Vancity Vibes | DAY 3: (Pt. 1) Dosanko

The next morning, I woke up later than the past two days for certain.
Before the lights dimmed, I had struggled to form words for correspondence with the Thai ahgase, ultimately surrendering to irrefutable fatigue

With the previous days' activities said and done, one ought to have thought that I'd enter into a phase of effortless, deep slumber, just like my travel buddy. But drawing the curtain on a day's journey atop foreign furniture has its downsides: rest is never that restful.

Having learned of the utterly lacking gym facilities, I skipped the thought altogether and instead headed outside. My first step on the concrete sidewalk was met with sharp ankle pain and overall muscle fatigue in the lower body. The next bus wouldn't arrive for a while though; I persevered onwards, for the trip would span equal amounts of time regardless of by transit or by foot. The general vicinity was quite quiet, for only a handful of shops had commenced operations for the day.

Slightly overcast yet nonetheless sunny, I drifted towards Kam Do for breakfast.

​There, I obtained a pineapple coconut bun, coconut bun, butter crust egg tart, puff pastry egg tart - half of which for the Thai ahgase's eventual waking. The buns priced at $2.25 each, and the egg tarts $2.10 apiece. As with most Chinese establishments, they operated on a cash-only basis.

My next planned stop was London Drugs, but it wasn't open yet.

With the assistance of Google Maps, I discovered that the Shoppers Drug Mart within Richmond Centre operated around the clock (24 hours!). Retracing my steps and dodging the homeless resident by the entrance, I acquired a pre-washed spring greens mix of kale, swiss chard, and spinach. Bottled cold brew was not to be found.

Slowly navigating back to the hotel, I stopped by the Sheraton Starbucks once more. An Iced Americano filled the void for morning caffeination, pairing nicely with the chewy, plus Pineapple Coconut Bun.

​The butter crust egg tart was comparatively larger than puff pastry variation, but, nevertheless, just as delicious, as acknowledged by the Thai ahgase.

Returning to our place of stay, it was unsurprising to find the room in a continuous state of sleepiness. I peeled away the curtains - physical ones, this time around, and commenced some laptop work.

Soon, she awoke and dressed, with me proceeding to gear up afterwards. We would be heading directly to Stanley Park after lunch. As such, my attire would comprise of padded bike shorts and a helmet affixed to my backpack, essentially all-black with the exception of a vivid pink zip-up. The Thai ahgase's ensemble was far fancier and characteristically non-cycling in contrast: a white, billowy cropped eyelet blouse, high-waisted, wide-legged pants, sneakers, and long jacket. There was also distinct contrast in her teensy cross-body and my stuffed backpack and strapped helmet. Given that I would continue cycling even after her departure, it only made sense to bring my own gear instead of renting.

​Readied in our respective getups, we once again boarded the bus to Brighouse and the SkyTrain to Waterfront. From there, we would transfer onto the Powell bus towards Dosanko, a youshoku eatery I had bookmarked since my last visit.

Back to the littered area we returned. The bus dropped us off at seemingly less sketchy coordinates than the afternoon prior, though we had read accounts of frightful experiences while navigating over. We exited from the back doors at E Hastings and Princess Avenue; I was delighted at the sight of decently new concrete bays, then immediately disgusted by the presence of garbage and feces. In fact, I scarcely avoided stepping right into a non-canine excrement off the bus. Thank goodness for good reflexes and coordination.

​Once again, our footsteps were steady and speedy. The aim was to continue forward, avoid looking back, and locate the restaurant we had laid eyes on. We crossed to the north side of Powell Street before consulting Google Maps again. Having realized we had traversed the intersection hastily (no pun intended), we scanned the area warily before retracing our steps.

In we went to Dosanko. The interior was illuminated with hazy warmth. Ornately decorated with the slightest bit of bustle, it offered a splendid ambience reminiscent of eateries along Queen West or West Queen West.

