The first half of the weekend had been allocated towards chores, including cleaning until nearly midnight. Perpetually perplexing to me is how even the grandest efforts appear to bring about few physical improvements to the area, but I digress!
Alternating at-home recovery and errand-running has proven somewhat sustainable for my Sunday schedule, particularly since sleeping early always seems ̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶q̶u̶e̶s̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ to be denied. The first half of the weekend had been allocated towards chores, including cleaning until nearly midnight. Perpetually perplexing to me is how even the grandest efforts appear to bring about few physical improvements to the area, but I digress! My forever helper is not attuned to operating on EST, which usually results in delayed arrivals, and further delays due to my lack of punctuality. Shops at Don Mills had been designated as the first destination on the itinerary. We arrived at the asphalt lot just before 2:30 PM, at which point I exited from the vehicle to find surprisingly mild conditions and close to no residual ice masses after the previous day's heavy snowfall. The two objectives of the visit had been The Body Shop's liquidation sale and Hazukido x Daan Go's collaboration space. When the fair trade beauty giant was discovered shuttered and vacated, we ventured along the other corridors within the retail plaza, noting new openings and persistent presences. Hazukido and Daan Go's collaboration space was discovered far more compact than envisioned. The location was supposedly a dedicated facility for workshops and special events, though the limited number of tables, stacks of boxes along the perimeter of the seating area, and nonexistent selection of exclusive items deterred from a longer stay. With little else of interest, we continued on our way following use of their indoor plumbing services. Although a logistically odd choice, the Barber Greene Plaza had intentionally been planned as the second stop, in fear that my browsing partner would exceed my anticipated browsing period.
0 Comments
Since returning from Montréal, I had hoped for recuperating sooner rather than later. But, oddly enough, I felt worse. Sleep quality was wretched and a low fever persisted in the morning. On the second day, I awoke to tremendous eye pain and an overall sense of congestion. In addition, the entire left side of my face was aching - a symptom I had never experienced before. When the world reopened on the 27th, I succeeded in securing a slot for medical attention. I'd be informed that the flu had permeated my sinuses, consequently leading to sinus infection. Pressure in the sinuses would then cause pain in the face, specifically under the eyes and near the temple. Antibiotics and nasal spray were prescribed accordingly. My cough persisted, so I was directed to take cough syrup wherever necessary. The same would apply to Tylenol, though most of the headaches were now unrelated to fever and concentrated at the temples instead. Near-immediate relief was experienced in terms of pain level, though phlegm production and cough frequency posed another separate challenge. On the third day of antibiotics, my sense of smell was recovered partially, but then quickly skewed. Everything smelled the same: tea tree oil, food, perfume - they all reeked of this unpleasant, medicinal undertone. A third COVID rapid test confirmed that it wasn't the rampant virus, however. Queasiness in the stomach also surfaced, along with high amounts of acidity in the mouth. Sufficient sustenance before medication was truly not an option, however low appetite I had. By the halfway point of my antibiotic-ingesting period, I was, arguably, well enough to embark on unassisted outings within the neighbourhood. My former carpooling partner had extended an invitation - or solicited company, rather - for a viewing of The Boy and The Heron. The original appointment dated back to pre-Montréal days, though my unexpected decline in health and sluggish recovery had postponed the event two instances more.
