Our love tastes like fudge.

As you already know, we opened our very first Cora restaurant in May 1987 and it was an immediate hit. The weekends were especially memorable: the infernal congestion of cars looking for a spot in the tiny parking lot. Families, amazed by what they had heard or mesmerized by descriptions of certain dishes, ran to join the lineup of customers that encircled the building where we occupied the first floor. At the back of the kitchen, my eyes skimmed over the hubbub of the 29-seat space to the bay window at the front, where I could hear the excited clamour of the crowd eager to enter. For a laugh, I’d sometimes whisper to the kids that we were like some creatures on show at an amusement park with six fingers on each hand and hair down to our feet. My youngest would always get annoyed at my dumb imagination, and of course, because they were the only teens whose mom made them work every weekend of their lives. Thank goodness, the crowd wasn’t there to gawk at us, but rather to marvel at what was on their plates. They came to see for themselves if it really was as extraordinary as the rumours. As time passed, the need to offer new items to delight our customers became an ongoing challenge, so we put together a small group of people who were “nuts about food.” We would get together once in a while to whip up some ideas. Nothing was off the table, as long as the new dishes rekindled some childhood memory that still lingered on our tongues. And that’s how, one morning, the beautiful, tall Annie, athletic and lively, arrived to tell us about the story of the famous grilled cheese her mom used to make her when she was little, accompanied by a bowl of Campbell’s tomato cream soup. It was her favourite meal, she declared, her voice trembling slightly. I wanted to know more, but Annie remained mum. We focused on the idea of a grilled cheese that would be so delicious, it would make the rain stop. For the next few weeks, we tested a thousand and one ways to glorify this grilled sandwich and turn it into an amazing meal full of goodness. A simple dish to enjoy as is, accompanied by attractively cut fruit or potatoes crisped on the griddle. A dish that, when made at home, would increase the astonishment at the table fourfold. As a young girl who ate codfish five days a week, served up boiled, pan-roasted, in nuggets, salted or topped with white sauce, Annie’s grilled cheese made my heart cry. Among the best attempts the team presented, I leaned towards the version that we would eventually christen the “TUNA MELT.” Imagine a sandwich sizzling happily away on a hot griddle or in a pan, its belly stuffed with a generous helping of canned tuna perfectly mixed with sliced green onions and just a touch of mayonnaise. Add two beautiful slices of yellow cheese, each one hugging the bread and preventing the fish from slipping from its hideaway. Imagine the first mouthful releasing an explosion of flavours. The tuna’s flesh mixing with the hot, tasty cheese, running onto your fingers. Feel the thrill to your taste buds, the rustling of your memory as it recalls the irresistible draw of forbidden fruit. Of course, you can choose the type of bread as well as the DNA of your cheese. Your little ones will gobble down this simple grilled-cheese sandwich – especially if served with a delicious canned vegetable cream soup or even some chicken and rice soup. With a little creativity, a heat source and a sprinkling of love, you’ll most certainly transform these two staples, bread and cheese, into a true culinary masterpiece. You too will be able to metamorphose this plain grilled cheese into a dazzling meal for your loved ones. The possible garnishes are infinite! “Once familiar and comforting, delicate and refined, the grilled cheese is a sandwich with multiple facets that’s always irresistible, whatever form it takes.” Cora ❤️ Psst: I add a little finely chopped celery to the garnish because it adds a pleasing crunch-crunch to the texture, and also because I’m crazy about celery. I put it everywhere!

