Vancouver Ventures | DAY 5 (Pt. 2): Unveiling the Mango Cake + Fortune Terrace Chinese Dinner

Read Part 1 HERE !

I returned at 3 PM sharp. The round trip had been brief yet condensed, and unthinkably warm for Vancouver in June.

​Returning to the unit, I was relieved of the heat, immediately catapulting myself into the shower and freshening up in preparation for Mango Cake.

​QC procedures for the "sidekick cake" had concluded favourable results, allowing for extension towards the "main cake". Aside from the flavour profile, one of my greatest fears was with regard to cohesion: whether the layers of shaved mango would slide right off the cake, for the underlying layer was merely just whipped cream.

​In order to camouflage the broken segments of mango, chopped mango would be distributed in somewhat of a heart-shaped ring on top. The lack of uniformity wasn't very obvious, for it would be later obscured by the three-wick Birthday Girl candle.

​Without a proper lighter in the unit, I made grand attempts to ignite the celebratory installation with the flames of a gas burner. Placing it too close caused partial dissolution of the candle, though we ultimately succeeded in illuminating the sign along its entire width.

​Slicing into the cake would reveal a cross-section of sturdy yet sumptuous sponge and sizable pieces of fresh mango encased in airy whipped cream. Sharp incisions could be made with ease, revealing the individual layers for inspection and evaluation.

​The cake was absolutely delightful, earning praise and gratitude from the birthday girl of the hour.

Sweet and delectable were the mangoes, while the cake tender and actually "tasting like cake". Unlike the slices originating from Chinese bakeries, my rendition boasted an aromatic egginess and delicate air pockets indicative of meticulous aeration. It dawned on me that baking powder may often be used in conjunction with natural leaveners to achieve the consistency of store-bought creations.

​To preserve its upright visuals, the filling comprised primarily of cream and sparely scattered diced mango. Granted that mangoes were still a tad tart for the application, I also worried whether the addition of sugar syrup would cause moisture seepage and, consequentially, reduced friction. In the end, I could rest assured knowing that keeping the slices thin and doubling the layers constituted the safer approach.
Nevertheless, my personal preference would have resided with a larger quantity of mango pieces between the layers, as each forkful prompted me to seek out more for optimal harmony of cake, cream, and fruit.

Dinner would be arranged at Fortune Terrace a few minutes away.

Chinese supper courses have consistently ranked in last place on my list of desirable meals and, impressively, only grows more despicable each time. I truly hadn't missed them for the past decade.

Fortune Terrace further solidified my disgust with their abominable assortment, despicable - and downright disrespectful - service, and eerie bathrooms complete with sticky floors.

The starter of pickled radish sticks - and excessively sugary ones at that - caught me by surprise. We wouldn't be seeing Korean fried chicken any time soon. Two bites in, I slid the unappetizing baton across my plate and never looked back.

​A half portion of Roast Pork was presented atop an inverted condiment tray. It was, quite literally, a halved suckling pig, severed lengthwise and dehydrated to no the point of no return. The scrawny specimen was hardly appealing to start, but its accompanying steamed buns were even worse. Even after being subject to plentiful amounts of moisture, its ruffled edges remained defined. When slapped into a ceramic plate, reverberations could be heard in the vicinity, merely confirming the doughy mass to be as rigid as it appeared.

Fried Fish Skin with Egg Yolk Seasoning was as sickening as the name inferred. I recalled my one encounter with Irvins, immediately recoiling in revulsion. 

​Stir-fried dishes are often one's safest choices. Eggplant with beef and ginger was supposedly tasty, though lent me nothing more than a sore throat. Shrimp, celery, and carrot coated in a starch slurry "sauce" had always been amongst my most unwanted contenders; suffice to say that spooning the morsels into a horrifically soggy, deep-fried noodle basket did not succeed in doing it any favours.

