Back to basic obsessions...Korean BBQ

Ask anyone who knows me--meat is my obsession. For anyone who's ever read this blog, you know that my muse takes form as the the cured, roasted or grilled piece of partial animal carcass that happens to be posting up on my plate, if not for a brief moment.

With the recent XL Foods beef recall in Canada (if you haven't read about it yet, here's a snippet from the CBC) the worry-warts are soaking up the fear and potentially cutting down on their normally carnivorous tendencies. Me, I'm an optimist--so I decided to celebrate the latest E. coli scare by indulging in an all you can eat meat-centric marathon! 

Read my latest blogTO review of Bryan's BBQ and get into the spirit of supporting our nations most precarious (currently) and delicious industry! 

Tasty cuts of sirloin

Some nostalgia brew

From Across the Table

Originally composed on: Day 2: Thursday, April 9, 2012. Reggae Mansion, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Liquor is the law. It's the people and the poisons that make the place. In good company the most mundane of surroundings tend to turn into the most hospitable.

You could say you've had the same conversation a thousand times—I wouldn't doubt you for a moment. I've been there...
"How's it going?"
"Good, can't complain! I'm halfway around the world [from wherever it is I live] and I'm loving every minute of it!"
"And the beer is so cheap!"
"Amen to that, brother!"
The usual where from's, where ya been's and what's next's tend to follow. But I like the banter. People do some pretty cool shit when met with inhibition-less travel, a solid exchange rate and no return ticket.

I met a  stunningly beautiful, and intriguingly intelligent German girl named Maria, who's managed to convince one of the largest international medical assessment and pharmaceutical firms in the world that she's capable and qualified to act as one of the marketing managers. So competent, in fact, that she took the job over dozens of applicants who are decades older and more experienced than she. I met a Brit named Ben, who climbed Kilimanjaro in honour of his late father and raised over £16,000 for prostate cancer. Met dudes that shear sheep and others that pick up foreign accents.

There's a world of interesting vagabonds constantly roaming the world. It's merely a matter of who you're sharing a pint with today.

View from a main intersection near China Town

The Petronas Towers

Bake for 4.5-months at 5500ºF

Originally composed on: Day 1.5.2: Wednesday, April 18, 2012: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

The heat comes first!

The heat always comes first. As soon as I cross the threshold of the cabin door I know where I am. It's sticky, humid and heavy. Outside the clouds are intermittent and the sun pokes through at irregular intervals.

Baggage claimed, some money exchanged and I hit the KLIA Express direct to Sentral Station. Rolling out of the station and taking my first up-close glimpse of Malaysia through the smudged cabin window; the country is remarkably, though I suppose predictably, dissimilar from any other Asian landscape I've encountered. The scenery is lush and green. Some small rolling hills here and there, the occasional shanty farm with a few cows and not nearly as much sprawling development than I would have imagined. I can't help thinking: what a nice place to carve out a golf course. Sure enough, one appears.

Once the ultra-modern, wifi equipped train breaches the boundary of the city centre the portrait outside my window is entirely different from the outskirts of town. Honking horns and grumbling motorbikes. Decrepit storefronts and dingy crumbling facades. There must be an allure to the place yet, but it's not apparent to me now. There's a striking contrast between the state of Reggae Mansion and its neighbors. The foreigner-only hostel is a pristine white building with large french doors, marble floors, clay tile courtyards and bumping techno music in the bar.

The evening will likely pass lazily as I await the arrival of my travel companion and decade-long friend, Yoni, and attempt to adjust to the time difference after 24-hours in transit.

So, it has begun!

The Stopover

Day 1.5:
Originally composed on Wednesday, April 8, 2012: Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport (TPE), Taipei, Taiwan.

It's a dreary dawn in Taipei. Dry and conditioned inside TPT; separated from the soggy exterior by large window panes. The tempered glass feels warm. Inside it's bright and the orchids are blooming. Two decisively different atmospheres a mere few feet apart.

Only just after 5am and it looks as though the humidity is pushing the thick cloud cover closer towards street level. Now more than 16-hours have passed since takeoff and the notion of leaving seems to be slowly setting in.

Orchids inside TPE

I saunter through the hallways of the terminal to stretch my atrophied limbs and sore back. You could be in any airport terminal in the whole world and the only thing that would change is the language on the signs and the script on the Coca-Cola machine. The smells is eerily similar, the laminate flooring and the moving carpets, all alike--except Taipei. Each individual gate-side waiting area has a unique design and accompanying theme. I sit in the futuristic techno-lounge, with power outlets at the foot of each curved, post-modern plastic seat. There's a jungle themed space with vines, trees and floor-to-ceiling murals. Even a Hello Kitty room, with decals of pink polka dots.

