Mx Faker you make goooooood Cookies!

Anyone else not inherit any recipes? Grow up with a culinary and historical void where other people had comfort food and family histories?

I remember growing up and seeing family recipes everywhere; all my friends families had them! From polish cabbage rolls and Acadian met pies to Tartatin and Tea Biscuits! Recipes passed down from generation to generation.

They’re all over pop culture. Every sitcom or romcom had them so why didn’t my family have any?

I always felt really ripped off and disconnected from the womxn who came before me. My mom baked occasionally, but working full time and having 6 kids didn’t leave much leisure time. On top of being time poor her mother had died when she was very young and therefor she never had a chance to be handed down family knowledge.The memories I have of baking with my mom mostly involve reading recipes of ta bag of chocolate chips, porridge oats, or jar of peanut butter.

My auntie, my dads sister, baked almost constantly! She was amazing at it, but being a plus sized womxn in a family of fat-shamers there was always a tinge of sadness when we’d bake together. I think having been raised by a feeder incapable of showing genuine affection(my paternal grandmother is mean af) really took it’s tole. Complicated emotions and family trauma aside(lol not really you can’t escape them)… the vast majority of her recipes came from cookbooks… many of which with titles like ‘Eat, Drink, and be Skinny’. Family are wild like that, inheritiing generation trauma and having it layered like a fudge cake between new traumas! It’s no wonder I have a warped relationship with food, my body, and self image.

I remember being told about how great a baker my great Grandmother was, but where those recipes ended up I never knew.

The only source of anything resembling ‘family recipes’ in my life is a now greatly contested cookbook from the 1920’s. I say greatly contested because after my parents divorce the both claimed it belonged to them. My father claims it belonged to the aforementioned great grandmother, and my mother claims it belonged to her mother. I don’t believe either of them to be honest and I don’t really care who it belonged to as long as I can be sure I’ll be the one to inherit it… fingers crossed.

Last year I had my brother photograph a few of the recipes and email them to me. Molasses cookies and gingerbread to be specific. I think I’m the only one in the family ever to have used the book. It lives on a back shelf and gathers dust and that breaks my heart a little. I’ve made maybe a dozen recipes I’ve found in it’s 500+ pages which is barely scratching the surface. Having been written in the 1920’s much of them need updating or substitutions as they can be a bit dated and heavy on the LARD.

Contested Cookbooks aside I never really felt like I had inherited recipes. There’s no box of tattered slips of paper, with flowery hand writing from matriarchs past, stained with butter and egg, that I can finger through in times of need. I ‘d say I’m pinning for a romantic ideal… but I’ve seen them! They exist! In the kitchen cupboards of friends and chosen family, guarded and cared for and catalogued meticulously for generations to come.

It’s is just another way in which I feel unconnected to my past. I’ve always felt as if no one before me existed, not really, they were all just made up, there’s no proof they existed… even in my childhood these existential thoughts plagued me. Would I be forgotten or erased because of lack of care? Would no one guard my memory or care for what I left behind? I was a melancholy child for sure. We all live in a simulation anyway so whatever. Long live the matrix.

I don’t plan to have children, not biological ones anyway, but regardless I want to leave a collection of recipes behind. Foods I’ve poured love and time into to taste test and to master. I don’t want my tomb stone to read; Made Great Cookies… but I want it to be known that I did, in fact, make great cookies. So having picked up a pack of Nestle* chocolate chips from the isle of ‘American Specialty Food'(having thrown my better judgment and moral convictions aside for a taste of nostalgia) I got to baking.

I decided to try out a recipe from TASTY that did not disappoint. The recipe will need a few small tweeks, a bit more salt I think, and it might just go into the recipe log I’ve started to keep for future generations…


What’s your ideal chocolate chip cookie? Is it chewy and gooey or crispy and crunchy? Milk or dark chocolate chip?

Where did you get the recipe? Family? Friends? A cookbook? The internet? Did you make it up?

Best served with milk or coffee?


Since I’ve been trying to cut out as much dairy as possible from my diet I enjoyed my cookies with coconut milk and I’ve got to say it was a perfect pairing!

*Nestle is a thoroughly evil company from stealing water to forced labour and much much more. I go out of my way to ensure I’m not giving them money or supporting them, but this time I caved, just once, because we can’t all be perfect all the time.

Happy holiday weekend!

