Out & About #898 | Hibachi Teppanyaki & Bar

Past Mother's Day celebrations have always entailed either cake or flowers, or both. Cake was omitted for the first time in several years, for fatigue from the first week of transition had taken a tremendous toll on me.

​The admiration of neighbourhood blossoms had originally been in the plans, though seriously above-seasonal temperatures had caused the desaturation of once-budding shrubbery into wilted, frail sprigs.

About a month prior to the day of maternal gratitude, I had reserved a spot at City Centre's (relatively) new teppanyaki restaurant. The Hibachi franchise had taken over the standalone spot once occupied by Canyon Creek, transforming it into a fumy, clamorous spot with many a cling and many a clang.

The sleepy polar bear and crew had visited the franchise earlier in the year, upon availability of a promotional offer. Feedback received included: mediocre steak, satisfactory lobster and scallop, a shaky chef, and default 15% gratuity - regardless of party size. The last point was the most shocking to me, though largely forgotten until it was time to settle the bill.

​Arriving several minutes late due to car concerns and general tardiness, I advised one of us to check in while the other secured parking. I entered the establishment some several minutes later to discover a hostess with a despicable demeanour and unseated guest of honour, whose smile had similarly vanished into grimness. With a unwelcoming expression, she advised that patrons would not be seated until the entire party was present, regardless of a large, bustling group or intimate gathering of two. This declaration also somehow brought about the unwarranted policy of forcing other party attendees to stand until all members arrived.

Weaving through the artificial trees - also spotted at Axia, the hostess proceeded to seat us at the corner of a partially occupied table. Another party of five had already been seated about the U-shaped counter, leaving the left side of the U and one corner seat vacant. As ridiculous as it was, she proceeded to seat us at the corner slot, opting to split us over a corner rather than any of the three unoccupied seats. I dismissed her placement of the menus and took to the more spacious option. Our discomfort was obvious, yet the need for distance from the other diners was blatantly ignored for the entirety of the meal.

​​As expected of a teppanyaki eatery, the tables and menus were notoriously greasy. A sheen resided atop the black marble surface, while stickiness graced our fingertips upon menu contact. A strong draft was felt overhead, prompting me to retreat back outside for a light jacket to combat chills. Like any open kitchen concept, fumes are inevitable, thus I'd advise against a knit cardigan and instead a jacket of nylon or polyester for odour control and ease of laundering.

During my brief absence, I was informed that one of the servers had approached our table, but utterly failed to acknowledge the presence of my guest of honour. Drink orders had been taken for our neighbours, though supposedly no attempts were made to interact with our section. I could not confirm this claim, for the same server approached us after I was seated without displaying such attitude. He clarified both the menu and complimentary Mother's Day wine options, albeit at a barely audible volume given our deafening surroundings.

The Teppanyaki Set was offered à la carte, allowing guests to choice from one or two proteins, then upgrade from Steamed White Rice to Veggie or Chicken Fried Rice at additional costs of $3.50 and $5.50 respectively. We took to an order of Shrimp with Chicken Fried Rice and Filet Mignon (Steak plus $8) and Scallop with Steamed White Rice.

​Miso soup and a standard side salad were delivered shortly afterwards. While I hadn't perceived any unique attributes from Minami's starter four days earlier, sampling Hibachi's gritty, MSG-laden rendition was a telltale sign of the difference in quality. Similarly, the salad comprised mainly of iceberg lettuce shards, its freshness camouflaged with ample dressing.
Condiment trays were also provided at this time: a dark, ponzu-like one for steak and creamy, tangy one for seafood. The second was vaguely reminiscent of Ranch, yet embodied an acidic twist.

A small plate of Karaage were delivered to our neighbours. I glanced over knowingly, for it would appear that preparation of our mains would be subject to their depletion timeline. Stainless steel trays of various meats were slowly brought over and slid into a compartment adjacent to the cooking surface.

