"I do wish you'd go with the flow sometimes." says my birthday buddy who is all too familiar with my comparatively high energy levels and equally drastic burnout routes.
That said, I do desire for balance - a sense of stability that enables me slack for indulgence, while fully knowing that all to-do list items can be handled in a timely manner.
< Pictured above and below:
L11 魚鮫墨魚丸麵 (午特) / Fish Dumpling and Squid Ball Noodle in Soup
L3 潮式鹵水五花腩肉飯 (午特) / Marinated Pork Belly on Rice
M02B 鹵水鴨 (半只) / Marinated Duck (Half)
N02 魚皮餃麵 / Fish Dumpling Noodle in Soup >
1) Walnut Soup - failed, unpictured, and an item we shall not speak further of.
2) Banana Bread (x2)
Half of the batch was baked at 350 F - not the shockingly low 300 F specified in the recipe - for a total of 13 minutes. Minimal spreading was witnessed, and the cookies set to reveal themselves identical to that of grocery store and/or catering company standard. Unlike your worst conference nightmare though, these lovely golden brown morsels boasted crisp edges and a delectably soft interior. In fact, the centre was so caramel-like I begun to visualize pecan pie, but with its profile harnessed in cookie form!
Around 7 PM, we navigated towards the Sussex Center visitor lot, as I had done countless times for Kariya Park viewings in the spring, Gong Cha runs, and a somewhat recent experience at Gyu-Kaku. Up to two hours of parking were complimentary with a validated ticket from the restaurant.
Within the restaurant was a brightly illuminated space: a plexiglass-bearing reception table was positioned at the front, then several seating areas separated by brick entryways and a mini staircase. Our reserved table resided on the north edge of the restaurant, beneath beautiful orb light fixtures and a sloped ceiling of glass panels for a broad perspective of bustling Hurontario and Burnhamthorpe intersection.
Comparing their original location in Streetsville, the City Centre outpost was undeniably more spacious and luminous.
A private label lager by the name of Goodfellas Oro was my drink of choice. At eight dollars, it was quite pricey, though nonetheless a solid lager. Neither too zesty not bitter, the bubbling beverage was regarded fondly in the presence of cheesy, carby, and thoroughly seasoned dishes.
We conclusively deemed the pizza decent, yet far from revolutionary despite its promising appearance.
Then we moved onto the Filetti Spigola, a platter of two well-seasoned Mediterranean sea bass fillets over a bed of charred, olive oil-coated root veggies. I pried into the top fillet, retrieving half for my sampling. The skin was crisp, yet not overly so, and flesh tender. I savoured each swallow while diving for the veggies, then began to relish in the buttery, phenomenal suppleness of Terroni's Branzino. There was no competition, but the Spigola was still delicious.
"Yours was better."
"Mine wasn't authentic though - remember that!" I corrected, "It was a Tiramisu Cake, not a proper tiramisu with ladyfingers."
"But I still like it better."
In the absence of sunlight and other park-goers, the inside was admittedly eerie. The trees were barren and air chilly. We completed our ten-minute strut with subtle shivers, then retreated back to the car to contemplate the next plan of action.