Out & About #972 | IKEA North York, Dal Pilates Trial Class + Jokbal Night Market

I can count the number of times I've visited IKEA on one hand, and perhaps with less than five fingers. The first recollection likely took place at the Etobicoke location, where a member of the household grimaced at the griminess of the dining facilities and complained audibly while wiping the entire surface with a wet towelette.
The second was probably a post-hiking excursion whereafter the evening ended with a sprint to VMC's washroom facilities.

​Although the downtown outpost has been explored on a number of occasions, its compact selection differentiates it from the suburban standalone stores.

Venturing to the North York location in advance of a pilates trial class had been my proposal. The inclusion was intended to supplement my ongoing organizational endeavour with items of need: possibly more bins, and possibly more options to restructure the a less-than-seamless decade-old system.

​The stairwell led up to a number of showrooms, where those less acquainted with the houseware store could envision possibilities for maximizing space on a budget. This element was particularly important as someone who has lived with an abundance of personal space their entire life.

​While the showrooms included shelves filled with a small quantity of the featured items, locating the store's comprehensive assortment involved walking past the showrooms. It was in this moment that I recalled the frustration of past experiences: being unable to quickly enter and exit without walking through the whole store for a singular item. I've never been one to browse aimlessly, though my companion for the day absolutely embraced the laidback approach.

​Once all sections had been perused and organizational items of interest selected, we proceeded to the checkout. Then, we meandered back to the rooftop parking lot to unload the haul.
My one gripe about all IKEAs remains the lack of receipt clarity: a foreign product name replaces a condensed description of the item(s) purchased, providing minimal information to the average English-speaking consumer.

​The clock hovered about 3:30 PM at this point. Back to the houseware we trekked, this time making a beeline for the dining area.
I had voted in favour of more gratifying picks over the hot dog- and soft serve-retailing kiosks. This decision prompted review of the second-floor offerings, which spanned meal trays of Swedish meatballs, cakes, coleslaw, and more.

IKEA Family member status would unlock free Regular coffees. Consequently, a white ceramic cup would be placed on the plastic, white-and-yellow "Hej!" tray.

​​The dining floor operated akin to a school cafeteria, where a single queue led to a staffed hot food bar. Meanwhile, cake slices, refrigerated items like egg salad sandwiches and wraps, and soft drinks were positioned along the length of the queue in refrigerated display cases.

My companion took to an $8.99 eight-piece Swedish Meatball set, complete with mashed potato and gravy, peas, and lingonberry compote. A flag did not adorn the platter, prompting me to gaze about in search of the reason. It would appear that only add-on items - such as sides, extra meatballs, or veggie/plant balls (distinguished with a leaf flag) - would summon the decorative element.

Comparing to the Vaughan location, the meatballs were smaller, yet noticeably less miserable. Its texture had improved significantly since my visit two years ago, rendering the rounds to be more reminiscent of ground meat than synthetic kids' meals components. That said, the gravy was positively preposterous - a bland, yellowy sauce that was merely salty without depth, as if thickened by a starch slurry.
The mashed potatoes and lingonberry sauce were passable, and admittedly better than my previous encounter.

​My own choices spanned a side of Mac and Cheese, a single slice of Garlic Bread, and a Vegetable Medallion. These items were priced at $1.99, ninety-nine cents, and $1.49 respectively. Being not overly ravenous, I took heed to prevent over-ordering, should the sustenance be as stabilizer-sated as I recalled.

The Mac and Cheese was creamy, yet overly satiating; its dairy content was also moderate enough to keep stomach gurgles at bay. The Garlic Bread was delicious, but on the soggy side. Albeit possessing a profile less pungent than that of the standard Westernized Italian eatery, the slice was enjoyable nonetheless. In contrast to the Vaughan location, the single Vegetable Medallion was quite tasty, filled with chunks of potato, overdone broccoli and bound by cheesiness. "I could likely recreate this at home!" I thought while munching away.

​A plastic wrap-sheathed plate of Gravlax had also been added to the tray. Three cured salmon strips were shared between us, accompanied by two lemon wedges, arugula salad, a smear of oil-containing, honey mustard-like dressing, and plenty of dill. The herb made three appearances throughout the dish: in the condiment, along the edges of the salmon, and a fresh sprig for garnish.

