Out & About #887 | Pistachio Cake + Cycle Class

BamBam has been everywhere lately, jumping between music broadcast shows, BamJip, as well as various YouTube channels to promote Sour & Sweet, his first full-length album. As an ahgase, I revel in the deluge of fresh content surging my way. But beyond squealing in excitement and laughing hysterically at his witty remarks, I've come to learn of the artist's impressive growth, as well as identify with a number of his struggles.

​His love for beer and the colour purple were new discoveries to me, as was his tremendous struggle to continue life as an idol, artist, and entertainer. Dissimilar to those who base their decisions firstly off emotions, BamBam's greatest struggle was not in regards to producing art synonymous with his inner world. Rather, it was failing to achieve the desired results despite the amount of effort invested. Another aspect to the equation was the importance of being authentic, yet still respectful and considerate.

​Some declarations seemed to be no-brainers to him:

• Facing problems head-on instead of escaping from reality to avoid stress
• Having confidence and being self-aware nixes the need to be jealous or wary of a significant other's social circle, or worse, projecting one's insecurities on another person
• The lack of value of learning something if it would unlikely pose a drastic change to one's life, and further entails no benefit nor loss
• The significance of taking care of oneself via the latte joys in life, even if the reward is as simple as a can of cold beer after a long day
• Embracing the joys associated with interactions of "my people" rather than new faces
• Accepting that not every situation can be changed, and learning to be alright with the discomfort
• Taking opportunities at one's most dire and taking a leap of faith in response to others' sincerity
• Trusting the results of one's own hard work, despite lacking trust in oneself as a person

​I identified with more than just a handful of his comments, especially those spoken in the realms of rationality. That said, I find greater moderation in Bam's thoughts and actions than in myself: Self-indulgence, while playing a relatively minor part in his daily routine, never goes untended. Maturity has developed from his extensive experience in the entertainment industry, from which has given way to a more sustainable mindset and more balanced regime. Observing him throughout this process has been a gift to me, both as an ahgase and a mere speck of matter in space.

​Pasta salad cravings have perdured since the previous week, with all hints for tri-colour fusilli mixed with peppers and olives dismissed - or temporarily forgotten - by the sleepy polar bear.

When readymade renditions could not be located at Loblaws, matters were, naturally, taken into my own hands. My request for dry pasta was met with a box of De Cecco fusilli instead of the standard Unico packages, much to my surprise. The premium-looking box and "Product of Italy" label raised eyebrows, for it shouted "Alert: Expensive!" from all angles.
In reality, the item was on clearance, thus cheaper than our typical budget pick, but superior in quality. Cooked in salted water to a consistency between al dente and soft HK Café spaghetti, the beautiful, swirled specimens retained their shape throughout the mixing and tossing process that would await them.

Mayonnaise - Miracle Whip, really - is the customary condiment choice in our household. Often is it blended with wasabi, ketchup, and/or Dijon mustard for varying takes on potato salad. For fusilli though, I looked towards an oil-based dressing, which is seldom my go-to. Olive oil, rice wine vinegar, coarse salt, and a sprinkle of sugar formed the base, while two cloves of black garlic were meticulously broken down by hand and smothered into the pasta's ridges. At first, the salad seemed lacking with just sweet bell peppers (an orange and red each) and half a deseeded cucumber; black olives were pivotal in my view. However, once the flavours had an opportunity to permeate, the result was phenomenal: harmonious, textured, yet light on the stomach, as a pasta salad ought be.​

Other meals/snacks of the week included: Peanut Butter on Toast, Loblaws Potato Salad, Chiang Mai Trail Mix from Basil Box, ​Minced Pork with Eggplant, Udon, Miso Soup with withering, week-old scallions, and Sirloin Oscar leftovers from The Keg.

​Rounding into the week for the sleepy polar bear's birthday, I debated the possibility of constructing yet another cake. The Pecan Chocolate Mousse Cake With Chocolate Ganache had been an extravagant layered project, yet none that was met with as much enthusiasm as I expected. For this year's take, I opted to revert to a simpler palate - back of basics, essentially.

Having seen a splendid outcome with Sunday Baking's Pistachio Strawberry Cake, I deemed fitting to try her Best Pistachio Cake.

​There was, admittedly, some degree of planning involved, for the Ganache Montée required chilling overnight. In other words, one would swap active time for a gradual refrigeration process.
It was well worth the wait, though. Once chilled and aerated, its consistency was akin to buttercream, except much less fussy without the egg separation and tempering. Luscious, velvety, and incredibly stable, I would deem it a fantastic alternative to buttercream, especially for beginners. Of course, one ought be mindful of temperature, for chocolate and heavy cream is notably less stable at room temperature than egg whites solidified with sugar.

