Out & About #941 | Pt. 2: Orangeville + The Apple Factory

Read Part 1 HERE !

Departing the provincial park, the single most critical next order of business was to locate the nearest washroom facilities. I was interested in neither visiting the flush-less stalls nor taking to the great outdoors as the uncivilized users of the trail had done.

Similar to the winter hike of 2022, navigating away from the site involved resorting to the in-vehicle GPS system. While subzero temperatures were not an issue this time around, the utter absence of cellular signal proved problematic. "You are offline." Google Maps had declared unapologetically.

​An attempt was made to navigate to the closest McDonald's, though we arrived at the designated to find none. My assumption was that the building had been transformed into a different property, for the in-vehicle GPS had not been updated since its original installation.

By this time, cellular signal had returned; we were able to determine all McDonald's in the vicinity. Familiar streets would soon float into view: Never had I considered annual visits to the Downtown Orangeville BIA district.

​At seeing the Farmer's Market still ongoing, I pulled into the closest street parking space in hopes of catching a glimpse of this year's offerings. Alas, only after securing parking did it occur to me that McDonald's was two blocks further.

Spotted along the perimeter of the municipal lot was an eatery. Anxiously scurrying towards the entrance, we stepped over a fallen potted plant and found the double-door entrance at the rear of the facility.

​Tap water was served in stout, cylindrical glasses. On the other hand, hot water would be served in ceramic cups decorated with various Canadian landmarks.

At long last, washrooms were within reach!! At the base of a red, carpeted stairwell were kegs of beer and gender-separated stalls. The descent was a much-appreciated change from rocky gravel, though nonetheless perceived as following the long hike. The facilities featured dilapidated doors, but was well-stocked with toiletries and mostly clean - save a long strand of hair on the toilet seat. Though, I wasn't about to complain about stress-free access to indoor plumbing.

​Shortly after being provided with menus and water, we posed our burning inquiry to the hostess: "We see that there's a Farmer's Market taking place - would you happen to know when it closes?"
"I think 1 o'clock" came back as the response.
Glancing down at my watch frantically, my heart sank a little. It was 12:38 PM.
"Did you want to go check it out first?" The hostess asked considerately.
"Yes!" We jumped at her suggestion. "Can we check it out and come back?"
"Of course you can." came her pleasant reply.

And so we left our water cups and dashed across the street towards the tents.

Vendors had varied minimally from the previous year's sighting, with the assortment comprising of handmade soaps and beauty products, cured meats, produce, and odd knickknacks. Moreover, my Bath & Body Works sheep remained dangling in the wind, a hook pierced through the upper section of its back.

We slipped through towards the residential portion of 2nd Street and First Avenue. Impressive colour change had been witnessed last year, but the same could not be said about the scenery one year later. As with other parts of the GTA, colour change was stunted, with the trees either attaining partial redness or suffering leaf fall prior to a complete chroma transformation.

​In just ten minutes, we found ourselves back at Barley Vine Rail Co., expecting the same degree of amicability as we had received prior to the intermission. While the hostess earlier had graced us with trivia - in that the building was, in fact, an old train station revamped into a restaurant - and enthusiastically explained the daily specials, the waitress that appeared afterwards was comparatively discourteous and reluctant to release information.

​Simply put, she wasn't pleasant at all. The ordering process was rushed, unnecessarily so, with barely any introduction provided on items of interest and absolutely no introduction of the beer varieties on tap.

Having already decided upon the Steak Sandwich and off-the-menu pasta feature of Smoked Trout Linguini and Sundried Tomatoes, we merely sought confirmation regarding:

• The possibility of switching duck fat fries for salad (and whether the decision was recommended)
• The price of the pasta feature

"Are the duck fat fries your signature?" I sought further details on the side dish, for it seemed that the hostess had glorified the creation.
"I guess?" came a dry, disinterested response. "They're good." She warily attempted to re-affirm the choice, then asked if I wanted "ketchup or gravy".
"Can I have both?"
She nodded, without ever mentioning that the gravy was an extra two-dollar charge.

Meanwhile, the Smoked Trout Linguini with Sundried Tomatoes was informed to have a price of twenty-four dollars - identical to the Steak Sandwich. Our decisions would be executed based off of this exchange.

​Both orders arrived sooner than expected, given the pace of the eatery's seemingly only three front-line employees.

The Steak Sandwich emerged adopting a diner-style presentation. The bun was toasted and even a bit burnt, though, it was mediocre and hardly plush. My request for a Medium Rare round became Medium Well; in spite of bearing faint traces of pink at its core, the 5 oz. sirloin remained tender. Melted cheese, sautéed mushrooms, and onions a nice touch. Chunky, salsa-like "ketchup" and gloopy, sodium gravy were questionable condiments, however.