Priced at just $6.99, the dish sparked instant curiosity. The consistency of the slices was similar to smoked salmon, but substituted smokiness with stronger notes of salt, pepper, and dill. Scrumptious on its own, the acidity of lemon and sweet pungency of the dressing contributed to heightening complexity further.
Truthfully, the Gravlax tasted quite gourmet, equivalent to a twenty-eight dollar starter at a new fusion eater along Ossington or Dundas West. I must admit: I was impressed.

The $2.99 Cheesecake was also surprisingly good. With the exception of its sodden, disappearing crust, the cake was delightfully creamy without being dense and rigid like the New York Cheesecake of my nightmares.

​​In total, the meal set us back just $26.49 - an unthinkably budget-friendly amount in the face of staggering living costs.

​Next on the agenda was a stopover at LCBO for Yuzu Choya. Just three locations were stocked with the limited edition offering, the closest being the outpost at the southwest corner of Yonge and Sheppard.

​Making haste, we hurried to North York to make it before their 6 PM closing time. Two bottles of the citrusy liquor and one Sho Chiku Bai were snatched with minimal hesitation.

​Routing through the at-grade retail of the Emerald Park high-rise was an act that hadn't been executed in many years. Over the years, the vendor lineup has changed drastically: Nanashake and Love Me Sweet have long vanished, Poke Eats remains, and a matcha café by the name of Kakazan has landed.

​The last stop before pilates was M Brand. Normally, I take to parking on the west side of Yonge while heading southbound, but the LCBO detour had led us to Beecroft instead, making it easier to turn onto Kempford.

Our stopover was brief, no more than twenty minutes at most, but incurred a whopping fifty-dollar ticket. Upon peering closer at nearby signage, it dawned on me that weekend parking was prohibited on the north side of the street east of the nearby school. Meanwhile, Green P meters were only positioned on the south side, just west of the Sky View apartment pick-up/drop-off loop. Judging by the time of ticket issue, a meddling resident had likely reported the case immediately after we had pulled up to the curb.
In these circumstances, I often wonder, "Do people have nothing better to do than stare out the window and report parking infractions?". But the signage had been clear; I settled the ticket with utmost annoyance.

I cannot quite recall the motive behind researching a pilates trial class. Perhaps it was due to my desire to visit North York and not really having a concrete reason. Either way, my search landed upon Dal Pilates, a somewhat recent addition to the community that offered private and semi-private classes. In honour of the new year, the studio was offering a limited-time promotion on both trial sessions and class packages.
All classes were priced according to instructor experience, similar to a hair salon with junior, intermediate, and master stylists. The Dal Pilates equivalent spanned three tiers: Certified Instructor, Rehab Pilates, and Master Instructor.

​Concise Instagram correspondence provided the necessary details on proceeding with a 2:1 trial class with a Certified Instructor, including parking options, payment procedures, and general housekeeping. The owner of the studio, Moon, exclusively managed the business' social media account, responding to inquiries with perfect structure and promptness. She informed me of evening class openings on the upcoming Sunday, and advised us to arrive earlier than our scheduled time to complete the necessary medical history and fitness goals forms. As expected, an assessment would also be performed for the first portion of the class; I appreciated the advance notice, for other studios did not provide such information until the day of. The presence of on-site shared washroom facilities and in-studio changerooms were also confirmed.

Given the studio's location on the upper level of a two-storey office building, I had been informed of the building's weekend closure policies. The doors would be locked after 6 PM, requiring clients to either message the Dal Pilates Kakao Talk channel for "Door Inquiries" or reach out to the Instagram page for the message to be communicated to the receptionist on duty.

We adhered to these instructions precisely, arriving well in advance of 7 PM due to my companion's aversion towards rushing and incessant need for ample buffer. The adjacent Green P lot would be the most affordable solution, with a Sunday night maximum of five dollars. From the asphalt lot, we would make our way to the Kingsdale Avenue entrance and request access.

The receptionist, Haebin, ushered us within and led us up to the stairs, then along a narrow corridor towards Unit 201. Along the way was a single bathroom stall, only accessible by key.
Inside the studio was a compact coat rack and cubby area, slippers for guest use, and a table for form completion. Nearby was a height chart with gridlines to assist in the assessment of body alignment (spine, pelvis, etc.).