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The chef commenced with grilled seasonal veggies, a good variety of broccoli, zucchini, onions, and carrots. Before delving further into the cooking process, we were notified of a broccoli toss. The activity involved the chef flinging small pieces of broccoli at the guests, who would attempt to catch it with their mouth. My eyes widened with horror at hearing this. "Greasy broccoli that may potentially land on our faces and clothes? No, thank you." I thought, "I would also like to refrain from any possibility of straining a neck muscle or biting my own tongue."
Though the proposal did not align with our style, the chef proceeded to chop the broccoli into fine bites and launch the floret projectiles at those that were willing. Three out of five members of our neighbouring party caught the bites on the first try.

​Construction of the flaming onion tower was next. Notably shorter than the teppanyaki experiences of my Jigglypuff-cradling childhood year, the creation spanned just two onion ring "floors". Nevertheless, the blaze was impressive. A navel-baring firefighter assisted in extinguishing the flames after a few seconds of flashy embers.

​Fried rice was prepared next. With only my guest of honour taking to Steamed Rice, the white grains would be subject to the overhead draft, becoming cold and hard by collective consumption time. Observing the frying process on the grill, we noted the Veggie Fried Rice, Chicken Fried Rice, and Yakisoba occupying different sections of the grill, despite being seasoned similarly with the sauce bottles on the side of the counter.

Both Chicken Fried Rice and Yakisoba would entail a five-dollar surcharge. Though, I must declare that the upgrade was justified: the bowl I received was scrumptious and even had crispy rice bits weaved throughout!

​Last to be prepared were the proteins: Beef, chicken, and salmon were placed on the hot surface first, with chicken at the centre (strongest heat source) and beef/salmon at the edges (dispersed heat). To ensure doneness of the chicken, a lid would be placed on top to allow for steam-cooking and preservation of moisture. The Steak, Filet Mignon, and Salmon fillets were seared on one side, transitioned to an area of lower heat, then allowed to gradually crisp up on the other side.

Shrimp and scallop were added to the grill after a brief delay - reasonable, given that these seafood types cook far quicker given their low-fat, high-protein composition. They are also tricky to execute well, for any amount of overcooking will result in unpalatable toughness.

​Between our orders of Filet Mignon, Scallop, and Shrimp, not a single element had been subject to overcooking. The Filet Mignon bites were phenomenal: a tender Medium Rare with a seared, well-seasoned surface. Equally enjoyable were the scallops, which, when eaten fresh off the grill, were nicely charred on the surface, yet supple at their centre. It is recommended to sample the proteins as soon as they are plated, for all items can continue to cook in residual heat.
One order of Shrimp consisted of twelve pieces; two of these beautifully grilled pieces were tasted before reserving appetite for subsequent spoonfuls of Chicken Fried Rice.

The incorporation of monosodium glutamate was undeniable, for both of us were extremely parched afterwards. Seasonings had been adequate, however the feeling of constant dehydration was hardly desirable.

​Once cooking of the proteins had completed, the chef thanked us politely before excusing himself from the table.  As if on cue, the serving staff would follow up with us to see whether additional items would be ordered. The series of check-ins would take place several more times, almost urging us to depart such that they could increase the turnover rate. Again, our discomfort was neglected entirely.

Standing up to inspect my surroundings, I found myself to reek of cooking fumes. Thankfully we had not been seated in the sports bar area, which was even fumier to the point where hazy tufts of smoke could be seen from afar. At the far end of the restaurant, beyond two private dining areas, were the washroom facilities. Once inside, one could perceive a damp, eerie vibe, like a casual Chinese diner subject to neglect.

​Our neighbouring party had finished their meal before us, and began preparing for a swift departure as we continued - or attempted to continue, anyways - our lunch. But the lack of leisurely atmosphere incited speediness in our actions.
A request for takeout boxes was met with the waitress grabbing two boxes from our neighbour's section of the table and handing them over to me with a smile. I gazed at her, both shocked and dumbfounded at the despicable gesture she had found all-too-natural.