Thirty-seven years have passed, and yet, I still remember as if it were yesterday the excited energy I unleashed when I made the outrageous promise to put up four 6-foot-tall Christmas trees in our first tiny restaurant that we had decked out for the holiday season. The idea came to me as I was cutting out small molasses cookies in the shape of trees that I was going to serve for dessert in December 1987. The restaurant had been open for over six months and, as our clientele swelled, so did our audacity. — “Boss, did you fall on your head again after putting up your signs?” exclaimed Platon, our new dishwasher from the Caribbean. “Just make us a Christmas log like you see in all the store windows.” I struck a deal, promising to make him a carrot cake to take home if he helped me install my towering surprises one afternoon after closing. I got down on all fours in the living room of our apartment and cut out four huge padded trees from a large piece of bright green material to put up in the diner’s side windows. Each night during the week before Christmas, I sewed on different coloured felt circles by hand, various ribbon garlands, white cotton ball snowflakes, small blue satin stars, big silver buttons, real small candy canes and eight small pink-feathered cotton birds that an elderly customer had brought me one day “in case I might find some use for them in the restaurant.” The trees were “planted” and installed some days before Christmas, reaching right to the top of each window and within reach of delighted small hands, who were given permission to take the small red and white striped candy canes if they waited until the day after Christmas. Atop each tree, a large star in sparkling yellow brocade perched comfortably, as if content to rest after climbing to the top. In actual fact, it was our brave Platon who got up on a chair, placed on a table, and made sure that each star was securely attached to the top of each tree. — “Platon, I need your help. I’d like to prepare a free Christmas dinner for our most loyal customers. For Mirella, Jean-Claude, Carole, Marcel and for our taxi-driver friends, the brave firemen and for all those who perhaps don’t have a family. What do you think?” — “Are you sure, Boss? It will cost you an arm and a leg to feed all those hungry people who are going to stuff themselves full.” — “Platon! I’d like to make them a really nice dinner, like a Christmas Eve party with turkey and tourtières, and maybe a few of the Greek specialties I’m pretty good at making.” — “Boss, who taught you Greek cuisine?” — “We’ll talk about it later, Platon. Take a piece of paper and write…” — “Boss! You’ve never taken a single day off since the restaurant opened and now you’re going to do dinners?” — “Platon! Stop talking and listen to me. I want to throw this big dinner party on Sunday, December 27.” — “OK, Boss, if you insist. We have 12 days to get everything ready.” — “Platon, let me check the grocery list. Add pork and ground veal for five or six large tourtières and meatball stew. And so my young teenagers, my faithful Platon and I worked with love to surprise and delight 28 people invited at the very last minute to our Christmas feast. All the food was laid out over two red tablecloths covering the long counter. An appetizing, delicious-smelling feast served piping hot! Five large tourtières cut in pieces, a steaming pot of meatball stew, a turkey right out of the oven that Platon quickly carved up, our delicious baked beans with small cubes of ham, a plate of my secret cretons recipe, braised pigs’ feet you could eat with your fingers, a huge bowl of carrot and parsnip purée, my sublime sweet potato gratin and an entire assortment of holiday condiments. Caroline, our morning waitress, had wrapped four large fudge squares in wax paper for each guest to take home for the next day. Marcel turned on the radio, and Mirella and Jean-Claude playfully danced a few steps to the Christmas tunes. My eldest hurried to move the tables towards the Christmas trees to open up space for a dancefloor. Everyone was moving, singing, swinging and twirling real teenagers on vacation. Their bellies full, their hearts satisfied. I was suddenly the happiest woman in the world. The moral of this true story is clear: we should GIVE BEFORE WE RECEIVE. Happy holidays to all of you, dear readers! Below you’ll find a little gift… the recipe for my famous fudge. Enjoy! Cora ❤️ My famous fudge Ingredients 3 cups (750 ml) light brown sugar 2/3 cup (150 ml) melted butter 2/3 cup (150 ml) 15% or 35% M.F. cream 2 cups (500 ml) icing sugar A pinch of love Preparation  Grease a 6-inch x 10-inch pan. In a saucepan, mix the brown sugar, butter and cream. Bring to a boil. When it reaches a boil, continue cooking for 5 more minutes. Remove from the stove. Add the icing sugar while whisking vigorously by hand or with a hand mixer until smooth. Transfer the mixture to the pan, spreading it out evenly. Let cool and cut into squares. Enjoy with a cold glass of milk!

