Out & About #801 | Weekly Roundup: Lemon Pound Cake, 100 Years of Hazel + Hewick Meadows Cycling

​It may come across contradictory that, while I enjoy planning and anticipating the various outcomes of proposed events, I also find tremendous joy in straying from the general itinerary along the way to introduce new opportunities. There is, obviously, less freedom in the workplace for such endeavours, though I hesitate not to incorporate such ideas to enrich the mundane of daily life.

​My week commenced with few meetings and pork, tomato, and potato soup livened with the additions of moderately melted mozzarella.

The sole creation of the week is a Lemon Pound Cake with Pink Lemonade Glaze.
With an upcoming group badminton session, I deemed it the perfect chance to test SK's lemon pound cake recipe. The quantity of batter would fill a Bundt cake tin, making it ideal for portioning and distributing.

​Our fridge's fresh lemons served me well, offering its distinctly zesty properties into the cake. I had, out of caution, reduced sugar levels by 30% in both the cake and glaze, and further swapped buttermilk for plain yogurt, as it happened to be on hand and in need of use (read: expiring soon).

The cake unmoulded relatively easily, though could have used an additional 2-5 minutes for improved crunchiness. Baking for 52 minutes at 350 F yield a nice, golden top, but unevenly toasty-toned edges - could it be the fault of my (dented) vintage pan?

In an attempt to intensify the glaze's yellow hue, I reached for the food colouring. Single drops of red and yellow earned me a muted orange. A drop of green was incorporated to ground the colour back to yellow, yet the result was too green. Some more salvaging efforts later, I ultimately ended up with a sewage-like grey. Panic ensued briefly. A few additional drops of red brought the colour to an acceptable shade reminiscent of dusty rose and pink lemonade.

The overall result proved sour, with a glaze far thinner and less opaque than SK's, likely due to less powdered sugar. Only one lemon had been utilized, but the cake's tart traits could not be denied. It was best paired with milk- and sugar-enhanced coffee, and perhaps an additional teaspoon of glaze per serving.

Larry persists as a pivotal presence in my life.

​Promotional contents informing me of a sleepwear sale prompted a visit to the COWS website.

​From that point on, it seemed only reasonable to continue adding to the cart until the shipping minimum had been attained.

The end of the work week saw errands at the mall, specifically Simons. Behind the online order pick-up counter would be a member staff who would comment on my lanyard, declaring herself a Jackson fan. Her participation in tours had been nonexistent, for she made it known that she would solely support Jackson at this point in time. Our conversation was not furthered. She was not an ahgase.

Each successive task grew lengthier, and I, having not anticipated such delays, sought sustenance from the nearby establishments when hunger could be postponed no longer.

Formerly Kravingz, the compact restaurant along Lakeshore had been rebranded as Hee Sushi some time ago. A hankering for sushi prompted swift orders of the Salmon Tataki and Unagi Donburi via the business' online ordering plaform. Ten minutes of travel time and ten minutes of waiting would pass before the items would find their way to my saliva-slathered chopsticks.

The Salmon Tataki was delicious - thick slices seared at its edges and submerged in a tangy ponzu sauce. Meanwhile, the Unagi Donburi possessed the largest amount of eel I've seen in recent recollection. Moreover, the pieces were plump and flavourful. Sweet, yellow pickled radish, sticky morsels of short-grain rice, a side salad, and miso soup were swell elements to the meal.

Reluctant to relinquish the opportunity for dessert, I rapidly maneuvered to Nani's Gelato before closing.

At arrival, I learned of the dismal news that Vietnamese Coffee had been swapped out of rotation. "The ads swirling about Instagram had been outdated!" I inaudibly realized. Bearing the greatest resemblance was the Café Mocha, which I requested after sampling. A second scoop choice of Parle G was added out of nostalgia, though eventually deemed too sweet for my liking.

Pistachio Saffron remained a staple flavour at the gelato parlour, and was, truthfully, best enjoyed on its own. Crunchy waffle cones were an added bonus.

​Bestowed upon me had been homemade Cinnamon Rolls. Despite being well-textured and plush, the overall composition was simply too sugary. Instantaneous was the headache. Frankly, the sweetness overwhelmed the bun, eliminating any and all hints of cinnamon and spice.

Weekend errands saw Easter-themed Pillbury cookies reminiscent of a certain BT21 character. Orangecane was, without a doubt, informed of this limited-time grocery addition.

I then took to Erin Mills Town Centre to fulfill the final round of errands.