​Having taken to Pisti's Nutella-like pistachio spread instead of Sunday's untweeted pistachio paste, I braced myself for a sweet output. The pistachio joconde was denser and tackier than I would have liked - nowhere near the delicate, nutty layers of the Black Sesame Joconde. Nevertheless, I brushed over the simple syrup - spiked with a glug of Kahlua, layered on the ganache, and hoped for the best.

With only a handful of pistachios on hand, I omitted the toasting step (emails were flying in while I was multitasking) and opted to chop them as fine as possible to cover greater surface area. Ultimately, I succeeded in coating most of the surface, then finished with two squiggles of the Ganache Montée topped with whole pistachios. Two hurried low-res snaps earned me a(n entirely unsarcastic) "It looks like one of your better decorated creations.".

​The cake was intended as a surprise for the sleepy polar bear, but being informed of an AYCE supper had me altering the approach. I was left with no choice but to explicitly hint at forthcoming dessert to prevent prior overindulgence.

​Overnight, the Ganache Montée had gained sturdiness, yet was still susceptible to surface damage from accidental pokes. The cake layers, which I had anticipated to be damp and sugary, were surprisingly delicious, albeit too sweet. The nutty properties of joconde were masked - and further dampened - by its cloying properties; the pistachio spread had contributed moisture in addition to liquid fat.

​That said, the cake was nonetheless scrumptious - easy to eat with plush layers and an air of sweet nuttiness. After consulting with the creator herself, the only adjustments I'd look to undertake would be: reducing the sugar content by using pure pistachio paste (should it ever become available to me at a reasonable price) and toasting the pistachios for improved aromas.

​Concurrently progressing was a Coffee Mousse to utilize the three egg yolks left over from the joconde. The recipe had been scaled up from Sunday's Black Sesame Raspberry Mousse, though I belatedly realized insufficient inventory to make up the required proportion of heavy cream. I persevered anyway, as I always do. 

​Mousse is rarely consumed on its own, devoid of cake layers, unless portioned into individual servings with fruit or ganache to top. With neither an excess of berries nor any more heavy cream to construct the ganache, I hurriedly assembled a chocolate sponge cake, and in the process accidentally added twice the amount of oil. I had my reservations towards the runny battery, but, again, placed it in the oven and hoped for the best.

​Lo and behold, after forty minutes, I cracked oven the oven to reveal wonderfully chocolatey aromas and a jiggly puddle of batter. The development was exactly as I feared. The surface was cracked and parched, middle and bottom layers friable and sodden, and oil gushing out from the inner circumference of the pan. Having utilized an aluminum pan, cleanup was far from enjoyable.

Unable to be salvaged, the cake was scrapped with dread.
Mousse was poured into individual cups and topped with a chocolate espresso glaze - a variation of the glaze used in Sunday Baking's Condensed Milk Pound Cake. After about five hours of chilling, I retrieved one for sampling: the glaze was too rigid and the mousse too thick, its lack of airy whipped cream evident. In hindsight, I ought to have reduced the amount of gelatin to prevent the excessively rigid outcome I received.

​I then transitioned to my secondary project of the day, hoddeok from a box that I had prepared earlier in the AM and set aside. I had covered the eight rounds with plastic wrap, though forgotten to grease the sheet. Although the discs had fermented wonderfully with stretchy strands of gluten, removing the plastic wrap had caused the dough balls to split, exposing the brown sugar-cinnamon filling at its core.
I dismissed the obvious need for more flour, and instead plopped the mounds into the lightly greased pan, pressing them flat with a hoddeok press. Within seconds, I would learn of my mistake, for the pancakes would adhere to the press and resist prying. There was simply no way of keeping them intact! The dough will tear, the syrup spill and scorch, and the pancakes char to an irreversible coal colour. Poor decisions had been made.

​The aim of purchasing a new box of Hoddeok mix was to verify product quality before its expiration date, but I couldn't conclude proper results from the test. Pan-frying within five minutes of preparing the dough is advised, likely for good reason. Over time, the brown sugar filling tends to contribute moisture to the dough, reducing structural integrity and rendering it less stable. Alas, I may very well need to conduct a follow-up trial, or just start from scratch with Maangchi's no-fail formula.

​An additional week of LA Fitness enabled me to try Cycle class.

Dishes done and emails tended to, I zipped out of the house just in time to settle in before the 5:30 PM commencement. The instructor assisted me in adjusting the seat for my body length, then urged me to copy her instructions to solidify the new knowledge. She also advised me of the gear change lever, noting that a "Base" gear of 5 would be used for the class, but that I could adjust as necessary given my first-timer status. The "Recovery" and "Climb" positions on the handlebars were also made known to me.