My meandering took me into all the various Duty Free shops where I was waited-on at each browse. I figured, given my carabiner clad backpack and thrifty travel threads, the salespeople would have deciphered that I wasn't the ideal candidate to purchase a $5,000 Cartier watch. It's more if a cultural thing, I know (or simply just good courteous business practice), but I did feel a bit bad that these pretty, immaculately made-up Taiwanese women were following me around the stores constantly asking me if I wanted help--or much more uncomfortably, just standing silently at my side. Maybe they took me for a thief?

Despite my 4am in-flight congee breakfast (baby shrimp, bonito fish flakes, cold tofu and all!) I stumbled upon something I should have anticipated, and would have welcomed at any level of hunger--airport dim sum! I am not a man of great temptation (now looking back at this piece of writing five months later I might be inclined to revise that statement with a more circumstantial preposition), but if there's one thing I can't resist, it's dumplings in the morning. While I opted out of the shitty looking shu maii, A $9 USD serving of xiao long bao, accompanied by a soothing bowl of chicken consommé with black oyster mushroom and pieces of moist boiled chicken later, and I find myself back on the airplane. Unexpectedly, I'm lounging in the luxury of an extra-wide, executive coach seat. My feet are propped up comfortably on the extended ottoman and I'm on the final leg of my one-way ticket to the trip of a lifetime.

I wonder what's for breakfast #2?

Notice the man in the Taipei airport sporting golf shoes! Maybe I missed the golf theme lounge?

A Time to Refelct

As the air becomes more crisp and the sun sleeps at an earlier hour, the greenery mellows and the school bells bellow. A turning of the season marks a time for reflection. For, the summer has past and the fall is the future. It's a time to look back and remember the rays. Remember the meals and remember the days. Remember the friends, the folly, the fun. The journey has passed, now the story's begun...

As soon as the airplane took off on April 17, 2012, I began to write. In the young hours of the morning, the ink bled through the first pages of my Moleskine as I broke the horizon on an adventure that would take me 139-days into the unexpected. At that moment, there was no foreseeable end. A pile of cash and a one-way plane ride to what I could only imagine was paradise. 

Looking back on the journey, now exactly five months later; from atop the folds in my bed sheets, the fading light pooling on to the hardwood floor of my bedroom through the rectangular panes of my south-facing window in the city of Toronto; so many of the sounds, smells and sensations of Southeast Asia are still fresh in my mind. Some of the best times are a blur. The beaches are tactile. The mountains, so magnificent they're a mystery. The cities, my pulse. The food, my muse. 

Here is the start (once again-- read my first blog of the trip here) of what went down through nine countries, with no plan, some free time, and a major yearning to live it up while I still can. 

...Oh, and did I mention that booze is cheap and phenomenal food is practically free? Ya, that makes for some inspired writing! 

Check back often as my hand-printed pages hit the hardwire. 

Midtown Maki Madness

Back in Toronto and seriously backed-up on blog posts. While I know you all wait in anticipation for the tales of my travels in the meantime, here's some new blogTO material for you to chew on. 

Loosen your belt a couple of notches before busting your gut at this Midtown mecca of sushi. Choose from over 100 items on their AYCE menu or stop in for a quick, cut-rate lunch special. 

Read my full blogTO review HERE

Avocado Bombs

Chicken Wings

Shiitake Mushroom, Tobikko, Tamago, Inari, Unagi nigiri

Spicy Tuna Roll, Yam & Avocado Roll

White Tuna, Salmon, Surf Clam, Spicy Salmon Roll, Salmon Skin Hand Roll, Dynamite Hand Roll

Seaweed Salad and Green Salad

Broccoli Tempura

35,000ft to freedom

Day 1: 

Originally written on Tuesday, April 17, 2012 (EVA Air BR35: YYZ-TPE)

The number of times I leave to go traveling holds little to no bearing on the feelings that go along with the act of departing itself. However versed or virgin one is to the overall experience--it seems for me, at least, that with each boarding, taxi and takeoff comes a strikingly separate set of emotions. 

Just over 13-months ago I was leaving for what I thought would be the adventure that brought me to where I am finally heading. After seven months of some of the most euphoric highs and unruly lows South Korea became just another pin on the map; a pin that changed my perspective on culture, opened my eyes to a part of the world that always intrigued me and ultimately emulsified my ambition to delve as seep as I could into the history, personality and gastronomy of the world. 