Navigating the mall, my eyes fell upon a sign bearing the face of a distinguished Mississauga figure. "Discover Hazel" it read, "100 Years of Memories Exhibit". Without a moment's hesitation, I drifted in the direction of The Bay and found the former space of Northern Reflections embellished with colourful artwork, life-sized banners, and framed achievements.

​Quite remarkable was the scene, for it not only spoke of Hazel McCallion's innumerable contributions to the space that Mississaugans know and love, but also the dedication and support from residents to compile and assemble the exhibit for the viewing pleasure of others bearing the same pride.

​Torontonians are unapologetically prideful of their origins, and similarly are those from Mississauga. The difference, though, lies in the organization of city matters. Often heard of are the constraints imposed by Toronto's municipal system, prompting building of one's character. In contrast is the act of enabling: fighting for and fostering growth in the community by first establishing the needed infrastructure, then allowing residents to thrive in that environment.

​Needless to say, I am a proud Canadian, and an even prouder member of the City of Mississauga.

I returned home around the 1 PM mark, ready to fire up a duo of Hawaiian and thin crust Pizza Pollo from Dr. Oetker.

Budget-friendly and gratifying sources of sustenance, we were empowered - in calories, at least - for the rest of the day's happenings. Hawaiian had been a tasty choice, though admittedly could have used more pineapple for zing. Pizza Pollo was the unanimous favourite, boasting a wispy thin crust, seasoned chicken strips, and a comforting sour cream-spinach medley.

​With sunny skies warming my scalp during the morning errand-running phase, I was keen to kick off biking season. Giddily, I checked my tire pressure and then geared up in high-vis attire - the polar opposite of day-to-day all-black ensembles. Light layers had been donned under the illusion of warmth; little had I know that temperatures would plummet steeply over the course of the afternoon, into the single digits.

​By the time we made our departure onto the trail, sunlight had receded to yield a hazy, baby blue cloak over the Credit River.

My unfulfilled desire to complete the Hewick Meadows section of the Culham Trail remained. The proposal was presented, and the southbound trip proceeded.

Our crossing over Burnhamthorpe bridge saw countless fallen trees, a desolate scene we would soon come face-to-face with. The trail was in a dire state: far from level and rescued for usage with rough aggregate. A few stray blocks of ice remained, alluding to water damage of the shoreline trees. The hypothesis was that, following accumulation of precipitation of the winter past - be it snow or ice - and a sudden dissolution of such precipitation, the trees had been subject to a tremendous force, attacking the bottom-most sections and causing their collapse.

We hobbled around the damp sections, leading our bikes over the stabler of stones, until finally mounting again when the river came into view. This dirt path was fairly dry, and we proceeded up along the 403 to Somerville's perptual grounds of construction. With a close eye on Google Maps, I adhered to the left side of Wellsborough Place, then Credit Pointe Drive, until catching glimpse of the Hewick Meadows signage.

After a rocky descent, we were reunited with the view of Credit River. The section was largely flat, making it as suitable for trail riders as young children with scooters.

Opting to traverse underneath Eglinton instead of joining the MUP on the north side, we were led over one of the City's many truss-based bridges to a longstanding milling facility. Infographics were placed along the trail, one next to Barbertown Bridge and another at the end of plank-reinforced metal grate crossing. Deep rooted milling equipment had prompted the growth of tree trunks around it, making for quite the interesting attraction.

Eventually, Culham Trail would connect through an area for future development (condos), through a quaint residential district, then back to the enclosed section of the Eglinton MUP. Underdressed and jittering, I proposed a respite either the nearby McD's or Coffee Culture. Along the way was a fish-themed cast-in-place concrete gutter, simplified to "CIP" on its surface.
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Observation of these elements is rare as a driver, but, via active transportation, pedestrians and cyclists can familiarize themselves with the various aspects of municipal infrastructure in passing. Truthfully, the best way to identify the demands of society is by testing the existing systems firsthand. While driving provides feedback on asphalt conditions and congestion levels, traversing without vehicular assistance persists as the gold standard for understanding the needs of all road users.

​At long last, we found warmth (and washrooms!) at Coffee Culture. The bike lock I had looped about my waistpack had come in handy after all!

​Steaming cups of hot chocolate later, spirits had been restored, even if warmth had not. The gradual diminishing of sunlight introduced even chillier conditions, leading to a detour for the acquisition of an additional layer. Then, we embarked on the dim journey back home, guided by none other than streetlights and the blinking LEDs affixed to my bike.