I do breakfast

Dear Mireille Mathez, Thank you for reading my letter every Sunday! At the end of the summer, you asked for my famous lemon poppy seed cake recipe. Here it is, just in time for the Holidays! Of course, you may also try Ricardo’s version and compare the two. Since my friends love food, I always double the portions so they can enjoy seconds or thirds. Before you start, place the oven rack in the centre and preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Select a large cake or bread pan. The one I’ve been using for 50 years measures 14 inches long, 5 inches wide and 3 inches deep. You could also pour the cake batter into two smaller pans or two round ones, depending on what you have on hand. My life story has been, for the most part, about survival, and yet, at 77, I realize that living is a lot simpler than I imagined. I no longer try to understand those around me. I simply love them, spoil them and occasionally treat them to life’s simple pleasures. My offspring adore the lemon poppy seed cake, and I always double the recipe so I have some to give the children, my neighbour and, of course, my old friends from the coffee shop, who also love my homemade jams. First, dear Mireille, to make a double recipe, carefully wash 6 lemons and finely grate the zest. In a bowl, mix together 3½ cups of sifted white flour, 2 tablespoons of poppy seeds and 4 teaspoons of baking powder. In recent years, I’ve been adding a third tablespoon of poppy seeds. My good friend Eric, a skilled chef, taught me the virtues of this incredible seed. Rich in calcium, poppy seeds are said to strengthen bones and hair, and promote good cardiovascular health. People suffering from anemia can also benefit from their high iron and manganese content to fight fatigue. My friend the chef warned me that poppy seeds tend to become rancid. They don’t have time to go bad in my cupboard, however, because I regularly make this cake. If you get it right, trust me, you’ll find yourself making more. But back to our recipe. Using an electric mixer, combine the following ingredients in a large bowl until smooth and consistent: 1 cup of unsalted butter, 6 eggs, 2½ cups of white sugar, the finely grated zest and juice from 3 of the lemons. Next, add the flour, poppy seeds and baking powder mix. Squeeze the juice from the 3 remaining lemons and set aside to make a light glaze. When the cake batter is thoroughly mixed, carefully line the pan(s) with parchment paper, pour the cake batter in and place in the oven. The cake must bake for nearly an hour, but use the toothpick test to confirm whether it’s ready or not. Of course, I also use my sense of smell and sight to tell if it’s time. Practice will quickly make you an expert. While the cake is in the oven, mix the juice of the 3 remaining lemons with ¾ cups of icing sugar and a little bit of milk in a small saucepan. The glaze will slowly thicken as you stir. Once the cake has cooled, drizzle the glaze over it. Before you start, make sure you have at least 6 large eggs in the fridge. Last winter, in the middle of a snowstorm, after mixing the sugar and unsalted butter together in my large bowl, I realized I didn’t have any eggs. With 4 feet of snow in front of the garage door, I had to wait several hours before my neighbour was able to clear the driveway. I quickly drove to the nearest grocery store to buy extra-large eggs, which I eventually whisked with the butter and sugar, whispering a prayer to the baking gods for good measure. They heard me, because the cake was delicious! From one baker to another, dear Mireille: don’t forget the eggs, and make them extra-large! Letter after letter, like leaves falling in the autumn, I’ve openly shared my life story, my hardships, my challenges and my terrible singlehood which, thirsty as I am, I still carry like an empty pitcher in search of a well. Maybe I should invite my friend Claude over to grate the lemons? Cora ❤️

The calm sea was at odds with the thousand giant fish swirling in my head. What a crazy idea a cruise was! Especially right now, with the company’s office team hard at work refreshing our brand image, concocting new dishes and devising surprises to delight you. So why did I leave? Likely because I needed to let go and give all the experts around me room to do their magic. Despite the small balcony, the incredible view, the gentle roll of the waves, the king-size bed, six voluminous pillows just for me, and a TV almost as big as a movie screen, I missed my world. The morning coffee with my old friends, my iPad with blank pages to fill and the projects that would unfailingly stop to knock on my mind’s front door. Everyone around me had been encouraging me to set sail and take a break. Go and discover Alaska, they said, with its immense glaciers and magnificent totem poles, and enjoy the boat’s gigantic floating buffets, thousand and one enchanting pastries and armada of restaurants, where I could linger as if I were Her Majesty the Queen. It was all wonderful, and yet I found it hard to keep up with the endless delights at my fingertips. All my life, I've been hungry to live and thirsty to share my projects with my children, those close to me, my colleagues and all those who love my big yellow Sun. I walked the length and breadth of the great ship, but I was never tempted by the casino or evening shows. That kind of entertainment has never really interested