The End Is Here

School is done. Third year is over forever. And so now there are no textbooks to read, vocab words to memorize, essays to write, passages to translate, exams to study for. How liberating! But it’s also terrifying like whoa. Every April, I get a little frisson of terror as all the free time starts piling up and I’m not quite sure what to do with it. Somehow, it’s fun to click away an hour on the Internet when the only other option is to do work, but when sunshine and freshly cut grass and the ice cream truck beckon, perusing mommy blogs just doesn’t have the same appeal. And so I socialize to the max, planning lunch dates and tea parties and Skype sessions. There’s lots of talking and giggling and squealing. And after three days of catching up with Rez Friends and School Friends and Home Friends, I’m exhausted, possibly even more than after I wrote my last exam.

And so what is an introvert to do in the long lazy days of perfect weather, before summer plans kick in? I’ve narrowed it down to three brilliantly time-sucking activities.

1. Mainline television shows

I have my shows, like we all do. Back in middle school, the guy sitting beside me in homeroom and I played “Friends Trivia” when we were supposed to be doing creative writing in French. Since then, I’ve had love affairs with The O.C. and Being Erica and Murdoch Mysteries and Big Love and Hart of Dixie and rediscovered my kindergarten infatuation with Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, but I was always very careful to watch in moderation, one episode at a time.

Well, my friends, that has all changed. I have discovered Grey’s Anatomy, all 192 episodes of it. That’s a whole lotta watching to do, and I’ve learned that I’m not so bad at staring, entranced, at my computer screen for hours at a time. I powered through Season 1 (which has, albeit, but 9 episodes) in thirty-six hours, and I’m jonesing for more. It’s bad. I’ve always felt superior to those souls who knock back a series in a week, but I get it now. It’s so easy. You don’t even have to hold up a book, or balance a floppy magazine! You just sit back, press play, and fly away to the dramas of Seattle Grace Hospital.

2. Like, read. Like, for fun.

Books = happy, obvs.

No more pencils doesn’t have mean no more books. I had few friends in grade nine, and so I read almost seventy books. Yes, I kept track. I’ve always been a reader, but now I only have time for what’s on the syllabus. So when I can drag myself away from the wonders of the television, I read. For fun! Right now, I’m in the middle of Small Island by Hilary Mantel, about Jamaicans moving to the UK after WWII. Next on the shelf is a non-fiction book (le gasp!) called The Juggler’s Children by Carolyn Abraham, about her adventures in genealogical research and DNA testing. My dad sent it to me because he heard an interview with Abraham on CBC’s The Sunday Edition, which had also piqued my interest.

3. Experiment!

Sure, that can mean sex swings if you want it to, but it can also just mean trying something new — a new restaurant, recipe, outfit, neighbourhood, exercise class. I don’t have to only eat omelettes, salads and pasta anymore! There is time to concoct culinary delicacies, and so I’ve made scallops (yes, I had to call my mum to ask how, but still), and Baboushka and I made dairy-and-gluten free chocolate cake and a clementine cake, and I have grand plans to try cooking swordfish in the near future.

But for now, Dr. McDreamy awaits. (He is, by the way, another succulent piece of manflesh. But I think we all knew that. Still, a photo for fun!)

Do I Have to Grow Up?

Over the Christmas break, my hometown had a glorious snowfall. The whole town was thickly blanketed in fine, perfect snow. It wasn’t very good quality for packing, but there was a huge amount of it, so I bided my time. By the third day, it had very slightly melted and settled, so that the entire yard was my toolbox. I arrived home earlier than everyone else from work, and slipped out to make my mark on the neighbourhood. The results were great:

SNOW GOON!

By the time my parents rolled into the driveway and my brother sauntered down the path, the yard held a few surprised for them in the dimming light.

GOOD GRAVY, THERE’S ANOTHER!

My brother was reasonably impressed with my homage to Calvin and Hobbes, and my dad was apathetic. My mom smiled a little, and then told me that at one point, I would have to grow up.

