Out & About #786 | Winter Ice Trail, Pool + Chi-mac

All hell descended upon me when I least expected it. Or maybe I should have expected it.
Despite being generally optimistic and in constant observation of the working circumstances, the workplace has proved to me time and time again that: Things can, and will, take a turn for the worse.

I've aged recently, as perceived in the stark plummet of happiness levels from photos of previous years. Years in the public sector were hectic, yet never enough to unravel me to the extent that consulting has managed in under two years. Refusing to relinquish the rose-tinted spectacles I have always donned for this industry, I persevere. Alas, I've come to conclude to no amount of determination and hard work can overcome the bias and corruption embedded within corporate society.

In combat of it all, I sought solace by introducing changes around me. They were small ones, but nevertheless essential to compensate for the damage inflicted by repetitive strain on the mind, body, and soul.

• Dark Mode was adopted for the sake of the eyes. Extreme overexertion led to embers even behind closed lids, while my head would throb uncontrollably at the end of each work day.
• Discord was accepted - once and for all - for facilitating and organizing information in a recreational setting.

​By the end of another excruciating five-day-and-some work week, restless nights and endless screentime were countered with exposure to the real world.

We took to the southeast end of the city to partake in a supposed "Winter Art Trail".  It had been proposed as the hybrid option in response to desires for activity (me, of course) and art browsing.
​​Expectations had been modest, given the complimentary nature of the event. That said, we had anticipated, at a minimum, a series of self-led exhibits similar to those that adorned the Toronto Waterfront some years ago.

Arriving to find a showhouse for proposed Lakeview development and colourful map, we entered onto the ice-glazed pathways. Nearby municipal trails were not subject to winter maintenance, leading us to invade the vehicle-designated asphalt pathways for safe navigation. Few items of interest were witnessed, with arguably only two distinct pieces worthy of our attention. Our footsteps gradually drifted off the pathway and onto crunchy-sounding snow to prevent slippage.

​The area was perused for about fifteen minutes. Skies had been a glorious blue with ample sunshine coating the otherwise barren destination, but the chilly conditions and lack of, well, art prompted alternate activities.

​​My suggestion for a nearby café stop was regarded fondly, and off we went to Tokyo Cheesecake Cafe.

Chocolate Cake, a quad of Puff Pastry, and a Tiramisu Latte were obtained and escorted to a table in the corner. ​The establishment had re-opened for dine-in, yet our stay was spent primarily observing access and egress of takeout customers.

​The Tiramisu Latte revealed itself less creamy than previously and accompanied not by its the signature ladyfinger. Nonetheless delicious, the beverage was more reminiscent of a latte, given its thinner consistency. This aspect is not one to earn complaints though, since it paired well alongside our desserts of choice.

​Plush was the Chocolate Cake, with silky cream distributed between unthinkably thin cake layers. Albeit a tad difficult to consume in the absence of a plate, it remained my favourite of the two picks. The Puff Pastry, which had been demonstrated in one of Cooking Tree's older videos had meringue-like attributes blended with the crumbliness of croissants. That said, I found difficulty in consuming even one portion in its entirety. While the layers were evident, its gustatory profile was flat: airy yet derived of depth; snappy yet bland. The apricot jam was admittedly a nice touch, but its overall impression was empty, devoid of the butteriness and substantial properties typically associated with puff pastry.

​As the sun eased into the horizon to reveal the moon, we headed to Captains Snooker. Never had I visited a pool hall in all my years as a Missisauga resident, nor had I been aware of the existence of one in the Chinatown neighbourhood.
We pulled into the plaza and, I with some degree of skepticism, inched towards the double doors. Behind each was a metal gate, indicative of the crime level of the area, and behind the gate a flight of stairs that led to the basement level billiards facility.