"Weren't these boxes for the other party?" I asked warily.
"Oh, I brought more in case." She responded matter-of-factly, as if I would gleefully gush over another diner's unused leftovers. I took the boxes anyway, for it is futile to reason in the absence of social awareness.
The act led me to ponder: "Well, why not just give us a new set of boxes altogether?" We were no less paying customers, but treated with exceeding disrespect. "Had it not occurred that giving one party's unused gear to another was extremely rude just to save yourself the trip?"

We gave the boxes a quick wipe, for who knows whether they had come in contact with coughing or greasy digits. As I was stacking the boxes to go, a manager-like authority emerged with a plastic bag, though we had already requested and received one. It was yet another indication that quick turnovers were urged in the face of steep bills and seriously subpar - no, atrocious - service.

​A greasy bill was shoved in my direction. There was no explanation whatsoever in regards to the 15% gratuity that had been tacked onto the bill; apparently, it would apply regardless of party size. Thankfully, the amount had already been prepared for payment, dismissing the screen for selecting tip percentage. Had the machine not been presented to me with the final amount, I may have accidentally double-tipped. Be mindful of this unspoken policy, and verify the receipt before relinquishing undue fees.

All factors considered, I can confidently announce that Hibachi shall never have any part in diminishing my hard-earned wages ever again. Despite costing the same as Minami, the experience was comparatively displeasurable, be it service or environment. Steep prices had been paid for having another entity cook my food in a freezing, fumy, fulminating setting, from which I would withdraw bearing a stench identical to if I had undertook the mission myself. Granted I may or may not be able to achieve the same degree of doneness in the Filet Mignon or Scallops (link relevant), but I could just as easily cook my own meal in the comfort of my own home, smell the same, and have immediate access to shower facilities. The sole saving grace was the food: the filet Mignon bites, Scallop, and crunchy Chicken Fried Rice in all their glory; even the complimentary red wine "wasn't bad", or so I heard. However, there isn't a single aspect of Hibachi that justified the amount of disrespect we received during the visit.

​The remainder of the afternoon would be spent wandering the aisles of Square One.

Urban Cova, an oddly situated vendor of bubble tea and corndog waffles sparked a raised brow: the teas were pricey, and the waffles marked up nearly twice that of Pacific Mall's Pinoy Waffles back in the day.

Newly opened was Mango, whose assortment of clothing did not differ vastly from that of Zara. We also perused The Food District and, from that leg, determined MyMy Chicken's pending unveil and Hattendo's all-too-pricey $38.99 Mother's Day cookie box.

The arrival of Aēsop within the shopping centre's luxury aisle also caught us by surprise. Housed within tall ceilings were three sinks for product sampling, plush, woven hand towels in place of disposable paper towels and shelves upon shelves of hand and body products - priced at a premium, of course.

In search of thirst quenchers beyond Starbucks repulsive lineup, I proposed Mississauga's only Tim Hortons Urban Café outpost.

Earlier in the year, the location had served us well with astoundingly cozy White Hot Chocolate Matcha Latte and delectable Chocolate Hazelnut Muffin. The same results were anticipated with the Vanilla Iced Matcha and Blackberry Yuzu Quencher, which was also available at regular Timmies locations.

It was with overwhelming distaste that we regarded our orders. The Blackberry Yuzu Quencher featured an absence of refreshing yuzu, furthermore mimicking the taste of cough syrup. Being lightly carbonated was the only positive.​

The Vanilla Matcha Latte was extremely disappointing given its associated $4.99 price tag. I had taken to a Medium on the account that I could likely recreate it at home. As it would turn out, I would not only be able to craft a superior rendition of it, but salvage its blatantly bland profile altogether. A shot of genmaicha, teaspoon of vanilla paste, and handful of dalgona shards served to render the beverage palatable - dare I say, even enjoyable!

Nonetheless, let it be known that I shall not be extending my recommendations for the chain's take on iced matcha beverages.