Sleeping in a foreign environment is never easy for me. The ability to enter a realm of sound slumber is often challenging at home, but the condition usually worsens with jet lag in conjunction with a mediocre hotel like the Executive or the excruciating dryness of Executive Residency. The tranquil, pristine environment of W Montréal soothed with its clean, cloud-like blankets, yet not all stressors could be managed from the get-go. I mustered together a combined 5-6 hours of rest while coughing fitfully throughout the night. While still quite irritable at the 9 AM mark, it was deemed illogical to wriggle about unproductively. Swinging my feet onto the floor, I reached for the toothbrush, then the Tylenol. Breakfast would be consumed in the suite prior to departing for the day's adventures. The Nespresso machine offered a total of four complimentary pods: Italiano, Tokyo, Colombia, and Decaf. The shimmery sapphire packing of Tokyo was summoned for a mild awakening. The tongue-scalding formula would be paired with the Maple Almond Financier procured from Le Petit Dep late last evening. Our apprehension towards the café's remaining inventory persisted, and I bit into the pastry bracing myself for crumbly disappointment. Alas, the result was utterly unlike my prediction! The cake was beautifully moist and delicious - not overly sweet but brimming with prominent notes of maple. Naturally, it was devoured in no time, leaving much of my coffee behind. Our second purchase, the Lemon Muffin, boasted a golden top. The surface was made crunchy with the inclusion of coarse sugar granules, while the interior contained citrus peel for visual and gustatory contrast. That said, the specimen was decidedly coarse in texture, hardly citrusy, and not nearly as appealing as the Tigre-shaped Financier.
Out & About #961 | Non-Olive Oil Brownies, BamBam AREA 52 Tour Merch + GOT7 Lightstick Ver. 312/16/2023 Curiosity is often the culprit to precipitous endeavours in the kitchen. It starts with unexpected success, luring the mind to contemplate boundless customization options in the world. I had been quick to run out of olive oil after delving into SK's latest brownie recipe (957), prompting me to append the item to the grocery list. Alas, the market value of olive oil was shocking: $17.99 for a bottle just $6.99 at the start of 2020! The newly-discovered information caused me to execute a second batch with vegetable oil swapped for olive, less for flavour but purely on the bases of economics and convenience. Previously, 105 g of granulated sugar and 125 g of golden yellow sugar had been used in place of the specified 345 g granulated. In this round, I would resort to 100 g of granulated, 180 g of golden yellow, a heavy pinch of salt, and an even heavier handful of smoked flaky salt to finish. The intent was to compensate depth with sweet and savoury notes, since the distinctive notes of olive oil would be removed. Again, the square emerged with an interesting texture: a very chewy top with a moist centre. As expected, the batch was not nearly as fragrant without the olive oil, and its profile not nearly as refined. The additional sprinkling of salt rendered the creation closer to a salted brownie without the exquisite depth, leading me to conclude that even a basic bottle of olive oil would be preferable to regular cooking oil. Nevertheless, one cannot deny the moistness that comes with oil-based brownies - they are soft and enjoyable for days after (and even gooey past the third day!), unlike the dry, cakey specimens of butter-based formulas. There are, regrettably, some repercussions of satiation, however, for, while oil improves tenderness, it does not keep fullness at bay. Though I'm unlikely to attend more than one showing of BamBam's AREA 52 World Tour, the Thai ahgase did not refrain from reminding me of her dire need for tour merch before the New York leg. Shortly after she had secured her tickets for south of the border, my package arrived! Along with a AREA 52 t-shirt and cap was the GOT7 Lightstick Version 3, more commonly (and lovingly) referred to as the Ahgabong.
