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| - Ode to a K-town Staple
Picture this: it's a cold day in Toronto, you step off Bloor street in Koreatown and into the warmth of Hodo Kwaja. Venturing to the order counter through the long and narrow walkway, you're greeted by the mechanics of their walnut cake maker, busily moulding, filling and assembling little walnut shaped and palm sized cakes.
Once at the counter, you are presented with a display of the finished walnut cakes, filled with mashed potatoes and walnut, mashed potatoes and almond or red bean.
Adacent to the display is a griddle, tucked away to your right, with pancakes, hotteoks, sizzling to perfection. Everything is hot and fresh, and you do the only sensible thing, you get everything---pancake and walnut cakes.
Because of the cold and because you're a sweet-toothed demon, you grab a seat in the back and bite into the pancake straightaway. Its texture is light, fluffy, everything a pancake should be. The next bites yield an overflow of hot molten brown sugar. Your tongue narrowly escapes, but your hand falls victim to the sweet lava, a worthwhile casualty. Besides, after the cold exterior, you don't mind too much, but proceed with caution to savour the hot sugar, cinnamon and sunflower seed filling. It's everything you knew it would be, it tastes like magic.
Pancake in one hand, you reach with your other hand into the paper bag filled with warm walnut cakes. The first you try is a mashed potatoes and nut filing, you can never quite tell the walnut and the almond apart, you probably eat them too quickly. The thin layer of cake has a toasted firmness and the filling is fine as sand, not too sweet without a discernable trace of potatoes. On the next draw, you pick red bean, which never happens on the second try, but you welcome the surprise. By contrast, this little nugget packs a natural sweetness, you eat it slowly, gradually taking it in.
As you indulge quietly in the back of the buzzing establishment, something on the wall grabs your attention. You stare at the photograph of a bowl of shaved ice, loaded with toppings. You quickly make a mental note to come back in the summer---then you remember it's Canada. "What the deuce," you tell yourself, "I'll just come back next week."
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