Throughout the class, she would proceed to call out different gear levels ("Base plus three!") and guide the room's participants through heart-pumping pop tracks and imaginary ascents and descents. Some sections involved thirty- or forty-second "sprints" while maintaining the gear level; others would transition between standing "climbs" and seated dynamic "recovery". In order to ensure adequate output from the students, the instructor would specify the goal RPM as seen fit: 95-100 for seated "runs" and 120 and over for high-power "sprints".

​Midway through the class, I began to perspire profusely. Soon, both the front and back of my shirt were drenched with sweat. Peering at my fellow classmates from the mirrors at the front and side of the room, they appeared relatively dry in comparison. That said, most had reduced their speed and energy output, either pedalling slower while withdrawing fluids or standing at an average RPM of 75 or lower.

Cycle class was an energizing combination of HIIT, lower body strength, and endurance training, finishing with a few squats and static lower body stretches to prevent injury. The act of pedalling is straightforward, however the challenge came with changing combinations of speed and resistance. Overall, the fifty-minute series was challenging, in that it summoned enough sweat to sting my face and cloud my vision. That said, it didn't provide the most ideal scenario for training.

Due to the bikes being stationary, the element of balance was removed altogether. Users progressed through the class under exceptionally controlled conditions, where there were no turns, bumps, or gradients assessing one's ability to control the user-powered machine. Muscle imbalances, if present, would not be made known to the user, for one could continue to compensate with the stronger side without penalty. Standing up while riding was made easier with shoe nets, which would otherwise be unavailable on a standard consumer bike. (It is worth noting that cycling cleats could also be used on the stationary bikes, for the underside of the shoe net readily allowed the cleats to clip on.) In real-life applications, standing while riding requires a considerable amount of control, and is nearly impossible to sustain with severe muscle imbalances. I would also allude trail- and MUP-riding to be a greater testament of quad and inner thigh strength; while exhausted from dehydration, I wasn't necessarily fatigued in the thighs.

​It is without uncertainty that I conclude biking outdoors to be superior to a cycle class, namely because of the direct interaction with nature and ever-evolving external conditions. The indoors provide no views, no breeze, and no reward for a faux steep "uphill" ascent. When riding outdoors, the bike is an enabler to experiencing nature; when riding indoors, it would seem that the aim is to train. Having mirrors in the room helps to analyze one's riding form, though, personally, distracts from the sheer act of it. As with any long bike ride, padded cycling shorts are recommended.

​Upon completion of Cycle class, I headed next door to find Zumba still in progress. Red-faced with uncontrollably wavy strands, I joined for the final ten minutes before calling it a day.

With my seventh visit and ninth group class at LA Fitness behind me, I arrived at the following:
Any student can succeed in group classes if they have good body awareness and adheres to instructor's directions. The classes are also versatile enough to be modified according to one's physical capabilities and fitness objectives, but also serve as a decent entry point for beginners. That said, to maximize the benefit of such classes, one should first undertake an initial assessment to determine strengths and weaknesses within one's body, as well as any biomechanical issues, and acquire a working basis of muscle activation fundamentals. From that point on, class attendees can cater the class to his or her respective goals without compromising on intensity. The duration may be altered, but efficacy can be conserved.

​Stairmaster was omitted from the day's routine as I had, clearly, already engaged enough of the same muscles via Cycle class. Three flavours of protein bars were picked up en route out of the gym. The complimentary samples were available in flavours of: Vanilla Almond, Peanut Butter Chocolate, and Sea Salt Chocolate.

The names and packaging gave off the illusion of deliciousness, a property proven false upon examining the following day.

​Into the office I went on an unbelievably dreary day. On-and-off showers, lightning, and thunder started in the early morning, then again in the afternoon hours in sporadic bursts lined with grey, ominous skies.

​Half a burnt hoddeok and Pistachio Joconde cake scraps served as breakfast. To combat sleepiness, I munched on the Vanilla Almond protein bar, expecting a treat instead of the revolting, shiny slab it turned out to be.

​Dates, powdered egg white, and "natural flavour" made up the ingredient list. The visually unappealing strip was malleable from the dates, clinging to the teeth with each and every bite. First to be experienced was the sticky, sweet profile of dates; it was then succeeded by the synthetic taste of protein powder (much like the aftertaste of Ensure, a hit of artificial vanilla (nowhere as pleasant as vanilla extract), and, lastly, crunchy bits of almond - the bar's sole saving grace.