me. On this massive moving palace, I tried out this thing called “vacation,” and I have to admit, I missed work, writing and my list of projects terribly. My drive to improve my lot in life is still very much alive. Perhaps being in business is like knitting: if you love it, you never stop. A stitch forward, a stitch back. Making progress, whatever the project at hand, keeps my old bones warm. Most of the passengers were couples, accustomed to cruising and living the high life on an all-included package. As for me, I turned in circles. Up and down I went in the elevator, stopping at the wrong level. I confused north and south. A young uniformed Pakistani explained the difference between “starboard” and “port.” Where were the musicians, the singers, the magicians? Where was I exactly, so many miles away from my Sun? The boat was huge, perhaps as big as Quebec City and its suburbs. On this floating island, I lost my bearings. Even when the moon came out accompanied by a thousand stars, the ship hummed like a fantastical city of dreams, games and feasting. The idyllic trip seemed popular with the white-haired crowd. There were certainly plenty of them. The biggest surprise, however, was the large number of Asian families, often with a patient grandmother in tow to look after the little ones. I too could have done with a nanny to tell me a bedtime story. Had I eaten too many sweets? After two consecutive days at sea, a group of us disembarked and walked more than three kilometres to the small village of Sitka. There we admired several totem poles and congratulated the local carvers as they worked. The tiny fishing village reminded me of the poorest village in my native Gaspésie: a wooden church, an unkempt, half-forgotten cemetery and old, dilapidated fishing boats. Of course, every time the boat stopped, tourists flocked to the trays of trinkets. Socks, caps and sweaters saying “ALASKA,” and miniature polar bears and whales of every description. I perused the wares, examined a beautiful shawl adorned with Inuit designs, putting it back to please a young American girl who had her eye on it. All the little villages we visited turned out to be similar; all served the same purpose: to attract tourists and earn a few dollars. In the evening, I’d meet up with my group for dinner, always at the same restaurant, whose menu changed daily. You already know my fondness for seafood, and I certainly made the most of the daily feast. I savoured onion soup or clam chowder and delicious fish plates almost every night. I was dazzled by the extraordinary service: the impeccably set tables, the baskets of tasty rolls, the perfectly rounded butter balls and the magnificent glassware. A member of my Quebec group informed me that the ship housed over 2,000 passengers, with some 1,000 employees at our beck and call. Everything, absolutely everything, was perfect. A seamlessly orchestrated affair, as if a magic wand were guiding the ship. On the fifth or sixth day at sea, we passed by giant glaciers. We were in awe of these icy mountains, captured in photos by everyone who got close to them. Wrapped up to fend off the cold, I took in the landscape from the boat’s highest outdoor deck. In front of me, majestic beauties, photographed countless times. The wind was blowing and my nose was running. A pod of whales appeared, and the ship’s residents cheered when the creatures poked their heads out of the water. Memories of this grandiose show are stored in my heart. Perhaps it was the first time I had been deeply moved by nature. The liner bade farewell to the blue-mauve glaciers, turned around and resumed its northerly course. Passengers who had stayed outside were treated to delicious hot chocolate or chicken ramen soup. I was part of a group of 32 Quebecers, all married except for Aline and me, who had remained single all our lives. I was of course very reluctant to venture off on my own. If I had had a lover at my side, the glaciers would have no doubt melted faster. In any case, let me take Caesar’s famous phrase from 47 BC – “Veni, vidi, vici” – and adapt it to my own story. I came, I saw, I returned. Cora ❤️

I was 20 and 153 days old the day I met the man who’d become my husband. I was a simple, shy and naive young girl who’d studied in an all-girls Catholic school. I was bookish and knew nothing about the pleasures of life. All I dreamed about was attending the Sorbonne in Paris, where I’d been accepted in the writing program. I wanted nothing more than to become an author. Now that I think of it, what in the world would I have written about if I’d never met this odious man who ruined 13 years of my life as a young woman? It’s true, his beauty swept me away. I had studied Ancient Greek civilization and had seen hundreds of statues of Adonis, but the man who pulled me onto the dancefloor was living. He was initially attracted to my friend, but once he settled on me, he looked me straight in the eye; my heart melted like snow in the warm sun. I’d never danced before in my life, and yet I let his arm encircle my waist and pull me towards him. I should’ve known better. In the Ancient Greek civilization I studied, Adonis courted Aphrodite and Persephone at the same time. Zeus, King of the Gods, had to intervene and sort out the rivalry. In the end, Adonis was to spend four months a year with each of them and four months with another person of his choice. A similar