As the jet engines screech and the airplane torpedoes off the runway I follow the routine that my father has maintained through his many years of flight. The cardinal rule: shoes stay on until after takeoff. Feel free to settle yourself and engage in normal in-flight activities while waiting to depart. The paper, a good novel, some soft tunes are always par for the course. Allow for casual conversation with an unfamiliar isle-mate or banter amongst friends and family. The screens will drop down from above the seats, safety prompts will cue and emergency instructions amplify over the intercom; respectfully ignore them. Continue as you are while you taxi to the runway and then--stop. 

You are about to engage in the miracle of flight. Set down your reading material, pause the album you're listening to and be mindful of what is about to take place. I always countdown from ten a the thrusters howl and the ground speed increases; my personal addition to the ritual. The rumble of tens of thousands of pounds of metal and complex machinery soon to be lifted off the ground and passed though multiple layers of climate, 35,000ft above where we normally plant our feet. I'm always taken aback when I meet someone who's never flown before. Then, I try to put it in perspective; the fantastical element of the fact that something so magical, so complex, has become an act met with anything less than awe. I think that my father is humbled by the aircraft, and so am I. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6...as the countdown concludes the front wheels push upwards as the angle of the wings steepen. With one final thrust from the turbines, the back end of the winged beast bounds free of the pavement.

There's a unique feeling in your loins with the weight of the air, and air alone, all around you. The first swooping kick into the air is almost tantric. Somewhere between you abdomen and your ass it moves. What is it? I'll likely never know. But, that feeling is as intense, as it is almost impossible to detect. It is as soothing and sensuous as inhaling the aromas of a freshly poured glass of wine. It envelopes the deepest, most hyper-sensitive areas of your innards, and at that moment, and rarely sooner does it all settle in. 

This is where I am going. I am on my way. Pick your book back up. Pop the earbuds back in. Take off your shoes. Let the journey begin...

Hungary for Hungarian

All you Weight Watchers, the animal righteous, assorted weirdos who woefully winge at the wondrousness of weiner schnitzel, sausage and back bacon, those averse to generous bounties of assorted animal butchery - stop reading now! Transylvanian Wooden Platter is quite clearly not for you.

Transylvanian Wooden Plate

There are few normal things that seem so pristinely gluttonous. Mounds of meat and potatoes - dredged, battered and fried. Sharp knives securing piles of protein to a wooden platter. Veal schnitzel, cabbage rolls and creamy tejföl (sour cream), sausage, bacon, fried mushrooms, pork chops, perogies and potatoes - perfect!

It's hard to find much history on the Hungarian classic, but it would seem as though the traditional mixed-meat barbeque dish originated from Hungarian Transylvania; likely sometime between the brief 'achem' 700-some-odd-year rule of by the Magyars culminating in the 16th century by its division between the Ottoman and Habsburg empires. At the famous Grundel Restaurant in Budapest, they served Fatányéros ("fa" wood, "tanyer" plate/platter) or as one blogger by the same name describes it "the thing on a wooden platter" on the menu since 1900. Containing grilled slices of veal, beef, pork cutlets, goose liver and bacon with a side of thick fries or potatoes and mixed salad, the only way I've seen it around Toronto is in the deep fried form. A complaint, this is not! The platter is practically passed through the oil bath itself and is about the only thing that's inedible.

If you're still reading then you must as mad about meat as I am, and will surely enjoy my review of the best place to eat Transylvanian Wooden Platter in Toronto: Europe Restaurant and Bar.

Read my blogTO review HERE!

Quality Cabbage Roll

Goulash Soup 

Fresh Rye Bread

One more for good measure

Gettin' My Grill On

One of the most beautiful things about the cultural mosaic that exists in Toronto is the ability to find a diverse array of ethnic cuisine.

Following my departure from Korea, the accessibility to the flavourful fare I'd grown so fond of left me with a sense of comfort. Though, despite the proximity and plentifulness of Korean eating parlors, it took a great deal of time to get back in front of the table-top grills I revere so.

Located on the Northern end of Toronto's Yonge Street Korea Town, I visited Charcoal and Salt with a friend of mine a few weeks ago.

Here's my blogTO review HERE!

즐겨 [enoy!]

Our banchan (side dish) spread

Pajeori (green onion salad)

Samgyepsol (sliced pork belly) and Anshim Gui (sliced beef tenderloin) 

Kimchi Jjigae (kimchi stew)

Just can't get enough

Yet another delectable Dim Sum establishment to to add to your roster of primo places to procure this genre of food, in Toronto.

Read up on my most recent BlogTO review of Rol San HERE!

Fried Taro stuffed with minced pork and vegetables

Fried Eggplant stuffed with Shrimp in Soy Sauce

Haar Gow

Steamed Dumplings with Wild Mushrooms and Pork

Pan Fried Pork Dumplings

Deep Fried Pork Spring Rolls

Deep Fried Shrimp Rolls

Shu Maii

Rol San