With regard to floor area, the space was likely on par with that of Sum Pilates. However, white walls, street-facing windows, comprehensive illumination, and minimal doors contributed to the illusion of a brighter, more spacious facility. The main component of the studio comprised of a 2:1 training area characterized by two Reformers (one with a Tower), two Pilates Chairs, an open cabinet of props, and mirrors along three sides. A private (1:1) training room would be situated adjacent, shielded by a black curtain for privacy. The pricier class option offered the full range of equipment for use, including the Ladder Barrel and Cadillac in addition to the Reformer and Chair.

The changeroom utilized a similar curtain cover instead of a door. Inside were two hooks, one ottoman, a furry carpet, mirror, and hanging bouquet of dried flowers. Dismissing the dust, it was a comfortable space for transformation - much better than a public washroom stall in the gym!

After completion of forms, our instructor, Bomy, emerged from the office. She verified our exercise history, noting any accidents or injuries that could impact our performance or range of motion. My assessment was comparatively more thorough, which was to be expected in consideration of my long list of biomechanical concerns.

​Class would commence on the Reformer, with us conducting mermaid and pigeon stretches. We then transitioned into core exercises such as leg extensions, completing the round with holds, pulses, or hundreds with the legs straightened to a low diagonal. With the hands woven through the tension straps, shoulder raises and tricep presses were executed with the legs in tabletop position.

Towards the halfway mark, the Short Box was placed against the headrest and used to assist in lunge push-backs on the Carriage. Standing with one foot on the platform extender ensured a challenge of stability, which could be viewed as either tragic or terrific.

​While the difficulty level was more than manageable for me, I must admit surprise to the lack of introduction for the less experienced member of the party. Not only had the instructor proceeded with the assessment without introducing herself, she did not explain the workings of the Reformer nor provide modifications either. It was only by peering over at her assessment notes that I learned of her name.

Many of the routines were quite advanced, especially for the first-timer on the neighbouring Reformer. Curling the upper body into pilates stance, extending the legs (to a low diagonal no less!), and pumping the hands for hundreds definitely did not constitute beginner moves. Moreover, the exercises would prove even more challenging without proper breathing technique and mastering the neutral and imprint spine positions. These pilates fundamentals were only glazed over in broken English, though I had anticipated at least five minutes dedicated towards educating newcomers.
Needless to say, my class partner struggled with many of the exercises, despite the session being relatively mild and short in duration. By the time we had neared the Reformers, ten of the fifty-minute class had vanished. Stretching also assumed a solid third of the period, with hamstring and upper back stretching conducted towards the end.

​Spotting the InBody machine next to the assessment grid, I naturally could not resist approaching the staff for a firsthand experience of Korea's seemingly infamous fitness assessment tool. The request was met with some hesitation, which was succeeded by a disclaimer that the device "wasn't very accurate".
Besides weight, the results emerged as being drastically different than those determined using the Samsung Galaxy Watch technology. Suffice to say, the data lacked an apparent correlation and no conclusions could be drawn.

​At the promotion price, the 2:1 Trial was $45 per person, making for a grand total of $90. In advance of the session, a $40 deposit was requested via e-transfer to secure the booking. The remainder would be paid on site upon completion of the class.

Following some debate, we agreed on attempting an 8-class package together. In response to my hesitation regarding scheduling matters, the receiptionist insinuated that packages needed only be purchased within the promotional period, but could be retained for use at a later point in time. In addition, the consecutive eight-week expiry period was not rigid - for any extenuating circumstances or planned vacations, the package could be extended for use following correspondence with the studio owner.
We deemed the terms acceptable, then proceeded with a $100 deposit to secure the promotional offer. The remainder could be paid at the time of booking or in person.

The hunt for sustenance would take place afterwards. Kosam was met with little enthusiasm, being an eatery previously sampled. Mapo Gamjatang three doors down was also viewed with a similar degree of apathy. When most eateries along Spring Garden were either closed or failing to spark intrigue, we continued trekking northbound. During this trip, we found Tsujiri/Daigyo closed permanently, H Mart open till 10 (or 11?) PM, and polar bears figures making a re-appearance at Mel Lastman Square.

​Eventually, our footsteps would land at the southeast corner of Yonge and Sheppard. Jokbal Night Market had been a destination of interest for some time now, and I was glad that my laidback counterpart expressed both openness to my preferred choice of cuisine and willingness to walk.

