Out & About #835 | Revisiting Izakaya Ju

Read Part 1 HERE !

​Notorious for signing up for every single loyalty program in existence, my subscription to Gong Cha's text notifications was no exception. Just days before our apple-picking venture came the announcement of a BOGO offer at the franchise's newest outpost on Hoover Park Drive. Naturally, I couldn't resist slotting the spot into the schedule.

​I darted inwards for the bathroom, assuming the absent queue to persist as constant. Two stalls could be found towards the back of the bubble tea joint. Lacquered in glossy black with red accents, the individual stall was worth noting as the cleanest indoor plumbing facilities of the day.

Emerging from the narrow corridor, we found a lineup snaking about the cashier. Swiftly stepping into place, we began to evaluate the options for the promotion.
"I'll get the Oreo Coffee Milk Tea." announced the sleepy polar bear. "It sounds interesting."
"It sounds very you." I remarked, wincing slightly at its presumably creamy profile.

As we neared the order counter, I gestured towards one of four LED screens. "Your Oreo Coffee Milk Tea isn't part of the promo."
We opted for a Grass Jelly Wintermelon Milk Tea as an alternative to the tried-and-true 2J Brown Sugar Oolong Milk Tea (with tapioca removed) and revisiting the 3J Earl Grey Milk Tea after many years of not enjoying it.

​Behind the POS system was an evidently experienced member of staff. She responded quickly and confirmed details for clarity before passing on the sticker-affixed cups to other members of the team. It would appear that there were dedicated personnel for tapioca-brewing (as per usual), slush-making, and tea-shaking.

Approximately twenty minutes passed and we remained in wait. One of two drinks had emerged within a reasonable time frame, yet the other was nowhere to be seen. Summoning the attention of the cashier, she was quick to devise a backup plan for the lost sticker and interjected the drink-constructing lineup with our missing halve.

Both drinks had been requested at 30% sugar, however the Wintermelon Milk Tea was undeniably sweeter. The 3J Earl Grey Milk Tea earned the fondness of neither of us; it comprised of a tacky consistency with strange, underlying notes of mintiness. And being generally averse to tapioca, we avoided the drink for most of the drive, reaching for the comparatively tastier alternative instead.

​Not quite supper time, I proposed detouring through Main St. Unionville for a brisk walk. Within that period, we could contemplate returning to the west end for supper, or investing in a local eatery.

​Braving the chilly air and dimming skies, we strode about the compact BIA, taking note of pottery painting classes as a future endeavour and exploring the pre-closing selection at Old Firehall Confectionery.

​After browsing several touristy establishments, I led the way to the homey but dilapidated exterior of Uncle Tetsu/H Café. Its occupant had changed once again, though its product spectrum remained relatively similar to its precedessors.

​Exploring Millennium Square led me to a weathered fixtures of two aquatic animals: a turtle shielded by shrubbery and a frog bearing distinct similarities to one from a childhood excursion to Hawaii. Needless to say, I couldn't resist climbing aboard to recreate the image.

​We then made one intermediate stop at Hwy 7 and Warden for McDonald's lavatories. Amongst the three stalls, two had been left unflushed and one depleted of toilet paper. Grimacing, I began to scrub away the urine left on the seat of the less disgusting stall. In the midst of this process, the adjacent stall saw occupancy. My neighbour would throw down the seat, skip toilet paper entirely, and rinse hands for under five seconds before hurrying out.
I could not believe my ears: fundamental hygiene protocols had been wholly ignored. Markham was, in that moment, concluded as the city with the most revolting of public bathrooms. ​The incident was relayed to the sleepy polar bear, who met my story with widened eyes and raised eyebrows.

​Following consultation of opinions and travel times, we agreed on finding local sustenance. J-Town was proposed by the sleepy polar bear.

Traffic volumes were shockingly light for a weekend evening. That said, majority of the businesses in the district had shuttered by the time we pulled into the asphalt lot. Tanuki's outdoor seating was bypassed on the grounds of evening chilliness and limited menu range. Into Izakaya Ju we went.