My first inclination was to stamp my foot and declare that I certainly didn’t need that, which perhaps proves her point. There’s a precedent to my outrage, though!

I criticize myself most of the time with admonishments to stop being so quiet, and prim, and sensible, and boring. I’m naturally pretty introverted, and very comfortable being alone. I enjoy the company of my friends and can be goofy and sociable with them, and I assuredly miss them when they’re not around, but I never feel lonely. I don’t need much to entertain me, and I can be amused and diverted by the simplest things. This is all to say that hanging with me doesn’t usually entail a totally wild time; one of my friends described it as “adorable homebodiness” and is continually trying to get me to break out of my comfort zone. I’m continually grateful for her efforts, because I always enjoy myself immensely when I do; I’m just not great at thinking of and initiating other social activities besides coffee dates. I will have you know, I am great at coffee dates. If anyone ever needs someone to chat with over coffee, I am your woman.

So when I do get an idea to do something even slightly wild and interesting, I’m quite pleased with myself. Making stupid snowmen doesn’t seem like much, but it’s out of character for me. Even that idea is ludicrous, but that’s how I feel.

This summer, I’m planning to run wild in the neighbourhood; I’m going to to the beach (it’s 15 minutes away from my house that I’ve lived in since I was 9, and I’ve been only twice; this is unconscionable), I’m going to frequent the local movie theatre to see the cool foreign films they show every week, I’m going to play badminton on the front lawn with my brother for hours, and I’m going to hang out with my friends outside of a coffee shop whenever I can. I’ll be working full-time as well, but on my hours off I am going to ignore the fact that I’m otherwise a cool, confident adult. I’m going to have fun! Good gravy, last summer I worked two jobs and didn’t even have time to read a book; I’m never going to willingly repeat that experience. I really don’t have to sacrifice my maturity and regress to childhood in order to justify having a little leisure time to goof off in.

My adulthood is my second childhood, only in this one I’m conscious of what a great opportunity I’ve been given. Let’s live it up!

Rom-Coms/Rom-Drams with Roommates

Sarastotle and I have very…discerning taste when it comes to movies. Oh yes. Quite right. Only the very best for us!

Quality entertainment.

We had absolutely nothing to do the other night–all of our essays and exams were done, and we had already slathered on some shiny new makeup (Sarastotle had recently purchased some glorious pink lipstick and I had just replaced seven-year-old blush [ewwwwwwwww]) for something to do. We were bored, which was an entirely foreign experience to us. Sarastotle’s the brilliant one: she said, “hey, wanna watch a movie?”

More like a rom-dram.

It turns out she had the perfect movie for the evening: the total sobfest, Lady Jane. It stars everybody I love: Helena Bonham Carter, Cary Elwes, PATRICK STEWART, and a half-dozen ugly dresses (gracing both men and women). It also allowed Sarastotle and I to bond over our shared love of the Royal Diaries tween book series of fake diaries of historical female monarchs (specifically, Elizabeth I: Red Rose of the House of Tudor), and books by Carolyn Meyer about various doomed Tudor family members (specifically, the masterpiece Beware, Princess Elizabeth).

This is a different night, by the way. We didn’t just get up and change chips halfway through the evening.

We have a movie night like this every once in a while; well…usually, the movies don’t include executions. We once attended a Classics screening of the movie 300 and spent the movie cringing in the front row as dismembered limbs flew about the screen, kicking their formerly attached bodies in the face or splattering gore. I can’t handle that! Interestingly, I have no problems with seeing real blood or dealing with injury; I was this close to going into Sciences rather than Arts when I was choosing a university, to become a forensic pathologist. Maybe it’s the slo-mo in movies that makes me feel nauseous.

With only a year to go, we’re not going to have very many more movie nights; this makes me sad as can be. I’m going to be raiding my parent’s DVD collection this summer to bring the very sappiest and fluffiest of rom-coms back to Montreal for next year’s movie-viewing. We started our movie adventures with Letters to Juliet way back in first year; it’ll be hopelessly depressing, but we’ll probably end our uni movie-watching with the same sappy movie.

