Out & About #894 | Wonderland Perkopolis Day

Due to schedule conflicts, last year's Wonderland trip had been scrapped and replaced with CNE (832). For this year's run, the group collectively agreed on Perkopolis Day. Beyond being amongst the first to experience the amusement park's public re-opening for the summer season, it also included the added benefit of a discounted ticket.
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Leading up to the weekend, the forecast had been dreary. Precipitation was expected, prompting one of our party members to recall our equally overcast 2021 visit, joking that I was the cause for poor climate conditions.

One day earlier, I had lined my car mats with Canadian Tire flyers in an effort to prevent yet another round of deep cleansing. After a breakfast of coffee and a Coconut Bun (with crumbly filling) from Lucullus, I geared up in nylon bottoms and a trusty, fleece-lined windbreaker - my "weatherproof" jacket, as my birthday buddy had disapprovingly declared. The comparatively appearance-conscious members had taken to layering hoodless outerwear with cotton hoodies and more cotton innerwear - for reasons beyond me, of course - while my carpooling partner and I were the only ones donning outdoor-appropriate apparel from head to toe.

​We witnessed a downpour in the morning, which made for slick roads but an easier parking process.

Yukon Striker was my suggestion - Why not start strong? The wait was a mere thirty minutes - a shocking reduction from the first year of operation.

​I had initially proposed riding it a second time, but the queue had lengthened when we exited the platform. We detoured to the Behemoth instead, as the classic coaster was often known to have the longest lineup. ​But, this time, our wait didn't even exceed one hour.

My carpooling partner and I took to the front two seats, while the remainder of the party sat in the third and fourth rows respectively. Traversing across each hump introduced a new gust of iciness - gusts so ruthless our lips were left numbed and fingers frozen.

​The sleepy polar bear voiced concerns of nausea after these first two rollercoasters, thus retreated to the sidelines while we continued queuing. My memories of the Backlot Stunt Coaster were vague, but riding it again assured me that no future visits would be made; constantly banging into the side of the cart was far from my idea of enjoyable.

​Making my rounds with my birthday buddy ensured that there was a voice of reason on the team. Furthermore, it enabled me to ride on the less popular attractions, such as the carousels, without having to persuade the others. Once again, the lines were extremely short.

Entering into the kids' area, sightings of the Peanuts crew were made. Alas, Snoopy was nowhere to be spotted!

​We concluded the kids' rides to have generally longer lineups. After an approximate forty minute wait at Peanuts Ghoster Coaster, we vowed to eliminate wooden rollercoasters going forward. Minebuster had been an instant headache-inducer, but even the moderated, family-friendly edition wasn't entirely migraine-free.

On the way to Planet Snoopy, a games kiosk by the name of Frosty Fish caught my attention. The magnet-affixed fishing rod and well-dwelling plastic fish weren't tremendously of interest to me, however the plushies perched on the shelves behind were. Two sizes of the soft, furry creatures were available as guaranteed prizes: $14.99 for a small and $19.99 for a large. Gravitating towards the pig in the cow jumpsuit, I expressed my interest in the game to the sleepy polar bear.

"How does it work?" was inquired while peeking into one of the many circular crevices.
"It's just a magnet." I replied flatly.
"Yes, but how do you do it?" came the bewildered response. "Do you need to do it at a certain angle...?"
Resisting the temptation to roll my eyes, I simply turned away. "It's just a magnet! How hard is it to figure out?!" I thought, "The rod has a magnet; the fish has a magnet - that's all there is to it!" Moreover, the game was intended for kids. It wasn't rocket science, but a matter of observing and connecting the dots.

​After relinquishing the fifteen-dollar fee to the girl at the kiosk, we began to examine the cow pigs. Some had lopsided noses, while others wonky stitching. After meticulously inspecting for faded fur bottoms, disfigured facial features, and uprightness, we found our winner.

​The gift shop was a mandatory stop inside Planet Snoopy. My birthday buddy took to a white baseball cap; pop art-style tees were acquired by the sleepy polar bear and myself.