story to Husband’s, who kept his multiple goddesses a secret. While I was pregnant with my third child, Husband forced me to abandon everything in Montreal to move to Greece, where he thought he’d easily find work. The money was going to come in faster than we could count. Didn’t he know that all the men his age had left their village for more promising countries? We’d just spent nearly 10 months in Krya Vrysi and had nothing more than when we first arrived, except for an extra mouth to feed. My mother-in-law had finally convinced her son to return to his two brothers in Montreal, where she promised she and her daughter would join us so I could work while they minded the kids. My emotions were becoming clearer for me. My heart could finally imagine better. When Husband ultimately received the money transfer from his brothers, he hurried to Thessaloniki to book our plane tickets. My sister-in-law was crying, her mother was grumbling, and I couldn’t have been happier. The two oldest kids understood that we were going back to “Papy’s” (their Canadian grandfather). They were jumping for joy. I went to get bread and saw my friend Thanassis, who was replacing his father at the local bakery. I was thrilled to see him. — “When are you leaving?” — “I don’t know the exact date yet, but Husband promised me that it would be within 10 days.” — “Your husband,” said Thanassis, “will obviously take his time to haggle down the price of the tickets. Everybody does that with Olympic Airlines. Besides, for a man as pretentious and exceptional as he is, it’ll no doubt work!” I was just glad for my sake. My heart was racing because I was so excited to return to Canada. I would go back to having running water in the house, electrical heat, a telephone, a washer, and of course, a television. All those comforts would make up for the fact that we hadn’t bathed even once in the Aegean Sea. Canadian winters may swallow all the vegetation, but the thick carpet of snow allows us to take a sleigh ride. In Greek villages in 1972, most of the homes had flat roofs which featured one or two clotheslines, depending on the number of occupants. The last load of clothes before our departure turned out to be the most difficult. The November wind bit my fingers as I hung the damp clothes that had been hand-washed and hand-wrung. It was just another reason to leave as promptly as possible before my fingers became red and worn to the bone! What a relief to be headed home. In Canada, we’d be able to once again enjoy frosting on our cakes, pudding chômeur, steamed hot dogs, mustard, ketchup, French fries and mashed potatoes, shepherd’s pie, marshmallows, canned corn, mayonnaise, peanut butter, caramel, sliced bread for toast, large pumpkins and Halloween candy. If we hurried, we might get to see houses decorated with Christmas trees hung with colourful balls. When we arrived in Thessaloniki, getting on a plane was out of the question. Instead, we’d take a bus to Athens. The mere thought of it terrified me. I remembered the crazy gray-haired man who drove us straight into a truck filled with oranges. Thankfully, we had suffered a good fright and nothing more. This time, a young driver sat at the wheel and I calmed down. I had the two oldest kids sitting on each side of me and the baby asleep in my arms. I started to hum a French lullaby, but Husband quickly silenced me. I could only speak Greek to the children even when I sang! At the airport, the winds were gusting strongly, unnerving travellers. The crossing guards at the airport tried to reassure us with kind words. Husband had sat the two oldest kids in a large shopping cart with our two suitcases. The baby wouldn’t stop crying in my arms. In the waiting room, all the passengers seemed worried. Each time I caught a snippet of their conversations, my distress would rise a degree. A powerful wind by the name of “Bora” regularly terrorized the Aegean Sea, keeping the planes pinned to the ground. We were thirsty. We were hungry. We were afraid. Would we safely make it to Canada? Husband was chain smoking, and I prayed in silence. We had to wait until the next day to finally get clearance to leave. With the likely exception of the first-class passengers, everyone who was headed to Montreal had slept on small sleeping mats or the seats in the waiting room. We were finally going to leave Greece. Husband’s dream of barely lifting a finger and becoming rich would never come true. The next morning, we boarded the giant bird and I quickly thanked the great Manitou and pleaded for his mercy to help me get away from Husband. It was impossible for me to flourish in a hostile atmosphere where I was ignored and devalued. I aspired to live in a more noble environment, more virtuous and more generous. A world of goodness, kindness, love, courage and compassion. I was honest and hard-working and very capable of finding a job to feed my kids. As you may already know, I still had to endure Husband for a few more years. Until a certain day in November 1980. I’d been married for 13 years and, that morning, the kids and I found the courage to leave home forever. That was the day I finally emerged from my nightmare. What else can I say about this famous trip to Greece? The National Hellenic Tourism Office would tell you that “tourists from around the world who visit this magnificent country return home dazzled.” Visit and see for yourself! Cora ❤️