Rom-coms for ever (4 evah!)!

Nostalgia Mondays: Printed Dresses

I WAS DOING FLOWER CROWNS BEFORE THEY WERE COACHELLA-ED.

Spring is in the silky warm breeze this week, and I’m ready to cast off my Mom-jeans and slip into some spring dresses. Spring dresses are necessarily printed–most often with flowers! I really only have one printed dress (okay, so I just bought another today in a roomie shopping trip, but that’s another blog post), but it’s in my closet at my parent’s house, so I can’t whip it out to wear in the glorious weather that I feel is

almost upon us here in Montreal. As I’m trying to decide on whether I should eschew a coat tomorrow in anticipation, I’m gonna roll on back through my memories to any and all printed dresses I had in my childhood that I still covet.I can really only think of two: the flowered number up at the top there, and this groovy blue dress covered in a fruit pattern. I wore the heck out of that blue dress; if I had a grown-up version today I’d wear it constantly. The flowered dress was my “good” dress, for school picture day, or for going out for dinner, or for visiting somewhere; it’s hard to see in the picture, but it had a row of buttons down the front and a full skirt. If I had it today, I’d wear the heck out of it too.

Ooooh. Time to vanish down an internet rabbit hole in search for replacements!

In a sort of cross between the two of them, here’s a shirt dress from Topshop.

Dress from Topshop.

And here we have something collarless, but in the same vein as the “good” Sunday dress that I used to have:

Dress also from Topshop.

And finally, this is as good as it’s gonna get:

Dress by Betsey Johnson, but I can’t find a homepage, only a Google Image.

None are quite right. Maybe I could get a loose knit polo dress and stamp it to make a print, for the blue one? And maybe just find some nice flower-printed cotton and sew myself up something nice for the other one?

I leave you with a lovely pair of Pooh-Bear pyjamas:

Fierce! Work it gurl. Scrunchie-time.

 

Tights as Pants and a Sickkkkk Playlist: The Year’s First Run

Sarastotle is the resident runner of the Players of Prince Arthur, but I am slowly being drawn into the world of running. Turns out, I’m awful at it. No wonder I get winded when I try to climb up the stairs to third floor of the Arts Building (I swear each of those steps are a couple millimetres too high); I have no lung capacity, no stamina! How do I even manage to lug the weight of my body around? This is all going to change this summer. I have a running plan and I’m sticking with it (I had a running plan last summer and I did not stick to it, but shush about that), and I’m even dragging my brother into it too. Three times a week, we’ll be shuffling around the high school track in our hometown. Maybe we’ll even throw some push-ups and sit-ups in at the end of each run. I kinda want some six-pack abs!

Even though I’m not particularly good at it, I find running to be one of the most fun solo sports activities to do in a city. It can be cheap–all you really need are a pair of decent running shoes, and an old T-shirt. Remember to stretch and do a five-minute brisk warm-up walk!

Highlights of running:
5. Sunshine!

4. Fresh air!

3. Nodding ‘sup to other runners in solidarity.

2. Acceptable situation in which to wear tights as pants! Shazam! Look at dem legs!

1. Play-list making!

Speaking of playlists, I made a new playlist to start the running season (defined as: whenever it gets warm enough to brave the air in just my McGill sweatshirt). I listen to a mix of total garbage (as well as Garbage, good band), stuff my parents play on the radio, and the free iTunes Song(s) of the Week(s), and it shows in my running playlists. Throughout the winter, I listened to the same sappy Beyoncé song at least a hundred times in a playlist of about five songs that were equally well-played. It’s not like I have a diminutive iTunes library; I stocked that thing well with my parent’s CD collection. I just really, really love sappy Beyoncé numbers and/or any song that has rhythmic clapping and gospel choirs. If I ever become a recording artist, that’s what all my songs are going to be like.