Bidding farewell to the colossal, five hundred dollar Snoopy in the window display, we ventured over to Leviathan - the last of the "Holy Trinity" rollercoasters. The wait was observed to extend underneath the tents, yet traffic moved rapidly through the turns. In just over forty minutes, we were strapped into the ride. It was, again, another pleasant surprise given past wait times of 2-3 hours.

​Leviathan was the most memorable ride of the entire trip. Slowly climbing into the fog felt extremely surreal, as if taking off in a plane. Our surroundings extended further and further from us with each passing second, until all was shrouded entirely in haziness. The experience was fantasy-like - rare and magical, only unlocked on misty, overcast days.

​By this point, I was ready for departure. With The Fly under maintenance, the new Snoopy rollercoaster still under construction, and several rides closed for the day, there were few POIs left. My carpooling partner suggested a few more rides with short lineups though, so we hurriedly took to snacks in the arcade areas before proceeding. The sleepy polar bear had enjoyed a long-awaited meal of hot dog and fries while the rest of us had waited for Leviathan, then proceeded to complain of its costliness as we munched on granola bars, Koala's March, and a Raisin Bun.

​The Bat and Thunder Run were the last two rides of the day, neither of which were particularly worth the added queuing, in our opinions. During our wait, an abundance of hair ties were observed on the canopies of nearby structures. The same had been witnessed at the end of Leviathan's track, as if tossing colourful elastics on rollercoaster-related roofs was a ritual (that none of us really knew of).

When the sleepy polar bear had offered my Koala's March away, I was promised Tiny Tom's in exchange. Between the five of us, a dozen of Icing Sugar and Apple Cinnamon donuts were shared.

​The Apple Cinnamon smelled identical to Quaker instant oatmeal, but didn't evoke the same profile. Like my birthday buddy had said, the morsels did not have "the tartness of apple and only the essence of cinnamon". Icing Sugar still reigned as the singly best option, though this one could have used some sifting.

​Towards the left of the Mountain used to be a handful of food vendors. Since my last visit, a Grizzly-themed cabin has been assembled and furnished to yield the appearance of a ski chalet, complete with BBQ meat dishes (smoked brisket!), log cabin elements, and a colourful mural reminiscent of the Lake Louise lookout.

​The atmosphere was ridiculously cozy, offering warmth and respite from the drizzly conditions of the outside world.

​In hindsight, the day had been milder than expected. Rollercoaster seats weren't damp at all, and raging droplets were replaced by a misty spray and fog. Although chillier than one would think for a late April afternoon, dressing in thermal layers, windbreakers, and fleecy or knitted headwear served more than sufficient.

​At the late hour of 6:40 PM, we began routing to Thornhill for dinner. Initial plans for Mikaku Izakaya were overruled due to a supposed one-hour wait; the backup option of its alcohol-free sister restaurant in Richmond Hill was also met with similar wait times.

Thinking quickly, I suggested MeNami as our alternative. Despite my excitement for izakaya fare, the North York staple would likely be similar enough for the rest of the group. Its familiar parking situation would also ease some of my anxieties.

We pulled open the doors to reveal a relatively empty dining floor. The hostess seated us at a four-person table by the kitchen, offering an additional chair for the fifth person. She also advised us of a 90-minute seating limit and no splitting of bills.

​The group took to appetizers of Miso Yuzu Salmon Tartar and Grilled Saba. Both were tasty, but preposterously tiny at their given price. With more salted tortillas than salmon chunks, most of us were restricted to portions of two partially-filled chips or less. The Grilled Saba was even worse for sharing, for the platter comprised of segments smaller than thumb length.

​Tempura Udon, Curry Udon with Pork Cutlet, and Mentaiko Salmon Cream Udon were quickly requested by the group. When it came to my turn, I inquired of non-greasy, pork toppings. The server bluntly denied availability of offerings beyond the menu selection. In the end, I grudgingly took to a Vegetable Mushroom Udon for its clear, Shiitake-infused broth. "Shrimp" was appended at a fee of three dollars.

