Out & About #812 | Terroni Price (Round 2) Feat. Coffee Swiss Roll with Dalgona

Congestion creeps up when you least expect it. Countless weeks have I traversed the same route on the 401 to Studio Bon without issues, yet the days that are not executed solo entail issues.

With a late departure and notification of all Express lanes closed for who-knows-what, a delay of ten minutes befell upon my drive. Distractions were plenty, but from the passenger seat as opposed to the vehicles surrounding me. Disturbing the driver with non-constructive opinions is ill-advised, yet it happens frequently to those unaware of the implications of their actions.

​I arrived to pilates no more than five minutes late, scurried to the bathroom, and re-joined the class after the first 20 Bosu marches had been executed. Exempt I was was not from the Bosu runs, which I have, admittedly, come to like after all these weeks. In contrast to the Cardio-Tramp, which can be quite challenging at high spring levels (red and above), the Bosu summons core strength and introduces mobility to the body without straining sleepy muscles.

Facing perpendicular to the Bosu ball with one foot placed atop, we proceeded with twists of the upper body with arms in genie position ("shoulders down!" was reminded of all of us), side crunches, and, finally, the "speed training" lateral steps guaranteed to raise one's heart rate. Instead of aiming to cover greater distance, I tried to keep the body as still as possible, bouncing from one foot to another without extension of the legs or drastic shifting on the body. A safe landing on the other side of the Bosu was crucial, for any instability in the ankle could lead to injury by rolling. The move was executed slightly different by each class participant: my neighbour placed heavy emphasis on the bounce-off, while the other girl kept her body fairly upright.

​Lying on the Reformer, we took several deep breaths to calm the body. The legs were sent to the left and right to release any lower back tension. From that point, we would engage in a core routine with a partially deflated ball placed between the inner thighs. Squeezing against the ball at all times, we completed hundreds, toe dips to the "wood plate", leg extensions, and leg extensions with a crunch.

Continuing with more thigh work, both feet were threaded through the tension straps. Remaining in a lying position on the Carriage, the legs were lowered to the point where a neutral spine could be maintained. With the resistance of two red springs, this was quite the challenging starting position. The partially deflated ball was placed between the calves, slightly above the ankles this time. While squeezing against the ball, we would lower the legs with an imprint spine and lift back up to neutral. Scissors and Double Ds - in both directions! - were also executed while attempting to keep the Carriage as still as possible. Finishing this segment was the stretching of the inner thighs by extending the legs beyond the Reformer in a V-shape and pressing them down towards the Carriage.
Tension cable-bases exercises are particularly interesting in that they expose lack of mobility. Where flexibility is lacking, the range of motion becomes limited. Where strength is lacking, the cable quivers as the body moves. My left side, the infinitely weaker side of my body, struggles to resist the red springs, such that even maintaining the neutral starting position is a challenge.

​Flipping over to a high kneeling position on the Carriage, we gripped the loop of the tensions straps for upper back exercises. An additional white spring had been added to our usual blue, increasing the level of difficulty. I was reminded to keep the tailbone tucked on many occasions, for the imprint pelvis was apparently not pronounced enough. Grand efforts were made to keep the chin lifted and shoulders relaxed while isolating the back and triceps.
Rotating 180 degrees to face the footbar, arms were threaded through the hand straps and raised from hip height to slightly above the shoulders. We would then extend the palms outwards while inhaling, and contract the pectoral muscles while bringing the hands back to the raised position before bending the elbows and lowering to hip height once more.

​More lower body exercises would be executed while standing. The Reformer Box was obtained from the wall and placed in the Long Box Position on the floor next to the Reformer frame. One foot was placed in the centre of the Box, while the sole of the other was slid against the shoulder rest. The knee of the standing leg would be bent while the other foot pushed out against the Carriage. In the lunge position, the body was hinged forward slightly; the glute of the resting leg was to be squeezed to maintain squareness in the hips. Constant reminders were made towards all class participants, for failure to isolate the correct muscle rendered the exercise significantly less effective.

Wrapping up the class were several stretches, ranging from a tension-affixed child's pose on the Reformer, a standing rolldown, and shoulder rolls - three in each direction.

​My path reconvened with the girl whom I had unintentionally matched leggings with several weeks prior. It was learned that our paths would cross again in the future, though regrettably not within the same class slot.

Lunch was slated for 1 PM at Terroni Price, prompting a speedy change of clothes and rushed brushing of compressed strands.

A popular pick for Hallmark holidays, the table had been secured weeks in advance via OpenTable. Across Price Street was the familiar asphalt lot we had encountered during the last visit. The minor road was still uneven with more rutting and utility cut patches to count, while construction was still ongoing just east of the restaurant. Beyond these elements, the neighbourhood was quite serene, as expected of the affluent Rosedale-Summerhill district.