Playlist 1: SPRING RUNNING TUNES

Length: about 50 minutes

(no particular order)

1. Countdown – Beyoncé

Let’s get this little number out of the way, to start.

2. Annie You Save Me – Graffiti6

Whatever radio station the grocery store in my hometown plays, they LOVE this song. It’s always playing when I go grocery shopping.

3. Girl on Fire (Inferno Version) – Alicia Keys (feat. Nicki Minaj)

This is about as much rap as I can handle.

4. Lonely Boy – The Black Keys

Are the Black Keys hip? I’m kind of out of the loop. I like this one because I can head-bang to it if there are no other runners gawking at me.

5. Bulletproof – La Roux

I danced in a field in first year to this song when the promised Beatles tribute band didn’t show up.

6. The One That Got Away – Katy Perry

EMBARRASSING, I KNOW. HEY, AT LEAST IT’S NOT T-SWIFT (she’s for when we’re hand-washing dishes).

7. We Are Young – Fun. (feat. Janelle Monáe)

My mom likes this song too. She tells me about these guys and Bruno Mars now, all the time since the Grammys.

8. Half Light II (No Celebration) – Arcade Fire

Super-long screechy violin build-up is great for trying to run up hills (like if you’re trying to climb up Mount Royal).

9. Your Man – Down With Webster

I like this song solely for a single lyric about halfway through: “Got a crush like an empty soda can.” BRILLIANT.

10. Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You) – Kelly Clarkson

I got a free gift card for iTunes when I was about 13 for buying a pair of jeans, and I spent it immediately on a Kelly Clarkson song. I had the whole music library of the world to choose from, and I chose a Kelly Clarkson song. I knew then I had no taste. My Kelly Clarkson collection continues to grow.

11. Little Talks – Of Monsters and Men

Good pace for slow jogging.

13. Cerahtonia – Fibes, Oh Fibes!

I have a friend who is on exchange in Sweden this year, and she is on a radio show through her university there. They play great music and have great discussions! You can hear podcasts of the episodes here: <https://www.facebook.com/InternationalRadioExposeYourselftoSwedishCulture>. Anyway, this was played during one of the radio shows, and it’s my favourite random-dance-party-must-dance-now song. Very upbeat, great for running.

Happy running!

Procrasticooking

I’m a big fan of productive procrastination. Don’t want to write that essay? No worries, you have floors to mop and sheets to wash and clothes to fold! Today, however, my chore of choice was to make dinner. I ate a pound of baby carrots and downed four glasses of almond milk for dins yesterday, so I figured I could get my 50s housewife on and actually cook. My fridge was getting a little too full of wilting vegetables, and to use them all up, I made a broccoli-tomato-and-red-pepper quiche, served on a bed of arugula. It sounds fancy, but honestly, it’s like making an omelette but with a little more chopping. Here’s how to do it, with most quantities guesstimated:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Pierce (store bought) pie crust half a dozen times with a fork, place on baking tray, and bake it for 7 minutes.
2. Chop all desired vegetables into bite-size pieces, and sauté quickly. (For broccoli and other harder vegetables, you can blanch for a minute first.)
3. Beat together five eggs, 1/2 c. of cow/goat/almond/soy milk, 3 tbsp of flour, 1 tsp of baking powder, whatever desired spices.
4. Add vegetables into egg mixture.
5. Pour mixture into crust. Make sure that you don’t over-fill the crust; scrubbing away burnt egg from baking trays is not fun. You can easily make a mini portion of veggie scrambled eggs with your leftovers, and snack while the quiche is a a-baking.
6. Bake for 40 minutes.

Only after you’ve cooked and gorged yourself on the fruits of your labour do you have to return to the paper of doom. So take your time!

More Hair-Raising Adventures: Good Riddance, Frizz and Knots!

Mirror-image label, ‘cos webcams are fun.

My hair/fashion/career idol.