I’ve already told you the story of a delicious recipe a sweet customer had given me back in the early days. Do you recall? Her husband, an Irishman, ate big wieners for breakfast. Almost every morning, he’d show up just before 8, sit down on one of the stools at the counter and order three sunny-side-up eggs, a mountain of potatoes and three large sausages he’d swallow in one go. I couldn’t quite understand why he refused to try our delicious omelettes or generous stuffed crêpes. But, like clockwork, he’d faithfully come in every morning to eat the same comforting dish. This customer, an anglophone, was called Maurice and I eventually named his breakfast order after him: “Eggs Maurice.” This dish appeared on our menu for a very long time and was a best-seller with hearty eaters. As a way to thank me for honouring her husband, his wife brought me a lovely plate of delicious date squares with her own recipe hand-written on a neatly folded, piece of white lined paper. Date squares are just the thing when you want to enjoy a comforting treat that’s both crispy and moist, nourishing and delicious. Read on for Maurice’s wife’s recipe, to which I’ve added my own touch based on some 37 years of experience as a self-taught restaurant cook. To make 9 big squares, you will need a well-buttered 8-inch square ovenproof baking pan. I always double the recipe and I wrap each piece separately before freezing, so I always have some on hand for an evening snack. True, I don’t really have a sweet tooth, but give me a cup of black tea, a good movie on TV and one of these squares, and I’m in heaven. I love dates and I often eat some because they’re rich in vitamin C, E, B2 and B3, and they’re apparently excellent for my old muscles and bones. Did you know? Dates contain zinc and iron and help reduce blood pressure and joint pain. It even turns out they’re rich in antioxidants and have anti-aging benefits. Hallelujah! And now, the recipe! Set the oven to 350°F. Place 2½ cups of chopped pitted dates in a pot with 1 cup of water, 1 cup of brown sugar and 1 teaspoon of vanilla. My secret? I use orange juice instead of water and replace the brown sugar with a small can (398 ml) of crushed pineapple with its juice. Slowly cook the dates, stirring until you obtain a purée. Allow to completely cool. In the summer, I place the pot in a large bowl filled with ice cubes or in a snowbank if it’s winter. A snowbank is ideal for cooling fudge and caramel while you whisk or even a big pot of soup when you need to quickly serve a warm bowl to hungry kids. For the crumble, combine 1¾ cups of quick cooking oats, 1 cup of regular white flour, ¾ cup of brown sugar, a pinch of baking powder and ¾ cup of softened butter in a bowl. Spread half the crumble over the bottom of the well-buttered baking pan. Press down firmly with a fork or your fingers. Next, evenly spread the date mixture on top. Finish with the remainder of the crumble, pressing very lightly and taking care to completely cover the layer of dates. In recent years, I have been reducing the quantity of oatmeal in the crumble slightly and replacing it with slivered almonds. It’s a great idea that I got from a specialty magazine whose name escapes me now. It seems to always make the squares extra crunchy and every mouthful a bit tastier. The key is to make sure you divide up the crumble evenly. Make sure you don’t put too much on the bottom and run out for the top. Maybe date squares are a bit like life! Everything is a question of balance. “Knowing how to love is just as important as knowing how to work.” Oh, how those words hurt my ears: I’m certainly no master when it comes to balance. We can always improve, however, and it’s never too late to surprise yourself. Cook for about 50 minutes or until the crumble is nicely golden. Allow to cool at least 4 hours or overnight before removing from the pan and cutting into squares. I cut them up directly in the pan once they’ve completely cooled and use my egg spatula to carefully remove each piece. I then wrap each square of happiness individually and slip them into the freezer. I divvy up the squares as follows:  two or three for myself, two for my neighbour, two for my granddaughter and two for the beggar, like my Grandpa Frédéric, in Gaspésie, used to say. I thanked Maurice’s wife several times for introducing me to date squares. My Mother had never made any, probably because dates were hard to come by in the Gaspésie in 1950. After Maurice’s wife had shared her recipe with me, I began making them in my first small restaurant, following her handwritten instructions to a T. The customers loved them for a lunchtime dessert. The taxi drivers were the first to ask for a few to take on the road. I had to double the recipe just to meet demand. Recently, while perusing an old menu displaying “Eggs Maurice,” the famous date squares of the wife of Maurice, the Irishman, came to mind. I had to rummage through my memory, my archives and my old handwritten recipe books to find this famous recipe for date squares. I thought you might like this recipe so you can treat your family and friends over the holidays. You should double it too! From me, to you, with all my love. Cora ❤️