This weekend is shaping up to be the warmest may bank holiday on record so bright colours and florals were an obvious choice.

The shoes although a great style choice weren’t the most practical. They’re pretty thick and did make me quiet warm. But overall the outfit was a great success. I say that because I am vain, I felt good, I got lots of stares while shopping in Selfridges and on Bond Street and the MOST fabulous drag queen told me I looked great so there’s that.





Don’t forget you can shop my closet here.

No Gods, Only Pancakes.

I don’t believe in a God, but I do believe in pancakes.

Growing up in a small town on the eastern coast of Canada God was omnipresent. To say I grew up in a time warp would be an understatement. We were still expected to recite The Lords Prayer along with the National anthem every morning in school… I refused to do either, four years old and already suspect of both god and country.

In the 4th grade a friend took me as a ‘guest’ to their bible study day camp and when asked what church I belonged to I replied without shame or apprehension that I was in fact an unbaptised bastard and that ‘my parents raised me without religion because they want me to find one that is right for me when I was old enough to understand what religion means’. I still remember the look of horror on the Sunday school teachers face and the astounded whispers of the other children sat campfire style in a circle as the teacher hurried from the room. I was awarded CAMPER OF THE DAY before I left, they took my picture with a polaroid camera, taped it to a xerox award certificate and handed me a bag of skittles. They tried to convert me with skittles and at the tender of age of 8 years old I remember climbing into my moms car at the end of the day and cackling with her about how ridiculous it was that they thought they could buy my soul with candy.

There was a picture of beautiful white Jesus in my middle school, which in the 7th grade I circulated a petition to have removed, positing that it excluded and othered those students who did not in fact believe in white Jesus… or any Jesus for that matter. My petition failed and I’d bet you a dollar if I went back to SMJH it was still hanging in the stairwell even more sun bleached and irrelevant as it was 18 years ago.

I went to a high school attached to a convent, where at the age of 16 we tried to summon satan with a copy of the Necronomicon found at a local used book store. Not only did we fail, but not a single Sister came shrieking down the hallway nun-senses tingling.

God was always present in my childhood, like a friends weird uncle, always lingering at the fringes of the party with candies in his pockets. All the other kids love to sit on his lap and be fed candy… but my gut always told me NO! RUN!

Every single year, every school I attended, from the age of 4 until I was 17 celebrated Shrove Tuesday by cooking a massive pancake feast. It wasn’t until I was in highschool(attached to the convent) that I actually realised that PANCAKE DAY was in fact a religious holiday! I had been duped! I had, in naivety and dreams for a secular school system, thought it was just a regular part of ‘Winter Carnival’, which was celebrated at the same time each year. Carnival included events like ‘Pyjama Day’ and trips to the local ice rink for an afternoon of skating, so pancakes didn’t seem out of place. When I finally did discover the truth I felt betrayed and swore off pancakes for a time.

I have since come to terms with this great deception and have accepted Pancakes once again into my heart, Maple Syrup as my Lord and Saviour.

The problem now is that my partner and I disagree on what is and is not a PANCAKE. They would have us eating crêpes today! BLASPHEMY! Pancake day is for PANCAKES not crêpes.

I’ve included my favourite Pancake recipe, may your pancakes be fluffy and your Maple Syrup be Grade A Dark from Nova Scotia(the best)!



  • 2 eggs
  •  1 3/4 cup milk
  •  1 teaspoon vanilla essence
  •  2 cups flour
  •  1/3 cup sugar
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • pinch of salt

Whisk eggs, milk and vanilla together in a bowl.

In another bowl sift flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt together.

Make a well in the centre. Add milk mixture. Whisk until just combined. Don’t over whisk! You’re pancakes will come out chewy.

Let stand for 2-3 minutes, this is a step most people miss but it is so important! This resting gives the baking soda time to work its magic and make lovely bubbles in your batter and will mean your pancakes and extra fluffy!

Using a ladle or small measuring cup GENTLY(you don’t want to lose those lovely bubbles!) scoop batter into a medium-hot greased pan.

When you start to see bubbles rising and popping on your pancakes it’s time to flip them! Remember to be gentle as you don’t want to lose those bubbles!

Serve with Nova Scotian Maple Syrup for best results.


Tokyo; 1



Dinner in Shibuya-ku

Yodobashi Akiba – Worlds largest electronics store.

Tokyo Park Hyatt