When my coworkers outright ask about the recent lack of "treats", I don't exactly have an office-appropriate straightforward answer for them. Had my freezer not been at capacity, had my stomach not churned at the lack of fibre in my diet, and had I not been stressed out of my mind due to recent household happenings, I'd likely be more inclined to undertake trickier projects. But, as of late, the priority has resided with survival and strictly survival.
Weekday downtime was spent catching up on chores and errands, while weekends have been purposed towards residual housekeeping.
Weekday downtime was spent catching up on chores and errands, while weekends have been purposed towards residual housekeeping.
Yet another IKEA run was planned on the weekend for the procurement of RYKTA bins.
In advance of the trip, I'd venture to Mimico to pick up the ever-eager browser. Traffic leading to the GO station was annoyingly slow despite low traffic volumes, for weekend drivers were rampant on the Gardiner off ramps and already narrow Toronto streets.
Nearby was the physical store of Hadrien Verrier Patisserie, a name I hadn't encountered since Third Wave Coffee's transition to Noctua Bakery, I wasn't a fan of Ninetails, thus proposed to detour to quench my curiosity surrounding the standalone bakeshop.
In advance of the trip, I'd venture to Mimico to pick up the ever-eager browser. Traffic leading to the GO station was annoyingly slow despite low traffic volumes, for weekend drivers were rampant on the Gardiner off ramps and already narrow Toronto streets.
Nearby was the physical store of Hadrien Verrier Patisserie, a name I hadn't encountered since Third Wave Coffee's transition to Noctua Bakery, I wasn't a fan of Ninetails, thus proposed to detour to quench my curiosity surrounding the standalone bakeshop.
The space wasn't particularly large, but appeared quite spacious at first glance. A retail counter and wall-mounted shelving units for product display filled the front third of the shop; the back would adopt the format of an open concept preparation area. There wasn't a door in sight, allowing customers to take a gander at the pastry shop's operations from afar and absorb the delightfully buttery essence of croissants and bread in the oven - the one food smell I don't mind!
I sampled my Hazelnut Financier from the driver's seat. Enthralled I was to confirm its unwavering delectability: a moist, speckled pastry with crunchy edges, a snappy chocolate coating, and nutty caramel inclusion for textural variance.
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Navigating next to IKEA along Queensway, I was pointed in the direction of the covered parking area, a portion of which was closed for construction.
The Etobicoke location offered a comprehensive collection of the storage bins of my desires, but in a distinctly more predictable layout than the North York outpost. We skipped the showroom altogether as to reduce the total time spent undertaking the task. Unfortunately, I wasn't entirely spared of browsing and slow treks about the store.
The Etobicoke location offered a comprehensive collection of the storage bins of my desires, but in a distinctly more predictable layout than the North York outpost. We skipped the showroom altogether as to reduce the total time spent undertaking the task. Unfortunately, I wasn't entirely spared of browsing and slow treks about the store.
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By the 3 PM mark, when hunger was no longer deniable, two hot dogs and one Nordic Fruit Water were obtained from the lower level Marketplace. Coffee was, unfortunately, not complimentary in this section of the establishment. The medium-sized cup incurred a cost of $1.50, while the hot dogs a mere loonie each.
Having just sampled my own Whole Wheat Tangzhong loaf earlier, the hot dog bun paled in comparison. Albeit soft and compatible with the sodium-laden ball park sausage, the cross-section was noticeably friable. Loose crumbs were visible upon closer inspection. Moreover, the bread was barren of depth: a spongy, bland mass devoid of toothsomeness.
The Nordic Fruit Water didn't vary far from the standard, artificially-flavoured soft drink. Choices on the dispenser ranged between Lemon, Pear, Raspberry, and the IKEA signature of Lingonberry. Frankly, to this day, I'm still not exactly certain of lingonberry's intended profile. Pear was the least intrusive on the spectrum, and easily the most recognizable.
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Later in the evening, I would sample my first non-VQA rosé wine. The glass cork was annoying and unnecessary, while beverage itself was rather dry and more suited for cooking than drinking. Moët's Rosé Champagne was still better.