​Unknown to me at the time of order, the "shrimp" in question was not the blanched variations used the restaurant's Nagasaki bowl, but rather a single piece of barely drained Shrimp Tempura.
Shaking my head in frustration, I bit into the costly specimen, riling at its atrocious price, scanty portion, and horribly greasy aura. Amongst all tempura choices, shrimp was slotted in last place. Yam, zucchini, or even chicken would have been preferred in its stead.

​Overcooked choy sum, two pieces of aburaage, and slivers of mushrooms were submerged within. They provided some degree of toothsomeness, yet ultimately proved inadequate for my appetite and iron needs.

​I sampled a small amount of the sleepy polar bear's Tempura Udon. At first sip, it seemed to possess the same base as the $23.95 Oden; the broth retained a twang, likely from the inclusion of light soy sauce. Upon closer inspection, the Oden had utilized a saltier shoyu base. Served alongside was wasabi and a lighter dipping sauce - presumably still soy. The pricey side order contained one of each type of fish cake and a slice of steamed egg. Flat fish cakes were not included as part of this dish. It sufficed to say that the Taiwanese rendition with mustard and sweet corn is superior, and also more budget-friendly.

MeNami's portions have noticeably shrunk over the years, especially in the past two years of the pandemic, but their prices remain sky-high. After splitting the bill manually five ways, each party member surrendered up to $37 for the tapas and individual entrées. Given the steep inflation and absence of iron-rich protein, no longer will it be my go-to supper spot in the neighbourhood. ​ (I did, however, appreciate the owner's inclusion of extra broth - which tasted extra potent and smoky - when packing my leftover noodles.)

​Internal body temperatures now raised, we began to roam the area in search of other points of interest. It occurred to me that in the immediate vicinity of Chungchun Rice Dog were two other Korean-style hot dog establishments: Arirang Hot Dog on Byng and Myungrang on Yonge. I'm less acquainted with these names, but reckon their presence a result of Chungchun's initially immense popularity.

Nearing Don't Yell At Me, I recalled ochungg's recommendation of the Osmanthus Ceylon Tea Latte with Honey White Pearls. The other members of the party were unwilling to enter into the LED-filled space, leading me to pave the way for menu perusal.

​Each party member approached the counter one by one: a hot Original Milk Tea was requested first by my carpooling partner, then a Four Seasons Milk Tea with Pearls by a fellow July baby. Finally, my birthday buddy took to an Osmanthus Ceylon Tea Latte with a shot of espresso.

My own order would be free of milk: an Osmanthus Oolong Tea with Honey White Pearls. At just under 30% sugar, the oversteeped qualities of the tea became prominent. Astringency filled each sip, failing to be neutralized by the floral essence of osmanthus. Unlike standard tapioca pearls, the Honey White Pearls were comparatively softer and easier on the digestive system. They were nevertheless chewy, but far less sweet their sugar syrup-submerged counterpart. I quite enjoyed the beverage, and would like to sample the adjacent Osmanthus Ceylon Tea Latte should the opportunity arise. Prices were also very reasonable - far cheaper than the likes of Gong Cha and similar establishments.

​We sat underneath the hazy neon lights for some period of time, conversing while simultaneously fighting fatigue.

Around the 10 PM mark, I announced that we would commence our trek back to Finch. After utilization of their impressively pristine single stall indoor plumbing facilities, we departed the trendy bubble tea spot.

Along the way was The Cups, where I had hoped to pick up a slice of Injeolmi Tiramisu. When we finally neared the dessert cafe though, I noticed that the lights had dimmed, and a resident of the streets had taken to nestling into the ledge of the adjacent salon. The Finch location was closed, and, as it turned out, so was the Thornhill original.

With utmost discontent, I dragged my heels back to the driver's seat. In exchange for willingly undertaking chaperone duties, I had hoped to fulfill my dining needs for izakaya fare and post-dinner dessert. Neither had been met, regrettably. My companions entertained my carpool karaoke while I resisted slight weariness. Behind me, the sleepy polar bear unashamedly took to dozing off in the back, refusing to acknowledge that audible yawning, closed eyes, open-mouthed snoozing was disrespectful to the driver, especially when said driver despises driving to start.