I believe that creating is more than a gift from heaven. After publishing some 250 letters, do I still have it in me to fight routine? Being creative is a state of mind I cultivate daily. Others do it while drawing, knitting or composing amazing music. Sometimes the flame inside me flickers, wanes or soars. Writing for me has become the soil of real transformation. To create, I have to take risks, open myself to the unknown, be empathic and advance slowly like a mouse from a cupboard. I feel my way forward, always worried I won’t be able to successfully pull together ridiculous lexical behemoths. When I was a businesswoman, my favourite hobby consisted of threading lovely beads on a string to make myself bracelets or necklaces I’d wear with pride. I love to create. Today, I assemble vibrant paragraphs to embellish the page. I employ beautiful words; golden agates colouring the meaning of each sentence. All my lines wish to rid me of fear. I’m training to be at peace with making mistakes, surprise myself and be the sole defender of my viewpoint if need be. So many letters have come from my fingers, so many hesitations, fears and perhaps contradictions. It’s as though I’m weeding a new garden every week; a modest harvest for my readers’ hearts. I love creating so much, adding my personal touch and grain of salt, like a brushstroke or springtime breeze. I’ve already told you about Julia Cameron, the well-known creativity coach who suggests we take a blank piece of paper each morning and note down by hand everything that comes to our minds in 20 minutes, without thinking or worrying whether it’s neat. As a result, ruminations, worries, small and big frustrations – everything that stops imagination and creativity from emerging – are ejected. By giving myself completely to this exercise every morning, I quickly realized I was also releasing things that didn’t have an outlet. At the mid or end point, ideas, desires and projects come to light too. Cameron also suggests to re-read our texts no more than once a month so as not to impede the momentum. Creativity experts are unanimous: it’s essential to put our mind to rest regularly, to relieve it from heavy thinking and the usual activities. Isn’t that what I did despite myself during my Alaskan cruise? Every morning, after two or three coffees, I tried to find a topic to write about without any result. Unconsciously, I suppose, I let my thoughts sail on the blue wave. Sometimes I’d desperately search for the heads of surfacing whales, other times I’d be ecstatic over a rose-purple glacier. Unable to translate so much beauty, my white pages remained empty of words. Recently, I wanted to empty my head and finally open my heart. I shared with you this period of my life in Greece, spread over 10 painful letters. Back in those days, I was trying to escape reality. I wanted to embellish it. I wanted to die. But my babies’ tears brought me back to the present moment, and to life. As I write these lines, my Zorba the Greek is 91 and still alive, but he no longer dances. He spent the last 30 years in his native land, in Thessaloniki. Our oldest son recently crossed the ocean to visit him at his bedside in a hospital. He was told that his father had contracted a highly contagious virus. What will become of him? Will I ever manage to forget all the miseries this man caused me? Before death carries him off, may my heart forgive him! Cora ❤️

Ingredients 1 cup (250 ml) unsalted butter 1 cup (250 ml) Kraft Crunchy Peanut Butter 1 cup (250 ml) white sugar 1 cup (250 ml) packed brown sugar 2 eggs 2½ cups (750 ml) sifted flower 1 tsp. (5 ml) baking powder ½ tsp. (2.5 ml) salt 1½ tsp. (7.5ml) baking soda Directions In a bowl, cream together butter, Kraft Crunchy Peanut Butter, white sugar and brown sugar until smooth and fluffy. Scrape down sides of bowl as needed. Mix the dry ingredients together and set aside. Once the Kraft peanut butter mixture is creamy, reduce the speed and add the eggs one at a time. Slowly add in the dry ingredients. Shape into cookies and press down with the back of a fork. Cook in the oven at 375°F (190°C) for about 10 minutes.