​The Smoked Trout Linguini was average at best. One to two stalks of extremely rigid broccolini were arranged about the creation, sliced lengthwise to give the illusion of breadth. These greens were essentially incapable of being cut into smaller pieces, for the provided knife was too dull.
Atrociously tacky was the linguini sauce - likely a butter-flour roux, but heavier and devoid of cheesiness. The chalky substance merely clung to the pasta without coating each strand, unlike those sampled at authentic Italian spots. To make matters worse, the fluffed spoonfuls of smoked trout were one-dimensional and disappointing, powerfully evoking recollections of canned fillets from Costco.

Our waitress was mostly unavailable during our stay, either disappearing towards the kitchen or tending to the two other tables around us.

When about to request the bill, a dessert menu was presented before us. The listings were impressively economic, yet we were not precisely eager for more restaurant fare.

​The hardcover case was slid back towards her, and review of the receipt total commenced. Both of the aforementioned charges appeared on the bill. Instead of acknowledging her shortcomings in terms of communication, the waitress merely shrugged and retaliated with "I did say 'I think' the dish costs $24." before grudgingly offering to adjust the price by two dollars. That said, the additional gravy charges were maintained. Worth noting was that the two-dollar discount was taken after tax, which meant that HST and gratuities had been taken on top of the food subtotal, rather than through fair and honourable pre-tax procedures.
Upon completion of the transaction, the receipt copy was rolled towards me without a shred of apology or concern. Then, the woman spun on her heel and turned away with neither gratitude nor the bare minimum of eye contact and aritfical smiles.

Our mid-day stay had unmistakably soured with time. In that moment, I regretted not taking to McDonald's for quick, economic sustenance instead. The unwarranted $62.15 total - the equivalent of my monthly phone bill - would have seen better investment elsewhere.​

​Bursts of short-lived rainfall had taken place during our meal. Yet, when we emerged onto street level once more, the skies had cleared to yield brilliant blue skies. Underneath our feet were the slick surfaces of interlock and dampened patches of yellow leaves.
​Fall foliage was not as saturated as last year.

​Similar to last year, Halloween decorations had been assembled about the district comprehensively. Beyond the generic-looking ghosts and smiling skeletons were truthfully scary fixtures with bulging, bloodshot eyes.

​Impressive, spooky embellishments aside, there were few retailers piquing our curiosity. We strolled into a games and hobby shop, being lured in by a smiling Pikachu, then rounded back towards the car without ceasing our footsteps. 

​The Apple Factory is an annual tradition, if it wasn't already made known time and time again on this space.

While our yearly take-home acquisitions have flitted between single pie slices, Apple Pie, Apple Streusel, Pecan Pie, and even Pumpkin Crunch Pecan Pie, one item remains consistent: a 3L jug of Apple Cider.

​Dismay had overwhelmed us when we learned of the long-time grocer's year-end closure. As per a recent Zoning Notice posted at the intersection's northwest corner, the entire parcel would be re-developed for high-rise residential and mid-rise stacked townhouses. The news had not been well received; an incredulous number of patrons filled the asphalt lot to bid farewell to the establishment with one last (tower of) pie(s).

​New this year was the Bovaird Drive access being used exclusively for Pie-Thru services. Meanwhile, the Mississauga Road access permitted foot traffic: visitors would secure a spot on the asphalt lot, then join the queue at the main entrance.

Entry into the farm market was granted in under five minutes. We grabbed a cart by the ever-present hens - "mak-mak"-ing away cheerfully - then strode inwards  ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶.

​Our customary cider purchase and a final Pecan Pie were carefully placed into the cart. Single pie slices had been eliminated from the display case, much to my disappointment.

Pecan Pie had been the priciest of all the pies, ringing in at $15.99. That said, the increase had been less than 10% since last year.

Concluding the drive was a trip to CoCo's Quarry Edge location. The day was, admittedly, still quite early - reasonable given our noon completion of the Mono Cliffs excursion.

I struggled with locating the bubble tea joint at first, for it was hidden from view unless entering from the Bovaird access. My requested Brown Sugar Pearl Latte was, thankfully, not that sweet, but the pearls were irregularly sized and the beverage too milky overall. At the very least, a plastic straw had been bestowed upon me.

​At the opposite end of the parking lot was Indigo. Naturally, I couldn't resist popping in for the seasonal plushies.

I confirmed an extensive selection of Pokémon, Studio Ghibli, and even Sailor Moon products within the store. Christmas plushies (likely left from last year's stock) were spotted gracing the shelves once more, and to an even greater capacity than Halloween-themed merchandise.
Also worth nothing were two clean washroom stalls in the connecting Starbucks.

​Pecan Pie was excitedly unveiled upon arriving home. Unlike my homemade rendition, the crust wasn't nearly as buttery nor flaky. The cross-section comprised of a greater proportion of custard, while microscopic pecans had been arranged to cover the surface. Slicing into cloying gooeyness and passable crunch, we remarked on the stark differences between the SK edition, both in terms of taste and texture.

Nonetheless, it was devoured with glee. Nostalgia played a significant role in this course of consumption, of course.