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Errands executed on the following morning started with a doctor's appt at a foreign clinic.
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The trip was then succeeded by an LCBO run for sake and beer refill.
I was acquainted with the average price of Tequila - a shocking number - and also purchased a 4-pack of Guinness 0 for a certain someone. It tasted absolutely repulsive - revolting, even. Never been one to be found of stout to start, I despised the taste of Guinness especially. The formula was dark, tacky, bitter, and wholly unpleasant.
I was acquainted with the average price of Tequila - a shocking number - and also purchased a 4-pack of Guinness 0 for a certain someone. It tasted absolutely repulsive - revolting, even. Never been one to be found of stout to start, I despised the taste of Guinness especially. The formula was dark, tacky, bitter, and wholly unpleasant.
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Free Armstrong cheese was supplied from a food truck outside Loblaws.
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Naturally, I took to the priciest option of $14.99 Marble Cheese Sticks. At first glance, they were passable snack items. Upon closer review, they delivered minimal contentment, were set to expire in a month's time, and even saw compromised packaging leading to mould formation.
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Worth noting was the availability of Asian items in the supermarket. Since my early days of grocery shopping, local chains have expanded their product assortment to include not only an International Foods aisle, but also slowly added to their roster of spices, snacks, instant coffee, and now cold weather items. Arranged near the meat section were pho broth in cartons and shabu shabu-ready rolled meat slices - at a premium price, of course.
Increased variety of non-alcoholic beverages is also undeniable: 0.0% Blanc 1664 and a costlier version of Guinness 0 resided in the refrigerated display case.
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Comparing Guinness 0 prices between LCBO and Loblaws, it was deduced that LCBO was still the more budget-friendly option, with the no deposit 4-pack ringing in at $12.95 vs. $16.99 plus tax.
Fueling my continuous stream of errands and chores was a singular Whole Wheat Tangzhong Bread Roll and Iced G7 Espresso mixed with Tim Horton's Hot Chocolate.
Around 5:45 PM, I received a message from the studio owner regarding a 6 PM cancellation. She noted that we were free to take the earlier slot if desired. By that point, I had just began navigating towards the bathroom to change.
The last-minute correspondence led me to contemplate whether other patrons lived within walking distance to the studio, or whether it was common practice for clients to arrive well in advance of their appointment and hang around in the vicinity. My schedule would not be so lax and luxurious - not now, not ever. We confirmed for 7 PM as planned.
Instead of Bomy this time, our instructor changed to Joo. Frankly, I wasn't even sure of her name until our departure. While I had assumed we'd continue to be under Bomy's care, we were ushered into the 2:1 equipment area with neither acknowledgement of our previous instructor nor an introduction of her own profile.
Generally speaking, the aura was found to be a tad awkward and rigid. While this unfamiliar face conducted her class in the typical tranquil pilates tone, her instructions seemed more cold and stringent, a noticeable departure from Bomy's cheery disposition. Moreover, she did not smile during the class whatsoever.
The last-minute correspondence led me to contemplate whether other patrons lived within walking distance to the studio, or whether it was common practice for clients to arrive well in advance of their appointment and hang around in the vicinity. My schedule would not be so lax and luxurious - not now, not ever. We confirmed for 7 PM as planned.
Instead of Bomy this time, our instructor changed to Joo. Frankly, I wasn't even sure of her name until our departure. While I had assumed we'd continue to be under Bomy's care, we were ushered into the 2:1 equipment area with neither acknowledgement of our previous instructor nor an introduction of her own profile.
Generally speaking, the aura was found to be a tad awkward and rigid. While this unfamiliar face conducted her class in the typical tranquil pilates tone, her instructions seemed more cold and stringent, a noticeable departure from Bomy's cheery disposition. Moreover, she did not smile during the class whatsoever.