In my ongoing quest to become super crunchy, in the hippie-granola sense, I have discovered something new from the pantry that I can slather over my hair: coconut oil! In the beauty blogosphere, this seems to be the no. 1 tip handed out for natural, crunchy haircare; I’m surprised it took me so long to stumble upon it.

My hair is lank, messy, and thin. On the same head, some parts are unexpectedly wavy and unmanageable, and I always regret going out for the day with my hair down because it becomes so full of knots that it’s impossible to comb through by the time I get back home. My hair is pretty straight, but it also manages to have some massive frizz issues. Now that I’ve made those knots into shiny disco balls of glamour , I’m looking for products that will keep my hair flowing freely down my back, rather than bunching itself around my neck in tangles.

To the left is the hair I’ve always wanted, on the head of fictional character Laura Holt, private investigator in the glorious 80s television series Remington Steele. It doesn’t seem too hard to achieve; there’s no intense 80s perm going on, and we totally have the same taste in hats. Would it kill my hair to look like that?

Freshly applied.

Enter, coconut oil, into my life. There are four steps to this miracle:

1. rub oil between your hands to warm it up

2. apply to your entire head of hair and rub it into your scalp

3. braid your hair and pin it up for a couple hours

4. shampoo twice and rinse well, so you don’t end up greasy-looking

Not only did I end up smelling delicious, but my hair was incredibly soft and smooth after it dried. I’ve worn my hair down since then, and there was minimal knotting! Still knots, but not the kind I’m used to. I’m still not 80s gorgeous, but I am inching closer to taming my hair.

Close enough.

Magazines for Miss Austin

Everyone loves getting real, stamped, Canada-Post-delivered mail, and one way to guarantee such magic is by taking out a magazine subscription. I am subscribed to three magazines due to my dearest dad who believes that I should be a well-informed citizen of the world. And so I get The Walrus, The Literary Review of Canada, and Toronto Life. (Well. I asked for that last one. I love living in Montreal, but Trawna will always have a special place in my superior vena cava.) I would get a ton more, but I’m trying to master portion control. Secret confession: I’ve been reading magazines targeted at middle-age women since I was in middle school, and parenting magazines since I was seventeen. Sometimes it’s just easier to contemplate solutions for faraway problems than to tackle trigonometry.

Secret confession the second: in addition to Internet bills, olive oil, paper towels and our twice-monthly bags of chips, Baboushka and I have another household expense — a subscription to Cosmopolitan. It’s pretty wonderful, reading all about mind-blowing sex tips every single month. We like to take the quiz in the back of each issue — apparently I’m not so great at interpreting man-talk but have a healthy attitude towards competition — and make up for the lack of anthro classes in our schedules by perusing Cosmopolitan’s Manthropology section. It’s ridiculous and repetitive, and we have a wonderful time.

But, you know, it’s Cosmo. There’s a stigma. And then there’s us. The über-nerds who Reached For The Top in high school and always attempt eloquence with strangers. Clubbing is for other people, sure, but Cosmo is for us. However, it’s a little bit embarrassing to admit that, isn’t it?

“Hi, I’m Sarastotle, yeah, like the ancient Greek philosopher, and yes, that’s right, there is a half-naked Rachel Bilson on my coffee table. Yup, Taylor Swift is right beside her. And yes, that does say ‘orgasm guaranteed.’ So, what are your thoughts on the geo-political situation in sub-Saharan Africa?”

It doesn’t exactly flow, does it? So we came up with an ingenious plan to fool the outside world into believing that we are not all that cosmopolitan: the fake name. Yes, that’s right, our subscription is in the name of Emily Austin — borrowed from the authors of Wuthering Heights and Pride & Prejudice, with a slight tweak in the latter — and that way our landlords and postman will never know that the girls who read The Literary Review of Canada and get letters from their moms aren’t planning midnight trysts with Italian stallions, or whatever it is that Cosmo readers do.