​Our arrival coincided with the end of the lunch hour rush, just as most of the restaurant's other patrons had begun to depart. It was unthinkable that service levels would be as tardy as they were, for there was but a total of six tables occupied by small parties of two.
Two members of service staff floated about the floor: a man likely in his late twenties or early thirties and an older lady sporting a brown bob. Shortly after delivering laminated menus, along with water in a tall glass bottle for self service, the man acknowledged my raised hand and plodded over to relay a peculiar message: "I cannot take your order, so you will need to wait." We responded by nodding, though remained utterly confused at the declaration. The man was observed to continue to serve the other tables, making multiple trips to and from the kitchen.

​Several attempts were made to summon the attention of the brown bobbed lady. She was friendly when approaching our table, though expressed some degree of confusion and inability to clearly explain menu options further upon inquiry.

​We resorted to social media for the typical go-to items, eventually agreeing on the Beef Belly Katsu Sandwich and Omurice with Hayashi Sauce. Both items were priced extraordinarily - the crustless trio of sandwiches for $18 and Omurice at $21, with the sauce being an add-on for $6. Alas, we were resolute. The trip had already been made.

Another tedious wait ensued after order placement. When the items finally arrived, we gazed upon them enthusiastically, for not only were we ravenous, but also impatient given the next item on the itinerary.

The Beef Belly Katsu Sandwich was, regrettably, no more unique than the average sandwich with toasted shokupan. While the slices were soft and mustard with just the right amount of tang and pungency, the beef was atrociously tough. Staggeringly sinewy, the tendons simply could not be severed by molars alone. Despite its despicable price point, discarding was the ultimate decision. Breading on the beef katsu was thin and lightly crunchy, but the proportion of unyielding beef to cabbage slaw and mustard was downright disappointing.
The Thai ahgase had initially commented her picnic-sized sandwich to be decent, though quickly retracted her declaration: the cuts used within the sandwich were hardly uniform throughout.

Omurice was anticipated to be Kichi Kichi-style, in which a single incision lengthwise would reveal runny strands of golden eggy goodness. The exterior was supposed to be just set, keeping its shape until cutting. However, the fact of the matter was that Dosanko's didn't even come close to our expectations.
The portion of rice beneath it was incredibly salty. A glutinous variety seasoned in advance of assembly, we deemed it passable, but could not continue consumption without request of a salad.

With much effort, the attention of the lady was summoned again.
​
Aki's Salad emerged as the highlight of the meal. Served with a well-textured, pulpy dressing with traces of yuzu, the compilation of mixed greens, pickled carrots and beets, and even bitter Swiss chard was innovative and revitalizing.

​Bathrooms assumed form of individual stalls with square sinks and mirrors on three of four walls. It was clean and, just as with the eatery's interior, furnished in a modest yet sophisticated manner.

Our meal terminated at 2:30 PM, at which point all other patrons had left - besides our neighbours who had insistent rants on "TORE-RON-TOH" residents being "entitled" and demanding. The Thai ahgase and I shared a look that said "What absurdity."
The eatery would shutter at 3 PM in order to prepare for dinner service.

"People here get off on time, and even early!" noted the Thai ahgase. The man who had relieved himself of order-taking duties was spotted jacket donned, backpack slung over shoulder, and waving farewell to his coworker at the 2:50 PM mark.

​Beyond the decor, there was little worth commending. Dosanko had earned a spot on the agenda for its supposedly unique array of offerings, but conclusively proved itself unworthy of the hassle and potential safety concerns.

​We attempted to catch the next bus downtown at the earliest opportunity, though ended up missing two on the bases of Princess and Powell being one-way streets.

A man with a work badge found us gawking left and right, and kindly led us towards the bus stop. Along the way, we passed a series of alarmingly questionable beings, mostly hunched over, mouths agape, and appearing menacing and unstable. By the Ministry of Social Development Income Assistance office, by Hope to Health, was the Powell and Heatley bus stop. Our footsteps quickened to avoid any further interaction with the area.​

​On the way back, we passed the dreadful intersection of East Hastings and Main again. The Thai ahgase shuddered silently, and we vowed to make no further visits during her stay.

Read Part 2 HERE !