We commenced with oblique and hip flexor stretches on the Reformer, inclusive of rotation moves and lateral flexion. Inner thigh stretches would follow, starting from a kneeling position. It is worth noting that, unlike Sum Pilates or Studio Bon, the instructor did not clarify whether there was any discomfort or injuries present before starting the class. For all she was aware, I could have sustained a knee injury over the past week and been advised against straining the quad muscles.
Next came hamstring stretches with one foot positioned outside of the Reformer frame on the floor. The move involved lowering into a lunge with the knee of the standing leg maintained over the ankle, while the other foot would be placed against the shoulder rest on the Carriage. The instructor seemed especially particular about my form, even placing her hand in front of my knee to make sure I had sunk low enough. She was also quick to correct the placement of my foot on the Carriage, though her idea of "placing the entire foot" lacked clarity and, in reality meant curling my toes underneath, rather than having the entire length of the foot rest against the shoulder rest.
Alas, the worst part was when we transitioned to bridges. In order to warm up the legs, we pushed against the footbar with feet in parallel, turnout positions, and raised heel positions. She had used a shockingly low spring tension for me, but added an extra spring for my partner-in-crime. This observation irked me, for the difficultly level is often kept consistent between class participants. It was also more common to commence at a higher spring tension and work down. The difference in spring tension was indeed maintained as consistent over the course of the class, much to my displeasure. It was as if she anticipated weakness from my end.
When we eventually transitioned towards bridges, the verbal instructions became harder to comprehend and implement accurately.
Constantly was I reminded to "tuck the pelvis". My understanding was that my alignment had been correct, but she pointed towards the mirror to my left and insisted for "More! Tuck more!".
Bridges performed with toes - you read that correctly, not "ball of the foot" - on the footbar were far more taxing on the knees and quads than the standard bridge, or even foam roller bridge. Tucking the pelvis intensely was required to maintain proper alignment, though the degree of tucking was not very clear.
Between rearranging the width of my feet on the footbar and telling me to "rotate my pelvis" (which way???), and tucking the pelvis, she aggressively instructed corrections:
The correction count would only increase when asked to lower the heels underneath the footbar and maintain the position while pressing the Carriage out. Tremendous frustration erupted from trying to articulate the spine into alignment while simultaneously preventing the hips from dropping, preventing the pelvis from rotating, and keeping all ten toes pressing down. A pilates ball would have assisted in keeping my knees from veering, though the instructor opted instead to keep one hand next to my right knee and ask for me to meet her fist.
While the rep count was minimal - no more than eight and without pulses - my toes began to cramp from attempting to maintain the position. Back pain accumulated from the previous days did not help my situation either. Conclusively speaking, however, this instructor's form corrections did not bring about their usual enlightenment; I was confused and irritated, and felt more tension in my already aching mid-back than soreness from conditioning.
Next came hamstring stretches with one foot positioned outside of the Reformer frame on the floor. The move involved lowering into a lunge with the knee of the standing leg maintained over the ankle, while the other foot would be placed against the shoulder rest on the Carriage. The instructor seemed especially particular about my form, even placing her hand in front of my knee to make sure I had sunk low enough. She was also quick to correct the placement of my foot on the Carriage, though her idea of "placing the entire foot" lacked clarity and, in reality meant curling my toes underneath, rather than having the entire length of the foot rest against the shoulder rest.
Alas, the worst part was when we transitioned to bridges. In order to warm up the legs, we pushed against the footbar with feet in parallel, turnout positions, and raised heel positions. She had used a shockingly low spring tension for me, but added an extra spring for my partner-in-crime. This observation irked me, for the difficultly level is often kept consistent between class participants. It was also more common to commence at a higher spring tension and work down. The difference in spring tension was indeed maintained as consistent over the course of the class, much to my displeasure. It was as if she anticipated weakness from my end.
When we eventually transitioned towards bridges, the verbal instructions became harder to comprehend and implement accurately.
Constantly was I reminded to "tuck the pelvis". My understanding was that my alignment had been correct, but she pointed towards the mirror to my left and insisted for "More! Tuck more!".