Life is to be lived efficiently. When desires to venture beyond the local neighbourhoods overlapped with an opportunity to schedule my (supposed) first of many double dates, I fervently began planning the day's itinerary. In keeping with the theme of efficiency, I took to re-purposing previously donned work attire in a casual ensemble, prior to tossing into the wash. This would, in turn, lead to more intentional styling, which would then amount to a dance-able outfit capable of being used for filming Queencard in public. The domino effect is arguably vague, but events easily fall into place as a result of the preceding activity or decision. The sleepy polar bear arrived with punctuality, assisting me in errands before bestowing new LINE Friends merchandise upon me. A supposedly authentic Infrared Wireless Car Charger was presented, reeking of cheap plastic and bearing sharp-edged packaging. I was doubtful of its usefulness, for I had experimented with various phone holders in the past and saw success from none. When I eventually took to installing the apparatus, the arms of the holder began closing in on my hand without warning, firmly closing in on my hand and pinching skin to the point where extreme pain and bleeding would occur. There wasn't a single safety warning on the manual, which only affirmed the utter inadequacy of QC for products hailing from China. We arrived earlier than expected, given decent weekend morning traffic volumes. Located off Empress Ave, the Loblaws garage offered 90 minutes of complimentary parking with purchases of ten dollars or more, otherwise enforcing a weekend flat rate of six dollars. The Empress Walk located off Hillcrest Ave was one dollar less: five dollars, or complimentary two-hour parking for Petit Potato customers. Both were ridiculously reasonable prices, especially considering the Green P meters in the area. The lot connected to Loblaws via an inclined moving walkway, identical to those present at Superstore locations. It led directly towards a Tim Hortons kiosk situated beyond the cash registers, then permitted access to the escalators of Empress Walk as well as TTC's North York Centre station. Before ascending into the retail plaza, we caught sight of OHYO. The establishment's doors would remain closed until noon, thus we opted to check back following lunch plans. After briefly browsing Mumuso, it was determined that our selected destination was, in fact, only accessible from street level. Petit Potato had been a follow-up suggestion to my original picks of Ssangkye Jjimdak for lunch and Mikaku (still unfulfilled) for dinner. It was, collectively, the most convenient location for the group, as it could be reached easily on foot or by car. The eatery comprised of double glass doors, wherein its entryway had positioned a shrine with pungent incense sticks. Beyond these doors was an unoccupied bar area. To the right of the bar was a stairwell, lined with mirrors and illuminated with a yellowish lighting to mimic a gold sheen. An unoccupied reception area was found at the top, along with distinctly cool-toned décor to contrast with the stairwell palette.
BamBam has been everywhere lately, jumping between music broadcast shows, BamJip, as well as various YouTube channels to promote Sour & Sweet, his first full-length album. As an ahgase, I revel in the deluge of fresh content surging my way. But beyond squealing in excitement and laughing hysterically at his witty remarks, I've come to learn of the artist's impressive growth, as well as identify with a number of his struggles.
His love for beer and the colour purple were new discoveries to me, as was his tremendous struggle to continue life as an idol, artist, and entertainer. Dissimilar to those who base their decisions firstly off emotions, BamBam's greatest struggle was not in regards to producing art synonymous with his inner world. Rather, it was failing to achieve the desired results despite the amount of effort invested. Another aspect to the equation was the importance of being authentic, yet still respectful and considerate.
Some declarations seemed to be no-brainers to him:
I identified with more than just a handful of his comments, especially those spoken in the realms of rationality. That said, I find greater moderation in Bam's thoughts and actions than in myself: Self-indulgence, while playing a relatively minor part in his daily routine, never goes untended. Maturity has developed from his extensive experience in the entertainment industry, from which has given way to a more sustainable mindset and more balanced regime. Observing him throughout this process has been a gift to me, both as an ahgase and a mere speck of matter in space.
Pasta salad cravings have perdured since the previous week, with all hints for tri-colour fusilli mixed with peppers and olives dismissed - or temporarily forgotten - by the sleepy polar bear.
When readymade renditions could not be located at Loblaws, matters were, naturally, taken into my own hands. My request for dry pasta was met with a box of De Cecco fusilli instead of the standard Unico packages, much to my surprise. The premium-looking box and "Product of Italy" label raised eyebrows, for it shouted "Alert: Expensive!" from all angles. In reality, the item was on clearance, thus cheaper than our typical budget pick, but superior in quality. Cooked in salted water to a consistency between al dente and soft HK Café spaghetti, the beautiful, swirled specimens retained their shape throughout the mixing and tossing process that would await them.
Mayonnaise - Miracle Whip, really - is the customary condiment choice in our household. Often is it blended with wasabi, ketchup, and/or Dijon mustard for varying takes on potato salad. For fusilli though, I looked towards an oil-based dressing, which is seldom my go-to. Olive oil, rice wine vinegar, coarse salt, and a sprinkle of sugar formed the base, while two cloves of black garlic were meticulously broken down by hand and smothered into the pasta's ridges. At first, the salad seemed lacking with just sweet bell peppers (an orange and red each) and half a deseeded cucumber; black olives were pivotal in my view. However, once the flavours had an opportunity to permeate, the result was phenomenal: harmonious, textured, yet light on the stomach, as a pasta salad ought be.