Ingredients 2 ¾ (680 ml) cups all-purpose flour, sifted 2 tsp (10 ml) baking soda 2 tsp (10 ml) ground cinnamon 1 ½ tsp (8 ml) ground ginger 1 ½ tsp (8 ml) ground cloves ½ tsp (3 ml) salt 1 cup (250 ml) butter, softened 1 egg 1 cup (250 ml) brown sugar, packed ¼ cup (60 ml) molasses Preparation In a large bowl, add sifted flour, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, cloves and salt. Mix well and set aside. In a separate bowl, cream the butter. Add the egg, brown sugar and molasses. Mix to a smooth paste. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients. Mix well. Cover and refrigerate the cookie dough for one hour. Preheat oven to 350°F (175˚C). On a floured surface, roll out the dough to a thickness of ¼ inch (6 mm). Cut out cookies in desired shape using a cookie cutter and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until the cookies are firm. Baking time will vary depending on dough thickness. Allow to cool and decorate as desired. Makes: 48 medium-sized cookies.

This morning brings a furious sky like a stormy sea or battlefield, ink blue, black lines, holes in my head and my fingers hard at work, drumming on the keyboard. The days slip between these pages filled with words that make no sense. Through the café’s window, I observe an angel who’s busy cleaning the celestial vault. They colour the vastness of the sky with a single droplet of blue dye. It makes me forget about my dream, my age and the creaking of old bones. Starting out young and green like my favourite tree, I’ve become an ancient aspen that sometimes trembles. In the back of the lot, this majestic tree and I age together. Our spotted coat of bark is becoming more brittle, but our sap gets a bit wiser each day. There are a million words in my knapsack that assemble into half-decent stories with each passing day. My imagination has that power. Every morning, it knits a bit of warmth for me. It remembers old victories, deserved trophies and handsome faces I should have loved. “Writing is only possible by writing,” according to French Canadian author Robert Lalonde. All I wish for is for my mind to turn out nicely written sentences, egregious adverbs and remarkable words that link together to tell a story. I try to soothe my hesitation and fears; I’m afraid of ghosts that might refute me. This morning, the blank page before me is as vast as the Sahara Desert. Back at my kitchen table, I smell the sweat of the wilted September flowers. My old body trembles; I curse the damned ticking of time. Will I soon see the land promised to good women? I try to put my head to sleep, but it stubbornly insists on dreaming with eyes wide open. Could Morpheus leave me behind? After drinking a few cups of coffee to wake up, accompanied by one or two biscotti, I start to write while the clothes go around in the washing machine. Five or six times every day, I look for my magnifying glasses. Maybe they’re under a cushion, on a table buried beneath books, behind a couch or in my Mini. I’m always searching for something. Through the row of windows in my kitchen, I watch as autumn dries to shades of brown; I feel the wind getting colder. The birds have emptied all the feeders. Will they migrate, sleep in the hollow of a tree or in the needles of pine trees? Like I do each year, I’ll throw them a real feast before winter lays its coat on the ground. As a young girl, I remember writing in the basement, near the old washing machine. The grumpy wringer as background music and the bogeyman’s bright yellow eyes watching me through the window. I was 7 or 8 when I wrote my first poems. Dad sharpened the black lead of my pencil with his pocket knife. I wrote on the back of old calendar pages that Mom would save for me. I’d write new words and short sentences, the beginning of stories that I hid in my pillowcase. Seated at the kitchen table made from Formica, we’d cut out our drawings and stick them on the back of pages from the calendar using cooked potato skins. In the winter, we’d skate on the ice-covered stream; my nose ran, my