We had requested the patio, and were gestured towards two flights of stairs to the rooftop. There, another hostess table was positioned. One of the members of staff, dressed peculiarly in a Sherpa-lined jacket and runners, greeted us lethargically before impatiently revealing our seating options for the meal. The tables in direct sunlight were dismissed in favour of a round table with high stools by the bar.

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​Menus were provided for our perusal. Several moments later, a server with an overall disheveled demeanour would greet us. Our drink orders comprised of warm water, then later a Green Apple Juice and Fruit Peach Nectar. They were delivered rather swiftly, though he was nowhere when we wished to inquire further about entrée suggestions.

A different member of staff asssisted us with clarifications: the Tonno, which had piqued my interest initially, was described as roughly six slices of seared tuna - a small portion unfit for ssharing. This led us back to the Branzino, which had been received splendidly during our last visit and further recommended for sharing given its inclusion of two whole fillets.
Given my previous week's supper at Papa Giuseppe's, I was less than keen for another platter of Spaghetti in Canna a Mare. This difference in opinion caused hostility to appear, followed by a disagreeable stomping off while I scanned the assortment for some similar style of tomato-based pasta. We ultimately settled on the Rigatoni all' Amatriciana, which would swap splashable spaghetti for easy-to-stab shorties.

​Bread, once remembered, was served in a sturdy basket with a cork-toned, faux leather-like finish. Olive oil and peppery rings accompanied the two stale slices. We both ripped off a section, gnawed away at it for several seconds, then laid it down with a grimace.

Contrary to expectations, neither the Green Apple Juice nor Fruit Peach Nectar was crafted in house. Both beverages adopted the format of teensy glass bottles: the Fruit Peach Nectar priced at $2.25 for 4.2 oz (124 ml) and Green Apple Juice at $4.25 for 250 ml. Caps removed and ice-filled glasses in accompaniment, the viscous fluids were consumed steadily over the course of the meal, though without much marvel.

​The Branzino appeared adopting a similar layout as before, except with a slightly soggier skin and citrus-topped slaw in place of arugula-quinoa blend. It was nonetheless delicious, yet perhaps a tad less impressive than in our gustatory recollection.
Rigatoni all' Amatriciana was a platter of hollow, cylindrical noodle cooked el dente and luxuriously coated in tomato sauce. A faint dusting of pecorino decorated the top, while bits of Italian sausage peeked out from underneath. Garlicy without being overly pungent, and chewy without being undercooked, the speckled amalgamation was exemplary of a foundational Italian pasta dish.

​As with before, we found the service quite lacklustre. In spite of the food quality and dining environment, attentive the team was not. A handful of bartenders, hostesses, and serving staff could be observed at all corners of the patio, yet our struggle to find a single dependable member was unsuccessful.

We foregoed dessert, seeing as the Tiramisu hadn't been all that stunning.
With the lifting of directional floor arrows, I suggested roaming the merchandise shelf and ground-level café within the restaurant. Baked goods such as croissants and biscotti were sponsored by Sud Forno. The mini bombolone were quite attractive, though purchases were withheld given our next stop: a pending café visit.​

​Rosy blossoms were spotted throughout many parts of the GTA over the week, with High Park booming in visitor count. For those less eager to face the crowds, there were select areas with fewer traffic: U of T and Exhibition grounds, as noted by orangecane (and crew).

​A lone shrub in the shade was spotted from the municipal lot. It bore pale pink flowers with distinctly fuschia centres. To its east was the overpass for the at-ground section of TTC's Line 1 route, and its west the flourishing retail strip of Summerhill.

​We proceeded southbound along Yonge Street, observing the flow of pedestrians, upscale passenger vehicles, and cyclists in their dedicated lanes. A brief detour through Ramsden Park saw a light bounce in footsteps on poured rubber walkways; the outdoor facility was spacious, sunny, and absolutely beautiful. Unlike green spaces closer to the downtown core, there were no grimy inhabitants to be spotted.

​Coffee Lunar had been bookmarked for some time now. Its location was hardly convenient though, assuming the primary reason for the delayed visit. Located in a protruding portion of a commercial building, the space was, frankly, quite limited. The minimalistic design enabled a combined bar-and-cashier area, a few small tables, and some benches for dine-in customers. Complimentary Wi-Fi was provided for those looking to dabble in laptop work for a short while.

One of my first observations was the lineup of beans by the brewing machine: Coffee Lunar exclusives roasted by Hatch. The second was a small selection of dried buds and home brewing equipment at the west edge of the establishment.

Following a high-level review of the menu, we turned to one of the two baristas behind the counter to request further details. He replied to my inquiry about cup sizes somewhat grudgingly, as if the variance between Regular and Large at their specific café was as commonplace as elementary arithmetic.

​A Regular- sized Hot Cream Drop and Regular Espresso Tonic set me back $4.50 and $4.00 respectively. Seemingly a signature item, an illustration of the Cream Drop and its anatomy had been positioned by the checkout. Cream foam, condensed milk, brown sugar, espresso, and water constituted the caffeinated beverage; surprisingly, it wasn't as sweet as the name had indicated. Traces of sweetened condensed milk were also indiscernible. 
The profile was, at best, slightly more robust than the average Americano with milk and sugar.