Other meals/snacks of the week included: Peanut Butter on Toast, Loblaws Potato Salad, Chiang Mai Trail Mix from Basil Box, Minced Pork with Eggplant, Udon, Miso Soup with withering, week-old scallions, and Sirloin Oscar leftovers from The Keg.
"I'll be hermiting within for a month." I had declared upon returning from Calgary. "A month, if not more - whatever it takes to finish." And while I've proven loyal to these words, my endurance is withering. Exhaustion perpetuates as I tirelessly sort through the expanse, simultaneously balancing matters demanding attention in the present. In the days following Valentine's, I munched on the remnants of my chocolate creations and smiley fries to assuage me till Friday. These crisp rounds with ketchup-gushing eyes were paired with kale (of course) and a bottle of Heineken into which I mixed a few glugs of Yuzu Choya, then immediately regretted.
No other work week feels as short as one before a trip, especially with a rush of month-end wrap-up tasks, unexpected spectacle complications, and unfavourable commuting conditions.
When my carpooling partner warned of an earlier departure time, I grimaced. Joint trips often commence early, but terminate far later than desired. To peel myself away from an area of respite even sooner than 6 AM did not align with personal productivity-promoting protocols. I resolved to undertake the grueling drive downtown by myself.
Monday morning traffic was surprisingly light, but any prospect of arriving early (and leaving early) would be eradicated upon coming face to face with an unexpected TTC delay. Thankfully, the "broken train" issue spanned just a total of twelve minutes. I succeeded in making my arrival at 7:55 AM; the office, much to my relief, was relatively vacant with the exception of two large meetings, one in each boardroom.
Originally, I had planned to visit the optometrist's office first thing. Delaying the trip to the following day eventually emerged as the better decision, for the lens of one pair popped out while in the office. The remainder of the day was spent working without the assistance of screen spectacles. But, in the very least, I'd be able to service all three pairs in one trip.
Lunchtime proved surprisingly warm. My westbound trek was accompanied by a picturesque scene of slow-falling snowflakes. Though, "picturesque" may be a debatable term, for construction and precipitation often make for muddy ground conditions and splatters on pants.
On the bright side, many of the construction fences had been removed with the completion of cycle track paving and interlock work. This enabled smoother flow of foot traffic, in spite of snow piled about the curb.
At spotting "Mont Blanc" adorning the online menu of Isle of Coffee, I opted to venture out for a second visit. The cafe's madeleines had been disappointing overall, but the Fig and Caramel Scone had left its mark.
Obtained in addition to the scone were a small Houjicha Latte and Mont Blanc. While the drink was being prepared, I treaded down a flight of narrow, rickety wooden stairs to the basement. Amidst the dim ambiance were a handful of tables, two incredibly focused ladies seated at those tables, working away on their laptops, and an old movie - complete with subtitles - being projected on an empty wall. Left of the stairwell was a door that read "Employees only", but beyond the limited seating was a second door - the washroom! The single stall was fairly clean, equipped with a swing top garbage bin, one backup toilet paper roll under the sink, and a toilet with competent flushing capabilities.
Awaiting my return to ground level were my treats were perched on the counter, neatly placed in a brown paper bag. The Mont Blanc resided in a paper box at the bottom, while the Fig and Caramel Scone rested on top in a white paper bag.
The cashier-barista added the finishing touches on my Houjicha Latte and handed the cup to me with grace. The beverage was toasty and positively nutty: warm enough to unleash distinctly houjicha aromas, but not scalding to the point of tongue-incinerating (Looking at you, Starbucks).
I took a few sips of the latte before reaching over to the condiment station for an emerald green lid. Impeccably luscious and downright flavourful, Isle of Coffee had succeeded in satisfying the void that The Social Blend had failed to in their absence of houjicha.
Unveiled later that evening was the Mont Blanc.