I guess the actual question is why do we care what the mailman thinks? I mean, I’m sure he’s a great guy, but we’ve only had the briefest of interactions when I sign for parcels. He has no idea who I am and what I do, so why does it matter if he thinks I’m shallow as a bedpan? It doesn’t. I know that. At least I think I do?

Yours in navel-gazing,
Sarastotle

Exam Season Survival Guide

Here at McGill, exams start in a mere three days, the very next day after classes end. Facebook posts are flying about saving seats in the library, which remains jam-packed until the wee hours of every morning. The minutes crawl ever so slowly as you try to squeeze out searing and insightful prose for ENGL or study the cutaneous innervation of the lower limbs for ANAT, and then fly by in a great gust of procrastination as you type your way over to Facebook or celeb gossip blogs or whatever your poison of choice happens to be. And then you’re living off Thai Express and Subway takeout, and showering happens once a week at most, and you don’t see your room-mates, like, ever. Exam lyffe is tough, so here are a few of my favourite tricks to get through it all.

1. Get yo’ move on!

Out for some early morning exercise!

I happen to love to run. I’m pretty terrible at it, especially because I insist on lying like a lump all winter, and so early spring runs are the gnarliest. But it feels super amazing to not stare at your computer/textbook/notes for even twenty minutes and connect with humanity again. So run through the nearest park or pound that pavement from your apartment to campus and back, breathe, and forget about your looming doom. Of course, running is not for everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go for a walk/bike ride/swim! Or try a yoga/pilates/zumba/belly dancing class. A lot of studios offer discounts for your first lesson. Whatever you choose, it’s great to get those endorphins flowing, re-oxygenate your brain, and remind yourself that there’s a whole lotta world outside campus that you’ll get join in just a few short weeks!

2. Don’t forget to eat & sleep.

Nap time with my favourite feline.

And no, fifteen-minute blackouts as your face rests against your keyboard do not count, nor does your fifth fast food meal in a row. Omelettes are the easiest to make — check out this xoJane tutorial — and if you add veg & meatballs/meatball-esque tofu/smoked salmon/whatever protein you desire to pasta, you’re good to go. Alternatively, you can engage in some productive procrastination and whip up an enormous pot of stew/lentils/deliciousness or three or four quiches, and not have to worry about dinner for the rest of the week.

Sleeping is a bit trickier to manage. If you have a paper due tomorrow, by all means, stay up and write it. But if you’ve got more time, download SelfControl. Write in longhand and shut your computer in the closet. Head on over to the library or a café or somewhere that doesn’t have a bed and a fridge in such close proximity. Maybe don’t pop Adderall like it’s candy, but focus as best you can all day long, and then get a solid seven hours of unconsciousness before you start all over again. If that’s just not feasible — and, hey, sometimes it really isn’t — see if you can squeeze in a series of power naps throughout the day.

3. Institute a reward system.

Survival snacks.

Finished that monster paper? Take a mini-break, head on over to your favourite café, and treat yourself to a grande soy tazo chai, or whatever floats your boat. Finally understand the metabolic pathway of benzodiazepines? Make a brunch date with your besties who’ve disappeared under their own finals. Or maybe you just wanna take a long, delicious nap in a pool of sunlight, or have a lovely long chin-wag with your mum. You know you deserve it. Me, I’m a food monster, and when I finished my take-home exam for my Homer/Virgil/Ovid class today, I hightailed it over to the fancy grocery store nearby, and stocked up on over-priced pesto, shrimp spring rolls, stuffed olives and all other things I like to nom on but rarely do.

Good luck!!

Nostalgia Mondays: Gluten-Free Austrian Gugelhupf Recipe

Half was eaten before I could take a picture. The bundt pan skinned the top off of it when I tried to pry the cake out of the pan.