​The interior of the restaurant was surprisingly quiet on a Sunday evening at 8:30 PM. Only one party of four occupied the seating area. Our entry was acknowledged within seconds of stepping into the space, and we seated shortly beside the Japanese-speaking quad in a corner spot.

​It would come as no surprise to find jokbal, alternately known as braised pork trotters, as the main feature of the restaurant. There were at least four variations of the dish, including Original and Spicy renditions, which could be reviewed on the online menu via a QR code. Bossam, jeon, and mak-guksu (buckwheat noodles) emerged as runner-ups in terms of popularity.

Our picks would comprise of a small Original Jokbal, Half n Half Seafood and Kimchi Pancake, and Fish Cake Stew. The portions were undeniably generous, exceeding the servings of both Hanyang Jokbal and Myungdong Kalguksu Shabu Shabu and materializing as an extravagant amount of food for two. This assortment would also be supplemented with banchan of radish kimchi, white kimchi, and a pepper-laden broth. The radish kimchi provided stellar crunch and leaned towards the sweet end of the spectrum; meanwhile, the white cabbage kimchi was milder and only subtly pickled.

Utensils, napkins, and cups resided on the table to start. Within a hidden drawer on the side of the table would be additional utensils (chopsticks), plastic gloves (likely for mixing rice balls), and more napkins. A plastic water jug would be delivered by a member of staff once we settled in.
Most surprising about the furnishings was the widespread placement of the restaurant's name. From the backs of chairs to the drink refrigerator, and from the sharing plates to outer circumference of cups, one would simply be unable to forget the name of the establishment. Interestingly, in spite of the meticulous name inclusions, there wasn't a single service bell in sight. Another amusing aspect was every other light being illuminated.​

While I clicked the shutter repetitively with the arrival of our items, chopsticks and spoons were shifted toward me with silent swiftness. The Jokbal was a balanced mix of collagen-containing bits and tender flesh. One large bone and two medium-sized, gelatinous knuckles had been weaved underneath the slices, but the supposedly Small order was not to be underestimated either way.
Accompanying the platter were two to three leaves of romaine lettuce, dipping sauce duos of saewoojeot and spiced soybean paste, and jalapenos and garlic cloves for wrapping ssam. Scarce was the romaine inventory, for we were each only able to form one ssam wrap before hitting the bottom of the basket. My dining partner deemed the saewoojeot extremely pungent, and steered clear of it for the remainder of the evening.

The crispy, two-toned Jeon was, without question, the highlight of the meal. Greasy was the Seafood halve, but also intensely flavourful due to the additions of chive and seafood bits. Although featuring wispy edges, the Kimchi halve wasn't particularly saturated in hue. Neither did it evoke an unapalogetically kimchi-like profile, despite retaining much of the Korean staple's moisture content. Both variations were fabulous, whether consumed on-site or re-toasted one day later.
Our sole complaint was the choice of sauce container. Large chunks of onion and a too-small condiment dish hindered comprehensive saturation of the triangular slices. At home, Worcestershire sauce served as the ideal, tangy-savoury pairing.

Fish Cake Stew was the final item to arrive. Standard fish balls floated on its surface. It did not contain the flat fish cakes of my yearning, though I was appreciative of the absence of pepper and chili peppers in its broth.

Service was friendly and attentive, though perhaps a tad overbearing with the frequency of check-ups. Our waitress sauntered by our table at least thrice to inquire if any service was needed.

Takeout containers were provided at no extra cost, and further entailed a complimentary plastic (!!) bag as well. Oh, what a glorious discovery! 

Satiation was combatted with a walk to Galleria, one of the few non-izakaya establishments open late.

There, I'd find mugwort powder still stocked and my grandmother's favourite milk & honey Softsoap making a comeback in a new cloak of packaging.

Routing back to the west end of the GTA at the late hour of 11 PM took just under thirty minutes. IKEA purchases were organized accordingly, then Kafferep cookies were sampled. 

​With my companion of a night owl, there is never a single outing that ceases before midnight. The endeavours are fulfilling without feeling hectic or pressed for time. That said, it is to be determined whether I can physically sustain myself while operating on six hours (or less!) of sleep.