Bridges performed with toes - you read that correctly, not "ball of the foot" - on the footbar were far more taxing on the knees and quads than the standard bridge, or even foam roller bridge. Tucking the pelvis intensely was required to maintain proper alignment, though the degree of tucking was not very clear.
Between rearranging the width of my feet on the footbar and telling me to "rotate my pelvis" (which way???), and tucking the pelvis, she aggressively instructed corrections:
- Pressing the right big toe onto the footbar to prevent rolling onto the ankle
- Maintaining the alignment of the knees while articulating into a bridge, as my right knee unknowingly opened towards the right in extension
The correction count would only increase when asked to lower the heels underneath the footbar and maintain the position while pressing the Carriage out. Tremendous frustration erupted from trying to articulate the spine into alignment while simultaneously preventing the hips from dropping, preventing the pelvis from rotating, and keeping all ten toes pressing down. A pilates ball would have assisted in keeping my knees from veering, though the instructor opted instead to keep one hand next to my right knee and ask for me to meet her fist.
While the rep count was minimal - no more than eight and without pulses - my toes began to cramp from attempting to maintain the position. Back pain accumulated from the previous days did not help my situation either. Conclusively speaking, however, this instructor's form corrections did not bring about their usual enlightenment; I was confused and irritated, and felt more tension in my already aching mid-back than soreness from conditioning.
With the hands fitted through the tension straps, a few Hundreds and leg extensions towards the ceiling constituted a compact core section. Once again, I was surprised to see that just one red spring was used in my Reformer setting. Meanwhile, the adjacent contraption revealed at least one red and one white spring. Am I being undermined? Underestimated?
Lastly, the Long Box was used to challenge the back and triceps. Lying face down on the box, we placed one hand at either end of the footbar and extended the arms to push the Carriage. We were urged to "keep the collarbone open" and to press our right pinkies into the footbar to engage the lat muscles.
All was going smoothly until the instructor asked to place one hand at the centre of the foot and continue the motion. Both of our left arms began to tremble uncontrollably, quivering with each attempt. The instructor immediately swapped the spring from blue to white and further switched the position of the gear bar from the third slot to the one closest the footbar. Meanwhile, the spring tension was kept at blue for the neighbouring Reformer, with only the gear bar shifted into the third slot.
Admittedly, this was my favourite exercise of the class. It was also the only move we both deemed challenging and successful in rendering second-day soreness. In spite of the fatigue, my upper body felt oddly stronger the following day. Unfortunately, the rest of me operated at reduced functionality, being only partly sore.
Lastly, the Long Box was used to challenge the back and triceps. Lying face down on the box, we placed one hand at either end of the footbar and extended the arms to push the Carriage. We were urged to "keep the collarbone open" and to press our right pinkies into the footbar to engage the lat muscles.
All was going smoothly until the instructor asked to place one hand at the centre of the foot and continue the motion. Both of our left arms began to tremble uncontrollably, quivering with each attempt. The instructor immediately swapped the spring from blue to white and further switched the position of the gear bar from the third slot to the one closest the footbar. Meanwhile, the spring tension was kept at blue for the neighbouring Reformer, with only the gear bar shifted into the third slot.
Admittedly, this was my favourite exercise of the class. It was also the only move we both deemed challenging and successful in rendering second-day soreness. In spite of the fatigue, my upper body felt oddly stronger the following day. Unfortunately, the rest of me operated at reduced functionality, being only partly sore.
The session would terminate with a single rolldown. Still unsmiling, the instructor then bid us farewell and scurried away. Needless to say, I couldn't help but feel a bit wronged by the experience. My perception of instructor-led sessions is often a positive one, usually informative and restorative, but nonetheless challenging for the mind and body. Our first session instructor did not succeed in meeting those objectives, and I left the studio feeling somewhat dejected instead of inspired, as I usually am.
"Did you want ramen?" I was reminded of my to-go list from the evening prior.
"Hmmm" The idea of noodles aligned with my gustatory desires of the moment, but climate conditions were too moderate for a steamy, rich broth. Ramen required distinctly cooler temperatures for heightened enjoyment. "It's too warm." I concluded, and led the way to Empress Walk instead.