When I was a kid, I lived for six years in Austria (birthplace of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Mozart; if you’re thinking of Heath Ledger and kangaroos, then you’re thinking of Australia). Neither of my parents are Austrian; no one in my family has any connection to the country. This is all to say that Austrian cooking was no great part of my childhood in Austria. We did not cook according to our country. Anything Austrian was cooked by someone else, at a restaurant, or a roadside stand, or at school; my family was, and continues to be, Canadian carb monsters in our cooking. Because Austrian dishes were so rare (and delicious!), they stand out in my memory. The greatest of them all is the Gugelhupf. This is not some fake thing that only tourists eat: real Austrians make this stuff, and it’s delicious!

My memory of the Gugelhupf of my childhood stems from when I was about seven or eight, and was going to meetings at my friend’s house to prepare for my First Communion. We had been organized into groups, and the parents of some students had volunteered to lead these groups in discussion and worksheet-doing. I have no memory of what I was taught or what we discussed; my educated guess is that it was basically Sunday school (there was no regular Sunday school at my church). I do, however, remember the glorious Gugelhupf that my friend’s mother made for us. Lightly dusted with icing sugar and marbled with cocoa, it was beautiful.

A Gugelhupf is basically a bundt cake. As I said, I’m not Austrian; I am sure there are specific qualities that set this beauty apart from your basic bundt. I don’t even have a cherished family recipe to follow; I just adapted a couple that I found on the internet. The one my friend’s mother made was marbled, so that’s how I made it. I’m also gluten intolerant, so this is a gluten-free recipe. Celiacs rejoice! If you’re lactose intolerant, sub almond milk or coconut milk (sooooo tasty) for the cream.

This recipe is adapted mainly from the New York Times’ ‘Old Vienna Marbled Guglehupf’ recipe, which was apparently adapted from Ulli Stahl, the creator of Ulli’s Bisculli, a dessert biscuit. That’s all the info I have. I don’t even have a link. God, I’d make an awful journalist.

A couple of Classics friends, Romans, countrymen, to eat the Gugelhupf.

GUGELHUPF (pronouned GOO-gel-HOOpf, with hard g’s)

1 bundt pan, greased with butter (dust the buttered pan with flour for extra non-stick properties)

4 eggs, separated

2 cups rice flour (or 2.5 cups normal flour, if you wanna be all wheatie)

0.25 cup potato starch (ignore if you’re a wheatie)

1.25 cups sugar

1.5 teaspoons baking powder

1 cup heavy cream

0.5 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1/3 cup water

optional: 1 tablespoon booze of some sort, rum or Cognac (I didn’t have any, and I didn’t miss it)

RECIPE

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter the pan and dust it with flour.

2. Beat egg yolks with sugar and booze until creamy

3. Sift flour with baking powder and stir alternating dollops of yolky sugar and the heavy cream.

4. Using clean everything (bowl, beater), beat the egg whites until you see stiff peaks. This is going to take some time. If you’re a drinker (I’m not), you might want a swig of that booze to keep you going; your arm is going to hurt.

5. Spoon egg whites into batter. Stir it up a little. Divide resulting batter into two bowls.

6. Mix cocoa powder with water to make a paste. Stir this into one of the batter halves.

7. Spoon 2/3 of the plain batter into the bundt pan. Spoon cocoa batter over this. Spoon remaining plain batter over the cocoa batter. Do not mix. It does it itself (MAGIC!).

8. Bake for about one hour. When a toothpick, inserted into the centre of the cake, emerges clean (a few crumbs on it is fine, you’re just trying to avoid gooey, raw, middles) remove cake from heat, invert onto a plate, and let it stand for a couple of hours. Yep, that’s right: a couple of hours. I skipped this step and tore the top of my cake off: cake massacre.

9. When cool, cut into thick chunks, dust with icing sugar, and share with friends.

Mine came out slightly dry and sweet, but it didn’t crumble into nothingness, as gluten-free recipes often do. I think it has to do with the separated eggs: what a revelation! My baking will never be the same! I’m separating ALL THE EGGS. If I’m going to completely disregard any cultural authority on this recipe, I would suggest adding a dollop of apple sauce to make it a bit moister.