Smaller in volume than the Cream Drop, my iced Espresso Tonic was about the same size as a Starbucks' Tall - 12 oz-ish, I'd say. At its surface was a slice of dehydrated lemon, which contributed visual appeal without the bitterness of submerged citrus peel, though didn't serve to enhance the overall composition vastly. It was, at the end of the day, merely an iced black coffee without any hints of brown sugar or zestiness.

While in wait of the drink order, I carefully descended the staircase in search of the lavatory. The corridor grew more dismal with each step, until I found peeling walls and a door labelled "WC". Behind this door was the most repulsive, compact bathroom I could never imagine for a café of such supposedly sophisticated caliber.

​​​​The walls were tainted and scraped, the sink filthy and exhibiting signs of rust, and the lock finnicky. I was barely able to access the toilet behind the jutting square sink. As I scanned my surroundings while washing my hands, I thought to myself: "How horrible it would be to get stuck in here."

As if on cue, the door knob seemed to jam. Twisting the lock to the right and back, I was unable to release myself from the horror of the stall. Thinking quickly, I sent an SOS - thank goodness for signal! Only after two attempts did a member of staff reluctantly descend to my rescue.
"You turn the lock." came the unbothered voice of the male member of staff.
"I did!" I responded, equal parts frustrated and panicked.
"Turn to the left." grumbled on the other side of the door.
A faint click was heard. "Ah." I sighed in relief as the grumbling footsteps faded into the distance. It dawned on me that, beyond the menu assortment, there were many other aspects that required knowledge unique to the café. Supplementary information would not be provided either, not even upon request.

​I was quick to remove Coffee Lunar from the list immediately afterwards. The location was annoying, the coffee hadn't been unique, and the facility hadn't been special, as much as the team seemed to think so. Persevering in my mind is are not the two signature drinks, but rather the gloomy, grouchy attitude of the staff that prompts me to never step foot in again.

Back home, I unveiled the Coffee Swiss Roll Cake I had slaved away for hours on end the previous day.
With each attempt, I have noticed progression in rolling capabilities. With each Mother's Day cake request, I have also witnessed distinct improvements and surge in awareness in the chemical specifics of baking.

The sponge base was adapted from Sunday Baking, with cocoa powder removed and replaced with more all-purpose flour and yolks mixed with Nescafe Gold prior to mixing.  A most reliable recipe, I intend to continue utilizing this formula for future creations, modifying as necessary. In place of the comparatively challenging Italian Buttercream, I took to the low(er)-risk variation of Swiss Buttercream. As relayed by many bakers on the interweb, the gradual heating of egg whites and sugar in the same bowl removes the fear factor of streaming in scorching syrup and mixing quickly enough before the sugar syrups loses crystallization properties. ​Vanilla extract, vanilla bean paste, and a viscous solution of instant espresso powder and water is beat into the buttercream after the gradual addition of softened butter.

​Fresh mint, chunks of dalgona (no sugar crystals this time!), and Chantilly cream stabilized with gelatin are used for garnish. A butter cookie name plates is also placed beside the cake to denote the name of the holiday. Failure to temper the chocolate results in chocolate that solidifies at an unthinkably slow rate. Left overnight, the writing becomes opaque, incapable of being smudged, but exhibiting faint crack propagation lines.

​The roll cake is airy yet substantial, and, while I had my reservations about the sweetness of the buttercream initially, it turned out tasty in the end. My sole regret would be placing the buttercream to chill in the fridge while working on the cake. It hardened quickly, making for quite a tragic filling process. Applying force onto the mixture endangered structural soundness of the cake beneath. Softening the buttercream via gentle heat was also not an option, for it would lead to separation of the mixture. Revisiting Swiss Buttercream is likely, but chilling before filling is strictly ill-advised.

​At the 5:20 PM mark, the day's duties were supposedly complete. I ventured out into the world once more to deliver cookies and excess dalgona to the sleepy polar bear, only to be ruthlessly called out for ignoring the celebration date of all mothers. A descipable two-hour wait ensued for a dinner decision to be made, which then followed with a premature departure from the sleepy polar bear's to the atrociously fumey quarters of Arirang.
There, my straight strands and meticulously chosen attire would be punished by the invasion of greasy, meaty odours. Any residual perfume would be overtaken by the unnecessary venture for takeout. I wallowed in frustration at succumbing to incessant, unreasonable demands.

​A horribly delayed exercise period would then see dinner at 10 PM. Lined with swollen eyes and a vehement cloud of resentment, I wallowed in self-hatred at having placed the illrational commands of others before my own needs and desires, at having bent over backwards to undertake a task that warranted no contemplation, and at having been destructive to my own health and the schedules of affected individuals over my own direly poor decision.
Respect is delivered where deserved. Effort is summoned where justified. Trust is not an element to be reinstated once lost.