young years floated away. Later, sitting at a park bench in the fall, I’d grab my blue pen and open my notebook. I’d jot down a sentence and then a second, just as wobbly as the first. With loose leaves at my feet and a few ants climbing my leg, waiting for the right word was unbearable, just like it is today. Lost in thought at my big kitchen table, another fragment of the past appears. April 2016, Kyoto. The cherry trees are in bloom, dressed in every shade of pink and white. I visit the geishas’ quarters on foot in Gion. Their faces and necks are entirely white, their lips a deep shade of red. Their makeup is an art form; their outfits as fine as the work of the Old Masters; their smiles indelible memories... I’m ending today’s letter with the extraordinary words of the great writer Nikos Kazantzakis in his last book “Report to Greco.” “My entire soul is a cry, and all my work the commentary on that cry.” I try to console this aging heart, to coax it to freely say YES! Forced to grow up quickly, I often get the impression I’ve toiled too much. I never learned to dance or to love. Sometimes I hear my heartbeat roar like thunder. Maybe it’s a bell that’s ringing or a fire truck siren sounding, or maybe, a handsome lover falling down my chimney? Dear readers, the sky this morning was heavy with debris and I struggled to write. Was it the raging sky? Was it me? Was it my aging heart, still determined to love? Cora ❤️

Ingredients 2 cups (500 ml) butter 2 cups (500 ml) white sugar 2 eggs 4 tsp (20 ml) vanilla extract 5 1/3 cups (1325 ml) sifted all-purpose flour 1 tsp (5 ml) baking powder ½ tsp (3 ml)  salt 1 cup (250 ml) candied fruit Optional: chocolate chips or nuts   Preparation In a large bowl, cream butter with electric mixer. Add sugar, little by little, until blended. Add eggs and vanilla. Mix well. In another bowl, mix flour, baking powder, salt and candied fruit (add chocolate chips or nuts also, if using). Add this mixture to the sugar mixture and stir until blended. Divide batter into 3 equal parts, shape into logs and wrap in wax paper. Refrigerate for at least 3 hours (logs can also be frozen for several weeks before baking). Before baking, slice logs into 5-mm pieces and place on cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C) and bake until cookies are golden (about 10-12 minutes). Click here to learn how to make this gift wrapping.

Below are some tasty DIY holiday treats you can make for friends, family or coworkers! To make these sweet holiday treats, you will need food-safe clear plastic fillable ornaments or plastic pastry bags to hold your decadent creations, as well as ribbon, bows, gift tags, and other festive materials to decorate your DIY gifts. Salty Caramel Hot Chocolate Ingredients: 2½ cups (625 ml) sugar ½ cup (125 ml) cocoa 4½ tbsp. (68 ml) of fleur de sel 1 cup (250 ml) powdered milk ¾ cup (190 ml) brown sugar 1½ cups (375 ml) semi-sweet chocolate chips Directions: In a bowl, mix the sugar, cocoa, fleur de sel, powdered milk and sugar. Remove the ornament stoppers and place equal amounts in each ornament using a funnel. Lastly, add the chocolate chips. Replace the stopper in the ornament. Attach a gift card with hot chocolate preparation instructions. Write the following directions on the card: Stir the mixture. To one cup of water, add 2 tablespoons (30 ml) of the mixture and a few drops of vanilla. Whisk well. Warm over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Serve and enjoy. Rudolph Hot Chocolate Ingredients: 1½ cups (375 ml) sugar ¾ cup (190 ml) cocoa 2 cups (500 ml) powdered milk 1 cup (250 ml) semi-sweet chocolate chips 2 cups (500 ml) mini marshmallows Decoration: 2 attachable eyes 1 red pom-pom 1 brown pipe cleaner Directions: In a bowl, mix the sugar, cocoa and powdered milk. Pour the mixture into disposable pastry decorating bags. Finish by adding chocolate chips and marshmallows. Close and seal the pastry bags. Decorate with the eyes, pom-pom and pipe cleaner. Attach card with preparation instructions, and give as gift Write the following directions on the card: Place the marshmallows aside. Mix the chocolate chips into the powder mixture. Into a cup of water, stir 2 tablespoons (30 ml) of the hot chocolate mixture. Whisk well. Warm over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Add a few marshmallows on top, serve and enjoy.   