.

Across from the Goodman Pub and Kitchen - amazingly still standing - was Joe Bird, and behind it Pie Bar.

​The dining hall was nearly deserted at 6:30 PM, with only two tables occupied and both wrapping up. In line with previous ventures, dishes were plucked with the intention of sharing. The spread comprised of a Romaine and Kale Caesar, The Godfather Pizza, and, upon inquiry of the Chef Feature, a Braised Beef Ravioli with Alfredo Sauce and Mushrooms. Priced on par with the choice of coordinates, they were anything but economic. Even with the cost split amongst two, the bill totalled just over $43 per person after tax and (minimum) tip.

​Ravenous and jittery from the cold, we were not ones to complain of the dim, soothing ambiance and speedy delivery.
The Romaine and Kale Caesar arrived with a charred lemon, shaved Parmesan, and garlicy croutons. The top layer consisted of lettuce, while the bottom bits of finely chopped kale. Dressing had been requested on the side, with directions executed as specified. 

The Godfather Pizza came with smoky pepperoni cups and a nicely crisped underside. Though, an aspect leaving much to be desired was the inadequate portioning of slices: there was but a light grid perforation, and any further cuts would need be made personally using a fork and knife instead of the traditional pizza roller. Toppings were scarce, yet savoury and spicy in a tolerance sense. The crust was atrociously thick, causing satiation within the first few bites. I attempted complete consumption of a one eighth slice, but surrended at the stiff, starchy outer edge.
We deemed it decent, albeit lacking in comparison to Pie Wood's scrumptious Ultimate Canadian with chili-infused maple syrup.

​Redeeming the mains was the Chef Feature. It was, frankly, a limited portion for sharing, but warranted its last-minute addition to the roster. The pairing of beef and Alfredo was rare to start, then further heightened with buttery, supple mushrooms and el dente edges of ravioli. I wasn't exactly convinced of the "braised" claim, however the chewy bits of beef found inside each pocket was indeed delicious.

​I could stomach no more when an anxious gaze matched my exhausted one. "Are we still getting the Tiramisu?"
"Oh no." I thought, recalling our consensus at the start of the meal.
We proceeded with the item, being rewarded with cakey creation possessing moisture-logged layers and nonexistent notes of mascarpone and Kahlua. ​Moreover, I could not comprehend the use of whipped cream from a can.

Beyond the mediocre meal, I retained few negative remarks: Service had been amicable, QR code menus were provided, and regularly maintained washrooms were accessible on the ground floor of the terminal (outside the eatery).

"Good oven, bad pizza." resulted from an exchange of experiences with orangecane later onwards. I could not agree more.

​Our trek back to the underground lot detoured for the sake of churros. I commended my dining partner for her ceaseless stomach capacity. One last stick of fried dough and caramel and we were on our way to POLAR.

Last year's drive-thru experience had been memorable to say in the least, thus making me keen to relive the lights and festivity via a walk-able format. After some confusion, we pulled into Lot 854 and neared the entrance. The event staff huddled into a small circle, some masked and some not. One broke free to scan our tickets for entry, then returned to her local gigglefest.

Tickets had been secured over a month in advance, and delayed only due to extenuating circumstances. Mother Nature had clearly inflicted damage on the festival grounds; our eyes fell upon tumbled trees, overturned unicorns, and inflatable characters strung to concrete blocks. However, more surprising was the expanse, or rather, diminutiveness, of the Winter Festival. Enthusiasm had spurred from review of the map, yet reality didn't seem to align in the slightest.

​The path was narrow, uneven, and faintly illuminated. At either side of the asphalt walkway were LED installations and inflatable creatures. Strings of coloured bulbs dangled from above, while holiday tunes played in the distance, by the stage.

View the full album HERE !

Attractions were shockingly scarce. From a few photo-appropriate displays to low-budget light tunnel (no WinterFest auras here), we traversed roughly half of the event space within thirty minutes. A handful of vendors huddled within sheltered cabins, retailing a small selection of winterwear, Whiskey cookies, and handmade beauty products. The scene was unfortunately underwhelming, especially amidst blustery, frigid conditions.

​As we neared the stage, food trucks and a gently lit seating area came into view. Our wait at the Ace Hill trailer went ignored, prompting navigation towards other areas of the event. We passed an eerily empty merry-go-round, dismal fair games with hollering and smoking staff, and a snow cone truck before drifting back for hot chocolate and warmth.

6ix Donutz was the only merchant to sell hot chocolate. They had run out of marshmallows for the night, leading to the acquisition of one plain Hot Chocolate and one regular, inclusive of whipped cream (Oh, the enemy!), sprinkles, and barely-there cinnamon powder. Our lid-less beverages were taken to reside by the campfire.
Halfway through the drink, a clump of unmixed powder was spotted. The same applied to that of my dining partner.

​As we returned to the access point from which we had come, I expressed apology at the dismal occurrence. While POLAR Winter Festival wouldn't have been a bad choice for families and young children on a weeknight (50% off days!), it did not warrant our lengthy drive downtown whatsoever. We enjoyed each other's company, but could barely process the one-dimensional scenery. Lights were insufficient, attractions were few, and innovation was limited. It was, in essence, a faux CNE - smaller, pricier, and devoid of annual highlights.