As those with distinct preferences shall inform: Cravings are unique and exceedingly specific. On days where I yearn for chocolate, the desired format may be liquid (hot chocolate), toothsome (truffles), crunchy (clusters or chocolate bars with nuts), fudgy (brownies), or beyond these profiles entirely. For at least one week, I had contemplated the possibility of swirling three flavours into Sunday Baking's Mochi Brownie. Success had been seen with both the original in a loaf pan and swirled with matcha in a standard square baking pan. I continue to experiment with my stash of Paragon tea powders, as eager to unlock new flavour profiles as to deplete them before expiry. Commencing with the mochi layer, I exercised caution to prevent scorching of the mochi mixture. Ever since replacing our microwave, I've noticed the need to reduce reheating times by at least 20%. This mochi was no expectation, for ten seconds on full wattage had rendered it lumpy and rigid. Water was gradually mixed into the dough in an attempt to reinstate its chewy qualities. The result was acceptable, albeit thinner and retaining less structural integrity than desired. For any future mochi-crafting endeavours, it is recommended to grease the bowl beforehand. The spoon spatula pictured in Sunday's video was a great alternative to the flat scraper spatula, providing more control and kneading power. Next came formation of the batters. The original recipe called for two eggs. Despite having contemplated doubling the recipe and making two loaves (chocolate-matcha swirled and chocolate-oolong swirled), I ultimately opted to utilize three eggs instead of four. Adhering the roughly the same formula as my reduced sugar Oat Fudge Bar layer, I painstakingly prepared three batters. This was a truly tedious process. While the original chocolate layer was a breeze to prepare, Matcha and Oolong required first melting white chocolate callets and butter together, then portioning them out as evenly as possible before whisking in the respective tea powders. A total of four bowls piled in the sink, including the one for mochi. Then came the spoon spatula and three whisks. Instead of the "one-bowl, hand-mixed" format that SK often advertises, I had - accidentally, mind you - embarked on the path of more dishes. Even with each layer comprising of only 46 g of granulated sugar, the result was still too sugary for my liking. I allude this finding to the existing sugar content in the white chocolate couverture, for I had not experienced this issue with semisweet Surfin. In spite of this, the crackly surface and fragrant, chewy cross-sections were phenomenal. Fearing that the brownie would result cakey as opposed to fudgy, I removed the pan at the 48-minute mark. The underside of the centre was a bit damp at this point, though I had tested other sections of the slab sufficiently with a toothpick and deemed it done. Its crackly surface, contrasting textures, and splendid aromas were absolutely captivating. That said, peak gustatory performance lasted just one day. Witnessed on the subsequent day was an overall dampness, followed by rigid, unyielding mochi. Heating individual pieces led to disintegration of the brownie, making it an unviable option to reinstating chewiness. I quickly resolved to undertaking future trials in the warmer months, hoping for the assistance of increased humidity levels. The middle of the week saw Jinyoung's long awaited solo EP release. In the office, I could hardly reveal my excited demeanour, especially with a new member of staff seated directly before me the entire duration of the day. "Cotton Candy", as well as the other four tracks on the album were played on loop that day - both in the office and the commute home. When lunchtime arrived, I decided to venture a bit further than normal.