Peppermint Hot Chocolate Ingredients: 1 cup (250 ml) sugar 1 cup (250 ml) cocoa 1 cup (250 ml) powdered milk ½ tsp (2.5 ml) salt ½ cup (125 ml) crushed peppermint candy cane ½ cup (125 ml) mini marshmallows Directions: In a bowl, combine the sugar, cocoa, powdered milk and salt. Remove the ornament stoppers. Pour the mixture into the ornaments in equal parts using a funnel. Add the broken candy cane and the marshmallows. Replace the stopper in the ornament. Attach a gift card with hot chocolate preparation instructions. Write the following directions on the card: Place the marshmallows aside. Mix the hot chocolate mixture with the candy cane. Into a cup of water, stir 2 tablespoons (30 ml) of the hot chocolate mixture. Whisk well. Warm over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Add a few marshmallows on top, serve and enjoy. White Hot Chocolate Ingredients: ¼ cup (63 ml) sugar 1 x 3.3 oz. (102 g) vanilla pudding mix powder 1 cup (250 ml) powdered milk ¼ cup (63 ml) sugar snowflakes 1 cup (250 ml) white chocolate chips Directions: In a bowl, combine the sugar, vanilla pudding mix and powdered milk. Remove the stoppers from the ornaments and pour in the mixture in equal parts using a funnel. Add the sugar snowflakes and white chocolate chips on top. Replace the stopper in the ornament. Attach a gift card with hot chocolate preparation instructions. Write the following directions on the card: Stir the ingredients. Add 2 tablespoons (30 ml) of the mixture into 1 cup of water. Whisk well. Warm over medium heat stirring occasionally. Serve and enjoy.

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 ❤️

Servings: 8 crêpes Ingredients: 11/3 cups (200 g) plain Cora crêpe mix 11/3 cups (325 ml) milk (or plant-based beverage) 2 strawberries per bowl 10 blueberries per bowl 4 blackberries per bowl 5 raspberries per bowl Whipped cream Mint leaves After Eight chocolates   Chocolate custard 1/2 cup (125 ml) sugar 2 eggs 1/4 cup (60 ml) all-purpose flour 1 tbsp. (15 ml) cornstarch 2 cups (500 ml) milk 2 tsp. (10 ml) vanilla extract 13/4 oz. (50 g) chocolate chips   Preparation: For the custard On a work surface, whisk together the sugar and eggs in a saucepan. Add the flour and cornstarch and mix well. Stir in the milk, vanilla and chocolate. Bring mixture to the boil over medium heat, constantly stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan. Allow to simmer for 1–2 minutes. Stir to make sure the chocolate has completely melted and the mixture is smooth. Pour into a container and place plastic wrap directly on the surface to cover. Refrigerate until completely chilled, about 2–3 hours. For the crêpe bowls To prepare 8 crêpes, place the Cora crêpe mix and milk (or plant-based beverage) in a bowl and vigorously whisk together until the batter is smooth. Lightly oil a non-stick pan and heat over medium high. Add ¼ cup (60 ml) of the batter to the centre of the pan and rotate the pan to spread the batter uniformly over the surface. When the edge has coloured and easily lifts away, after about 1 minute, flip the crêpe over using a spatula and continue cooking for 30 seconds or until cooked. Remove the crêpe from the pan. Repeat Steps 5 and 6 with the remaining batter. Preheat oven to 300°F (149°C). Place the crêpes in lightly greased ovenproof bowls (one crêpe per bowl). Place in the oven for 15–20 minutes, just long enough for the crêpes to harden. Once the crêpes have cooled, carefully unmould and set aside. Slice the strawberries and mix all the fruit together in a bowl. Place ¼ cup (60 ml) of custard in each crêpe bowl. Arrange the fruit on top. Garnish with some whipped cream, mint leaves and an After Eight chocolate. Bon appétit!

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 ❤️