[Retroactive] TRAVEL LOG:

Vancouver Edition Day 9

DAY TWO HUNDRED FIFTEEN

2016 May 23 [Monday]

[Day 205: 2016 May 13 (Friday)]

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Our final full day in Vancouver now upon us, we made a concerted effort to find an exceptional place to eat our specifically-brought-cash-for crab legs and lobster dinner. With no real luck as of yet, we finally got lucky. We spent our morning the way we spent most of our mornings, eating breakfast, doing the usual whatnots and amusing such-and-suches. Then we hit the town for a late morning/early afternoon excursion in search of the seemingly ideal restaurant we found online. Luck be our guide and we easily found the restaurant and its menu to be exactly what we had been hoping it would be. Despite the host’s [or maître d’?] slight pretentiousness, we made a reservation for 2100 and requested the patio. Apparently, reservations aren’t really that “necessary at 9 o’clock, but I’ll make a note of it for you with the hostess.” Whatever.

Then, we spent the rest of the day in the main downtown area of the peninsula, shopped, talked, walked, sipped iced tea and ate sushi again. We stumbled upon a Victoria’s Secret. Seems odd, but the lifemate and I had never been inside a Vicky’s together [the lifemate claims that he used to frequent them to buy the Very Sexy “for men” whilst in high school, while I used to be treated to Vicky’s undergarments by my mother once I entered high school], and yes, despite whatever qualms one might have about the ethical nature of the production of Vicky’s undergarments, the brand knows how to make a bra and panties. So, the lifemate bought me some unmentionables, and they are awesome.

As a person who, quite plainly, loathes shopping for bras and undies, I just recently [as in a few months ago for the first time in ten years] started looking for and purchasing replacements for my current undewears that are now all holey and/or falling apart. I gotta tell ya, and yes I’m aware of the moral dilemmas with purchasing Vicky’s undies, the brand lasts. I swear, the last time I bought new underwear was about ten years ago, and they all started to fall apart about six months ago. Some pairs that were more delicate started giving up about a year ago, but for the most part, they [the panties] have still been wearable. Of course, I finally pitched all of my ten-year-old undergarments after the lifemate bought me enough unmentionables to pretty much replace every old pair I had. So, yes, whatever the issue du jour may be regarding Vicky’s as a company, its ethics, its exploitation of women, its fat-shaming/skinny-shaming/being-a-woman-shaming, the products I’ve purchased in the past lasted so long that the over-priced nature of the brand seems to have paid off…at least for me.

I think maybe the problem has less to do with the company itself and more to do with consumer buying habits. People talk as if all these companies are just the worst, but these same people are the ones who shop so much that they’ve made these companies the way that they are. If ever a person takes issue with anything, perhaps the world would benefit greatly from that same person taking a look at her/himself. Generally speaking, I often find that the world, as terrifying as it may be, reflects humanity, rather than shapes it. I don’t really know what I’m talking about now, and I’m sure it’s all spewing from a defensive place since I feel somewhat guilty about casting my dollar vote at a store I generally care little for. No matter, if I truly felt bad about my participation in the staying power of Vicky’s, I would not have bought more unmentionables there. The issue for me is that the undergarments I bought in the past truly did last a very long time, and as aforementioned, as a person who loathes shopping for undergarments, I like the idea of not having to buy more undies for another ten years. Anyway…moving on…

After an afternoon about town [an another stop into Lush for a bubble bath bar this time], we chilled out back at the rental for a few hours with a plan to go back out an hour or two before dinner so as to have the energy for a late-night, last excursion around the city.

The plan unfolded as planned. We walked toward False Creek between the Bridges Granville and Burrard, enjoyed the view, sat in the twinkling light of our final sunset in this seeming paradise, meandered to the restaurant where we ate the most epic meal of the trip, if not our lives. With no picture proof [since to take a picture of one’s food at this particular restaurant would be at best, immature, at worst, gauche], the world will simply have to believe me when I tell of how I ate one pound of King Crab legs, which turned out to be about six huge pieces of the largest part of the leg. When I skillfully pulled the meat from its shell, each piece of meat was roughly the size of a sizable bratwurst sausage. Epic.

The lifemate ordered the one pound lobster, which in hindsight was a bit of a regret. He ended up wishing that he had just ordered the steak and added a lobster tail. Never had he eaten a whole lobster before, and after realizing that perhaps tonight [with a ten-hour flight ahead of us tomorrow] was not the best night to explore the entrails of the body cavity; he felt like maybe some weight was wasted on parts that he would end up not eating, etc., etc. No matter, he thoroughly enjoyed the tail and the claws and picked at the tiny bits of meat in the legs. Being the type of a la carte restaurant that it was, we also ordered the mashed potatoes and roasted brussel sprouts sides. Knowing nothing about how to pair food with wine or even other food for that matter, we just went for what we wanted to eat and drink.

Ah! I remember now! This is when we bought the pistachio ganache cake that we actually didn’t end up eating until the next morning. When our server made the rounds to find out if we were doing dessert, the lifemate considered saying yes until I reminded him that I wanted the pistachio cake, to which our server replied, “I’ll just pretend like I didn’t hear that” and walked away. Obviously, I thought this was weird since she was already going to make the appropriate percentage tip on like a $250 dinner, but whatever, I didn’t really like her from the start [especially after she showed way too much excitement for the amount of $ we were spending on dinner as we ordered]. Deciding that she would not ruin my evening, the lifemate asked for the check, left the correct amount of cash on the table as we excused ourselves from the restaurant. Ugh, some people.

As a former server of diners at a very upscale restaurant, I know when to go above and beyond for a table that racks up a check that I know will solidify my night in tips as more than plentiful. But I also know how much it sucks when a table racks up a huge check and doesn’t tip accordingly. Not that I even agree with the whole tipping system, but as a person who has waited tables, I get it. I guess she just wanted to do the bare minimum, just in case we were the latter type of big check. This is probably what sucked. We’re not really the type of people to go to places we can’t afford, so despite her attitude, it felt awesome to be able to eat whatever we wanted at a restaurant like that. Also, it was pretty ephing delicious, so no complaints really. I just think that servers too often forget that they can truly make a person’s night/dining experience better if they’re just pleasant and competent. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I’m just being a spoiled snob; I guess. Perhaps I was this same snob when we ate there. I don’t think so though cause I know that we had definitely smeezed some serious beez, so I had to have been perhaps, overly friendly?, too nice?, annoyingly kind? Ugh.

In the end, we finally walked through the night of the city like we had been wanting to the whole trip. Previous nights found us in bed by 0030-0130, but our plan to chill during the early evening so as to have the energy to be out late worked like all plans should…perfectly.

Another bath, with bubbles this time, and a load of laundry later, we were in bed, sadly falling asleep for the last time on this particular adventure.