Nearing the entrance, my mind swelled with images of wafu pasta and my all-too-humourous, baby blanket-shielded encounter with Petit Potato's street-level access.
"Hmmm" The idea of noodles aligned with my gustatory desires of the moment, but climate conditions were too moderate for a steamy, rich broth. Ramen required distinctly cooler temperatures for heightened enjoyment. "It's too warm." I concluded, and led the way to Empress Walk instead.
Nearing the entrance, my mind swelled with images of wafu pasta and my all-too-humourous, baby blanket-shielded encounter with Petit Potato's street-level access.
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The seating area was bustling upon our arrival, leading me to wonder whether we'd be in for a wait. To my surprise, the host, clad in a sky blue polo shirt, guided us towards one of the large booths. The space was capable of seating up to a party of four, albeit tightly. Another couple was similarly seen offered the same arrangement across the aisle.
While the booth was spacious and even fitted with a three-button service bell with labels of Call, Pay, and Cancel, cleanliness levels were downright questionable. Three grains of soy-tinted rice grains were dispersed on one side of the booth. The host had no issues brushing them off for me, and promptly wiped them away with a polite smile. However, sauce splatters on the wall and grimy menus were telltale of the eatery's typical hygiene standard.
Avoiding touching the booklets entirely, I resorted to the QR code provided by a member of staff. It was not recognized with ease; at least four attempts were made before reaching the corresponding browser page. Given that this wasn't the first instance of slow recognition, the restaurant could have facilitated the process by adding the portal URL underneath.
While the booth was spacious and even fitted with a three-button service bell with labels of Call, Pay, and Cancel, cleanliness levels were downright questionable. Three grains of soy-tinted rice grains were dispersed on one side of the booth. The host had no issues brushing them off for me, and promptly wiped them away with a polite smile. However, sauce splatters on the wall and grimy menus were telltale of the eatery's typical hygiene standard.
Avoiding touching the booklets entirely, I resorted to the QR code provided by a member of staff. It was not recognized with ease; at least four attempts were made before reaching the corresponding browser page. Given that this wasn't the first instance of slow recognition, the restaurant could have facilitated the process by adding the portal URL underneath.
After deep contemplation and outright disregard for my exhaustive gustatory knowledge and cost-benefit analysis, the party opposite me took to C04 Squid Ink Seafood Spaghetti with Tomato Sauce. We opted to share B02 Black Chicken with Assorted Herbal Soup, which was supposedly the most "unique" (read: medicinal) of all the traditional Chinese herbal soup offerings.
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The pasta announced its arrival with horrifically fishy odours. Two blistered cherry tomatoes, three dismal-looking shrimp, and a sprinkle of dried parsley topped the coal-coloured mound. As per my exceedingly low expectations, the $18.99 entrée would fail to warrant its price tag. Squid ink had not been embedded within the spaghetti strands themselves, but merely coated with a chunky, flavourless ink that would stain everything from lips to napkins.
Sweeter and easier on the stomach than envisioned, the Black Chicken with Assorted Herbal Soup was, admittedly, quite nice. It served to nurture the soul and cleanse the palate after forkfuls of greasy pasta. The unidentifiable constituents ranged from bitter to sweet to bony (chicken), but was decently enjoyable overall. As the description cautions, the profile is very much an acquired taste, however.
My choice of C12 Ox tongue Stew Spaghetti had arisen from the absence of cream-style wafu-style pasta on the menu. Mentaiko-based sauce was limited to udon, which could easily be constructed at home. Meanwhile, uni spaghetti sounded satiating and appeared obviously barren of protein.
The dish had originally came with a single steamed bao in accompaniment and no spaghetti, inciting tremendous confusion. When the platter approached our table some ten minutes later, it appeared that the sauce had sloshed around. I wouldn't have been surprised if the elements had been transferred from the incorrect order and reheated before serving.
The dish had originally came with a single steamed bao in accompaniment and no spaghetti, inciting tremendous confusion. When the platter approached our table some ten minutes later, it appeared that the sauce had sloshed around. I wouldn't have been surprised if the elements had been transferred from the incorrect order and reheated before serving.