I evaded the questionably murky Daily Soup, followed by the Lobster with Glutinous Rice Cakes. The flat variation often emerges soggy due to poor handling, even in my own kitchen. Allowing them to be fully coated with oil prior to dressing them (adding liquid) was the proper approach to preserve texture, and likely my only positive commentary towards the otherwise abhorrent establishment.

​Without Steamed Fish, my attendance at Chinese dinners would be debatable. Having refrained from nearly all dishes up to its point of arrival, my eyes darted towards the specimen with eagerness.

​Alas, the Bass was not only microscopic, but severely overdone. A gaping incision where its dorsal fin once resided informed of pale, dismal flesh. The eyeball had plummeted out from its socket, and the skin blistered as if exposed to an open flame.

It rested within a shallow ceramic dish, submerged in just oil and dark soy and topped with a few sprigs of cilantro. Fortune Terrace had omitted the singly most pivotal step in Steamed Fish: the hot scallion oil.

​Disappointment, anticlimax, betrayal, outrage - these combined sensations were an utter understatement.

​Usually, one can anticipate the veggie dish being passable, but not for Fortune Terrace. 

The platter of Pea Shoots (豆苗), King Oyster Mushrooms, and Shiitake Mushrooms had me gagging. Aside from the perpetually obnoxious portion of cooking, the Shiitake mushrooms were spongy. Having been immersed in water for too long, the pieces had been stripped of their signature herbal aura, swapping in a shameful, unpalatable consistency worthy of immediate discard. The shrooms were deplorable, and, frankly, the worst variation of mushrooms ever tasted - worse than those burnt in butter or "al dente" and undercooked.

​Arguably tastier dishes tend to be scheduled for last: Roast Chicken with Crispy Skin and Egg White Fried Rice with Scallops were, as expected, decent, surpassing the exceptionally low bar set by their predecessors.

Dessert options would be strangely extensive. A fruit platter of thinly sliced watermelon and cantaloupe spheres would arrive as soiled plates were swapped for clean ones.

​Next came Red Bean Soup and a Mango Sago pudding embodying the visuals of a Cheddar-Swiss hybrid and a gustatory experience blander than water.

​Longevity Buns (壽包), which typically assume a peach-like shape, were formed into ink-splattered rounds with a faint surface depression instead.

I hadn't bothered with them, though found little reason to subject myself to scalding lotus paste and a thick layer of steamed dough. Truthfully, I had anticipated a few pieces to come home with me for next-day sampling. It was with much frustration that strictly greasy fare were shoved in my direction, without so much as the opportunity to decline.

"Please do not put so much in that box. None of us (in the unit) want it." I attempted to steer the distribution of leftovers, as to prevent food waste.
"This box can contain less, but they will all go home with you regardless." My neighbouring family member announced in true consultant-like fashion.

​The inability to say no was baffling to me. Leftovers needed no part in the fridge, especially if they were to restrict space for creations and be subject to disposal in the next 24 hours anyway. A measly attempt to save face before a restaurant team of uncaring entities ought have drawn attention to one's misaligned priorities.

Having undesirable leftovers forced upon me incited sheer indignance, which was followed by an escape to T&T for compostable bags. The additional $11.99 expense was unwarranted, as were the multiple trips to the basement-level disposal site for organics and single-use plastic containers.

​I returned just in time to observe the arrival of a supposedly fantastic Lychee Layer Cake from Janice Bakery.

​While toppings of parsley and a pretzel were already beyond my comprehension, the heavily gelatinized layers were even more so. Unpleasant and acidic was the chocolate mousse base, sparse were the lychee bits, and the epitome of nothingness was the middle mousse/jelly layer.

​Any remaining cake would also be grudgingly carried back, then slid adjacent to my Mango Cake. Needless to say, only one of two cakes would see repeated visits. Spoiler: It was not the one with uneven layers containing one lychee worth of pulp.

​If my previous experiences weren't sufficient already, the combination of Fortune Terrace and the fury-inducing communal dining crisis definitely reinforced the all-encompassing hatred towards Chinese dinners.