It was my first time in the restaurant in seven years.
The blonde-haired server informed us of a thirty-minute wait, which ultimately ended up being ten minutes or less. Seated at the bar, I had expected restricted mobility, heighted fume absorption, and insufficient table space. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised by its roominess, ample ventilation, and unobstructed view of kitchen happenings.

​We took to a variety of Japanese tapas, spanning the sleepy polar bear's go-to of skewers and my request for fresh greens and grilled mackerel.

< Pictured above and below:

• Grilled Hokkaido Scallop with butter soy sauce
• Small green salad
• Yakitori Skewer Combo: Chicken Wing (x2), Pork Belly, Tsukune/Chicken Meatball, Duck Breast
• Grilled Mackerel
• Gindara Daikon
• Lychee Chuhai >

​All items arrived in record time. The open kitchen was operated by just three members of staff: a giant scrunchie-donning lady focused on skewers, a bald, middle-aged man on sashimi and fish, and a younger, baseball cap-sporting male on fried chicken, salad, and miscellaneous items. A full house was observed, yet there was no chaos to be witnessed, as far as food preparations. The staff appeared calm and happy  as they carried on with their duties in a carefree manner.

Instead of Sapporo or Asahi, I took to a Lychee Chuhai for sharing with the sleepy polar bear. It was sweeter than preferred, but paired well with the savoury dishes of the evening, such as the braised black cod and grilled scallops. Having said that, izakaya fare is undeniably tastier with beer or sake (for sashimi).

​A Small green salad would set us back an economic four dollars. The bowl's contents were drizzled with an umami-filled housemade dressing that, surprisingly, did not seep into the mixed greens;  it was a refreshing alternative to the typically acidic and too-sweet ponzu. I enjoyed the fresh variety of vegetables, for too often are wilted lettuce shreds labelled as "salad".

Gindara Daikon was served in a dark ceramic bowl. The rounded servingware was shallow, displaying one round of tinted radish and two shiny pieces of black cod. Asymmetrical in size, I took to the smaller one as well as half of the daikon round. Impeccably buttery but unapologetically salty, the condensed portion was ideal for sharing in the face of other orders.

​The Yakitori Skewer combo arrived next. From our seats, we observed the pre-threaded pieces being removed from rectangular plastic containers, dusted with a fine amount of seasoning, then brought over to a grill grate for meticulous cooking. The lady would inspect the skewers from time to time, flipping them for even doneness and browning. In the final steps, a handheld fan would be used to direct heat for the optimal charred finish.

​Oh so aromatic, the skewers earned quite the reaction from us - a reaction intense enough to draw stifled (but audible) laughter from our server. Sampled first was the duck breast, the leanest meat on the platter.
"It tastes..." I hesitated for a moment. "Ducky."
"Ducky." repeated the sleepy polar bear.
In hindsight, "gamey" was probably the better description.

The Tsukune, or chicken meatballs, had been the selection of greatest anticipation for me. One bite revealed unexpected denseness, confirming that the specimen as less enticing than pictured. Pork Belly was skipped for the sake of regulating my appetite, though countless positive comments were extended beside me. The Chicken Wings, flattened to cook uniformly on the skewer, were surprisingly crisp but very, very greasy, even with the squeeze of lemon.

​Grilled Hokkaido Scallops with butter soy sauce had been listed outside of the fixed menu. Two pieces were served in their shell, submerged in a loose but creamy-tasting condiment. They were, admittedly, a bit overdone, but nonetheless scrumptious. The butter soy sauce was amazing, elevated with the delicate acidity of fresh lemon.

​​My personal pick of Grilled Mackerel did not fail to impress. Consistently fabulous was its crispy skin and plush, flaky flesh. Grated daikon and a few dribbles of lemon heighted the experience to new levels of enjoyment.

​Truthfully, I had forgotten my requests from the last visit beyond grilled saba. Only upon reviewing the archives did I find Osaka Cha-han amongst the lineup. The cozy dish filled the void for missing bonito flakes and lack of Okonomiyaki at Japan Festival with ease. Although there wasn't nearly as much wok hay as Cantonese-style fried rice, we deemed it phenomenal. Second helpings were obtained between the both of us.

​It also brings me much joy to declare clean bathroom stalls - the cleanest of the entire day! - and amicable, attentive service.

Izakaya Ju, we'll be back!