The patrons appeared a tad menacing: grim-looking, middle-aged men twice my size hovered over their individual playing fields, some partially masked and some completely unmasked. It was an unnerving scene, to declare in the least. The second observation was less fearful: the visitor demographic was quite multicultural, contrary to my expectations at seeing the predominantly HK Café menu.
From the front desk, we retrieved two cue sticks, a set of balls, and chalk. Spotted behind the plexiglass were several dusty Kenwood apparatus, snuggled deep within their cubbies underneath equally dusty teddy companions. The sight was familiar to me, alluding to my household's own Kenwood hi-fi system at home, thus contributing a sense of relief amidst uncertainty.

​Our designated table would illuminate once assigned. Sauntering over with anxiety, I instantly felt out of place. "A newcomer" the other customers must have thought. Well, they had thought correctly.
Rules were explained to me, along with the availability of the bridge for hard-to-reach shots. Of the three rounds played, I had won one, even surprising myself by casting the white ball with enough force to land two balls in opposing pockets.

​My skepticism had undoubtedly diminished over the course of the game, transforming into curiosity and motivation. There were countless "problems" to be solved, with endless options to utilize the straight edges of the pool table for direct or indirect shots. Frankly, it was more engaging than I had once believed; seeing players approach problems was another interesting facet of the game.
Overcome by a déjà vu moment in the first round, I came to the silent realization that my years of LINE Bubble 2 were not restricted to the world of mobile games. Years of experience with the virtual puzzle easily enabled me to visualize potential methods of winning; beyond straight shots, I was able to contemplate opportunities for side swipes, hits with diffused energy, and more. Of course, this is not to say that I was able to execute these moves in reality, though it surely provided a clear path for decision-making.

Fees were surrendered at the end of our visit, just like karaoke, for the structure was based on time and party size. Prices were quite reasonable, and a password-secured Wi-Fi network was a great bonus.
Bathroom stalls were located on the opposite end of the pool hall, past a cafeteria-style dining area lit in hazy red. As predicted, the two-stall lavatory was cold, eerie, and dilapidated. The lid to the toilet's internal mechanisms had been removed, exposing the flow of water with each flush.

​We arrived at Chi-mac around the 7:30 PM mark to witness heavy traffic in both the dining floor and waiting area. Thankfully, the lineup spanned no more than ten minutes. Slotted into a booth reeking heavily of disinfectant, we were provided a jug of water and menus for perusal and notified of the service bell at the corner of the table. On its second press, a lady poked her head through the cloth curtains to obtain our order.

​First came my requested botte of Heineken, followed by an Asahi glass. Next were disposable utensils and a Styrofoam plate of kimchi, yellow pickled radish/danmuji, and pickled radish/mu - all in scarce amounts. The Honey Garlic Chicken + Jjajangmyeon combo was then delivered, with the Oden Soup last to arrive.

I was of the opinion that portion sizes had been reduced since my last visits. Perhaps it mattered not, since we were unable to deplete the spread in its entirety. Tasty was the Jjajangmyeon, neither too greasy nor salty when served warm. Meaty bits were meager and replaced with softened onion instead, but the noodles remained springy, offering a sense of fulfillment.
Chi-mac had skimped on the sauce for the Honey Garlic Chicken, which appeared donning a half-Fried/half-glazed appearance. Larger chunks than the morsels I had been accustomed to in takeout format, they offered greater crunch despite lack of uniformity.

While I had gravitated towards the piping bowl of Oden Soup for my first bite of sustenance, my partner-in-crime dove for the chicken, understandably so after resisting weeks of cravings. Brows were furrowed in earnest to express enjoyment. The jalapeño-infused Oden Soup acted as a palate cleanser in between.

At around 9:30 PM, we departed for LCBO, then later The Rec Room - one of the few establishments open beyond 10 PM these days - for public bathroom needs.

I returned home bearing a sense of wistfulness.
​My soul felt enriched by a new presence in my life - a presence linked strongly to gratitude, yet not one of a finite magnitude. There was noticeable deviation from the one-liner Thank You cards tacked to year-end workplace gifts. The sensation clarified itself as one yearning for perpetuity, which, in turn, spurred sadness at the unreliability of the future.

"I hope (it'll) stay in my life." was the eventual conclusion.