​My lunch walk, in light of the ongoing rainstorm, was delayed until 1 PM, a time that the weather radar had affirmed as safe. I descended into the grimy, chaotic, pigeon-filled intersection of Yonge-Eglinton and began my trek northward.

​Within ten minutes of commencing the stroll, the sky turned an ominous grey. Spinning on my heel, I began to retrace my steps. Alas, I was not speedy enough. First came a sprinkle, next a shower, then a full-blown downpour. Thankfully, I had equipped myself with an umbrella before departure.

The blustering droplets intensified within a matter of seconds, transforming any and all depressions into puddles. In fear of another street splash, I stood at least two feet from the curb when waiting to cross an intersection.

​With each step, my socks grew more saturated - the rain had permeated through the laces of my steel toes, infiltrating to the layer directly beneath. Cotton bottoms had been a terrible decision, though my closet comprises not of business-casual nylon.

​I warily eyed the vehicles in the curb lane, outlining my escape route in the case of any unanticipated splashes. Further dodging scurrying sidewalk users devoid of rain gear, I ducked into Shoppers for a quick breather. "Dry socks?" I thought, "Sounds like a great idea right now."

​But socks and stockings were atrociously pricey. I emerged only with a supposedly discounted bag of Maltesers ($5.49 instead of $7.99) and the knowledge that reusable eco bags were just thirty-five cents - much more affordable than the five- or ten-dollar totes in BC!

Dollarama remains the singly most economic option in the city for impromptu daily essentials purchases (594). Six pairs of Fruit of the Loom socks in assorted colours rang in at just $4.50 plus tax.

​I continued towards Galleria, which has now not only expanded their skincare collection, but added an ice cream refrigerator and traditional medicine counter to the front of the store.

​Replenishing the Hoddeok mix was an obvious decision. Yakgwa, daifuku, and ginger candy were add-on purchases to satisfy my curiosity. Individual black sesame- or peanut-filled mochi bites would have been preferred, though only red bean and individual frozen variations lined the shelves.

Finally, I made my way south of the intersection to the new Starbucks.

My gloved digits wrapped around a Cinnamon Caramel Cream Nitro Cold Brew some ten minutes later, for the drink's multi-component construction had delayed it until after the completion of filter coffee and iced lattes. It was delicious though, mind you, but didn't deliver quite enough caffeine to sustain my senses until the end of the day. For a proper energy boost, I'd hesitate not in recommending De Mello and Stock T.C.

​Admittedly, the Yakgwa was better than expected: a soft and strikingly sweet cookie with prominent notes of honey. The packaged rendition was acceptable - delicious even - and restored my faith in the traditional confectionery after The Social Blend's greasy, brittle version.

​The symptoms of a persistent cold had started around Wednesday, transitioning to a runny (but not quite stuff) nose and fogginess in the head on Thursday.

​The sleepy polar bear was quick to inquire of 排包 needs this time around, though ultimately only succeeded in obtaining a tray of Mini Coconut Buns from T&T at the late hour of 6:30 PM. 

​I refused to surrender to these symptoms, and proceeded to drag myself to 9:45 AM Yoga class on Friday morning. My burgundy Lolë mat was, once again, met with relatives of varying degrees of weariness. Me neighbour's was a similar shade to mine, though the instructor's was evidently worn with the surface pattern barely discernible.

​For the vast majority, the moves were simple, permitting countless breaks and downward/upward dogs in between. While my first Yoga class - conducted by a different instructor - both challenging and relaxing, the change in instructors also entailed a drop in difficulty level. Transitioning between the positions commanded stability of the body, but frequent, extensive rest periods rendered the session for restorative than formative.

​I opted to check out The Pilates Body afterwards, given that it was a mere three-minute drive south. Met with a barren asphalt lot and locked door, I settled for peering into the space and marveling at the divine, minimalistic nature of the interior.

​In the front section of the studio were Reformers, and in the back more Reformers and a Cadillac.

​Correspondence regarding classes and a Beginner Reformer Program would take place over the weekend, potentially preparing me for a restart of studio lessons.

Protein bars and public showers still aren't my cup of tea. (Though, I will admit to the Chocolate Sea Salt being significantly tastier than the Vanilla Almond, albeit equally sticky and synthetic in profile.)

However, the past two weeks and an Easter-exclusive promotion convinced me to make the jump:
I would officially be joining LA Fitness as a member.

​Friendly, helpful group fitness instructors and a reasonable price were the primary factors in this decision. Further advantages and disadvantages can be found summarized below:

​It is worth noting that my commentary extends only to Vega location, for other locations were not visited while on a time-based guest pass.