A whopping 1211 days have passed since the last Ahgabong-equipped public excursion. Naturally, I have taken to waving the bird within my humble abode during comeback times, member solo MV releases, and the HOMECOMING Fancon. Though, these instances hardly accumulate to the same degree of excitement as a live performance with the company of other lightstick-waving attendees. I geared up in mismatching feather earrings - my "ahgase" jewellery - and laced up a newly acquired pair of Vans high tops. They were a dazzling white, untainted from the scuffles of concerts. The platform sole was considerably thinner than my go-to pair of concert shoes. But, wary of the weariness sustained from extended periods of wear, I opted for a footwear swap should the day prove longer than anticipated (Spoiler: It did). GO train service commencing from Clarkson had coincidentally halted as of the morning, shifting dependence towards local services such as miway and TTC. I would embark on a trip to Kipling station and connect to Line 2 to reach The Phoenix. Somehow, in spite of my entire lifetime of concert participation, I had forgotten my camera. Charged, fitted in its case, and situated adjacent to my waistpouch, I had managed to omit it during the packing phase. Having only realized it 75% of the way there, we looped back, then embarked on the trip once again. At Kipling, I would endure a painstaking delay of thirty minutes: 20 minutes owed to an emergency at Spadina station, then another 10 when the train suddenly announced termination at Jane station. What a mess. Around 5PM, I found the Thai ahgase in line. Thankfully, the VVIP and VIP entry had been delayed. The original estimate of 5:15 - 5:45 PM passed us by. We moved lines in the process, but hadn't made any progress towards the door. I dashed to the nearest eatery for sustenance and washrooms. My tardy return the night before meant that breakfast had been pushed to lunchtime, and lunchtime had been eliminated altogether. A Chicken Wrap was requested from the sole worker of the restaurant. Then, I made my way down to the basement level to use the lavatory - a revolting stall with a splattered toilet cover, rickety doors, and staggeringly low positioning of the sink and mirror. As the Thai ahgase's frantic messages filled my phone, I continued to observe the girl behind the cashier prepare my order in an unhurried manner. Requesting her to skip the onions, my order emerged in the next five minutes. The wrap set me back $9.99 plus tax, but comprised of no more than a few sparse pieces of chicken, an obscene amount of fishy-smelling shredded lettuce, and a thorough squeeze of ranch dressing. By this point, the constituents of the wrap mattered less to me than the allocated timeframe for its consumption. I wolfed down the creation, anxious that we would be summoned for entry on short notice. Eventually, we inched our way towards the doors, where a surprisingly thorough bag search would ensue. Water bottles were confiscated and left outside by the door for collection afterwards. My neck fan, which had supplied me with breathable conditions during the Junny show, had been confiscated on the grounds that it could be utilized "as a weapon". The case was tagged for retrieval from security after conclusion of the show. Those that had purchased the priciest tier, known as $500+ VVIP tickets, had the benefit of a Meet & Greet session and an individual photo with Mark himself. VIP ticketholders, who had paid approximately $250 less, would not partake in the direct engagement portion but enjoyed all the same benefits of early entry, soundcheck access, crowd-free merch shopping, complimentary signed poster, and pop socket. The Thai ahgase and I had justified the price of the VIP tier, and filed into the venue vaguely around 6 PM. We continued to hover about our spots until Mark suddenly revealed himself around the 6:19 PM mark. The hall dimmed, and Mark proceeded to introduce himself to the crowd while singing snippets of song requests as part of the soundcheck (and lighting check). There hadn't been any introduction leading up to his unexpected appearance, yet we responded nonetheless enthusiastically. The soundcheck portion would comprise of:
At 6:39 PM, Mark would disappear backstage. During this time, we continued to chat with two other fans in the proximity. Both revealed themselves nearly a decade younger than the Thai ahgase and I. They had just commenced post-secondary education and spoke with a greater degree of familiarity to new generation artists than in-depth knowledge of the Ahga-world. One had travelled from New Brunswick, while the other from Montréal. Neither held Ahgabongs in their hands. We waited and waited, until way past the 7 PM Doors Open estimate. GA ticket holders slowly began to fill the venue, with a constant stream entering even beyond the 8 PM mark. At 8:12 PM, the opening artist, named weswes, would introduce himself to us in an all-white ensemble. His voice was rung throughout the hall, but his face was barely visible underneath his white bucket hat. His set comprised of a few melodical tracks, with his last two radiating R&B vibes à la pH-1. He disappeared around 8:39 PM, but not before FaceTime calling a friend in a rut (using the audience for emotional support) and urging us to chant Mark's name with him, affectionately referring to him as "Markie". "Markie" Tuan entered the stage shortly afterwards at 8:46 PM. View the full album HERE !
|
Who Am I?Formerly an avid owner of several interest-based portals, Random Thoughts of a Quirky Blogger presents precisely the elements expected. From experiments in the kitchen to miscellaneous musings, from IGOT7 reflections to developments in transportation infrastructure, it's all consolidated here. Welcome to the raw, unfiltered side of Quirky Aesthetics. Archives
April 2024
Categories
All
|