That said, the Hong Kong café classic was nothing to scoff at: the chunks of Ox Tongue were impossibly tender and distributed generously throughout the carby strands. A few florets of broccoli, carrot knobs, and potato (not starchy!) were also found on the premises. We conclusively deemed it the better of the two $18.99 pastas and the singly best pick of the entrée trio.
I had voiced a moderate desire for bingsoo, clarifying its drastic dissimilarities to Taiwanese shaved ice, only to be dismissed yet again! A $9.99 order of P15 Black Glutinous Rice with Mango was chosen, earning disdain as opposed to approval.
The bowl's contents were too sweet and too slick. Simmered beyond its optimal cook time, the rice grains failed to exhibit its signature crunchy exterior, instead emerging tacky with evident signs of disintegration. "Herbal notes" were commented of its base formula, though I alluded the lingering tingly sensation to be dried tangerine peel (陳皮) - a common ingredient in Red Bean Soup.
The bowl's contents were too sweet and too slick. Simmered beyond its optimal cook time, the rice grains failed to exhibit its signature crunchy exterior, instead emerging tacky with evident signs of disintegration. "Herbal notes" were commented of its base formula, though I alluded the lingering tingly sensation to be dried tangerine peel (陳皮) - a common ingredient in Red Bean Soup.
Pushing aside the overdone black glutinous rice with a grimace, I dug at a slice of mango instead. They were astoundingly ripe and sweet, immediately assuming the highlight of dish. There was admittedly some disconnect between the overly tacky grains and refreshing tropical fruit: the concoction needed coconut milk ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶h̶i̶n̶e̶ for salvation.
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While I had my reservations, I couldn't avoid a visit to the bathroom. The interior was utter repugnance: greasy door handles, a pool of water on the toilet, an overflowing garbage bin with toilet paper fluttering about its exposed contents, and a tennis ball-sized wad of hair behind the door.
One visit was more than sufficient in deterring a second.
We continued to explore Empress Walk briefly, then descended down to the concourse level to navigate under Yonge Street towards Mel Lastman Square.
One visit was more than sufficient in deterring a second.
We continued to explore Empress Walk briefly, then descended down to the concourse level to navigate under Yonge Street towards Mel Lastman Square.
An LED light installation, termed Enchanted Lights, filled the space with a faux winter aura.
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The fixtures ranged from polar bears, a princess dress with a dimmed crown, a flowing fountain, flickering orbs lining the walkway, and even a(n extremely budget) dragon lantern arch for Lunar New Year.
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Nonetheless a nice addition to North York Centre, I wasn't sure what to make of the delayed installation. Its placement seemed particularly untimely in the face of above-seasonal climate conditions.
The late hour saw further aimless wandering in the neighbourhood, this time involving a northbound trek towards Finch.
I noted the location of Bao House and Midori Ramen, both of which constituted destinations of interest. Also observed was the provision of flash deals at Don't Yell At Me via a dedicated mobile app. (It goes without saying that the Snappy-powered platform was downloaded shortly afterwards.)
I noted the location of Bao House and Midori Ramen, both of which constituted destinations of interest. Also observed was the provision of flash deals at Don't Yell At Me via a dedicated mobile app. (It goes without saying that the Snappy-powered platform was downloaded shortly afterwards.)
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During this saunter, I finally laid eyes on the exterior of Luna Bakery's new second-floor seating area. Nearby was signage gracing Ball Katsu's front door, announcing that the tenants had been kicked out due to failure to pay rent.
Spotted in the northmost outpost of three North York H Marts were a makgeolli drinking set, Pistachio Melona (box or single), and honey butter-flavoured seaweed (?).
Spotted in the northmost outpost of three North York H Marts were a makgeolli drinking set, Pistachio Melona (box or single), and honey butter-flavoured seaweed (?).
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Midnight marked my eventual return to the GTA. Bedtime would take place at 2 AM after the languid departure of the perpetual night owl.
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