We're All Cake

Bundt, layered, or loaf—cake is cake, and we are who we are.

Feb 24, 2025

RECIPE: Chocolate Chip Bundt Cake

Chocolate Chip Bundt is a no-fuss, straight-to-the-good-stuff recipe with rich, buttery vanilla cake studded with chocolate chips, bringing all the nostalgic feels.

Serves: 12-16 (depends on how thicc you cut the slices)
Time: 1 hour (includes prep and bake time)

Ingredients
2 cups (250 g) all-purpose flour
1½ teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ cup (120 g) sour cream
½ cup (120 g) whole milk
1½ cups (300 g) granulated sugar
½ cup (113 g) unsalted butter, softened
¼ cup (58 g) vegetable oil
3 eggs
2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup (180 g) mini semi-sweet chocolate chips
Powdered sugar, for garnish (optional)

Directions

Preheat your oven to 350° F.
Whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl. Set aside.
Whisk the sour cream and milk in a small bowl until combined. Set aside.
In a medium bowl, with an electric hand mixer, cream the sugar and butter until slightly light and fluffy, for 3 to 5 minutes. Stop the mixer, add the vegetable oil, and mix until combined, for about 1 minute. Stop the mixer, add the eggs and vanilla, and mix until combined, for about 1 more minute.
Gradually add the dry ingredients to the sugar-egg mixture with the mixer at low speed, alternating with the sour cream-milk mixture until smooth and well combined. Scrape the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula to ensure the batter is fully incorporated, and fold in the chocolate until evenly combined.
Generously grease a standard-size Bundt pan with baking spray, making sure to coat the crevices of the pan (I mean, grease the s@%* out of it.) Pour the batter into the pan and spread evenly. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a toothpick or cake tester inserted in the middle comes out clean.
Immediately and carefully, invert the cake onto a wire rack and remove the pan. Let the cake cool completely before dusting with powdered sugar and serving. Serve with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

Before we start, let's talk about cake.

If you know me or have read my previous writing, you know I’ve always connected identity to cake. Cakes come in different forms: sheet cake, round cake, layered cake, tiered cake, cupcakes, loaf cake, snacking cake, bundt cake. No matter the shape, the size, or how it's decorated—it's still cake. And we love it. We don't question whether a cupcake is somehow less of a cake than a tiered wedding cake. We accept it for what it is: delicious, and that’s enough.

Same goes for humans.

We all come in different forms. Different identities, different expressions, different ways of moving through the world. But at the core, we are still human. And just like cake, we deserve to be loved exactly as we are.

Which brings me to one of my favorite scenes from Schitt's Creek…

I Like the Wine, Not the Label

David: I do drink red wine, but I also drink white wine. And I've also been known to sample the occasional rosé. And a couple summers back, I tried a Merlot that used to be a Chardonnay, which got a bit complicated.

Stevie: So yeah, you're just really open to all wines.

David: I like the wine and not the label. Does that make sense?

You probably recognize this as one of the iconic scenes from Schitt's Creek where David Rose explains his sexuality to Stevie. When I first saw it, it hit hard. The metaphor felt effortless, the response was understood, and they just moved on. It was said, acknowledged, and that was that.

I remember feeling two things at once: thrilled that a moment like this existed on a mainstream show and jealous that these fictional characters had a conversation about identity that was so simple, so free of resistance. I wanted that. I never got that.

Coming Out Isn't the End of the Story

If you're here and haven't come out, know this: coming out is on your terms. No one else's. There's no rush, no deadline. The moment belongs to you. I firmly believe that coming out—regardless of how others react—is more about your relationship with yourself than it is about the people you're telling. When you're ready—when you've processed your identity, your thoughts, your authentic self—when you've sat with it, worked through it, found peace in it—then the reactions of others don't define you. Because coming out isn't for them; it's for you. It's self-acceptance. Self-acknowledgment. Self-love.

And if you have come out, know the journey isn't over. Coming out is just the first step. You may come out as gay or lesbian, but as you keep living, keep exploring, keep surrounding yourself with the queer community, keep hearing new terms, meet new people, and learn about different identities—you might realize there's more to you than you first understood. Maybe you're not just gay—you're queer. Perhaps you're non-binary. Maybe gender and sexuality aren't as fixed as you once thought. You might learn that you're demisexual or that gender-fluid resonates more than non-binary. The possibilities are endless.

If you allow yourself to keep growing beyond that first step, you open the door to a more fully authentic, deeply honest life. One where you're not just existing—but thriving. The inner dialogue quiets. The self-doubt fades. The loneliness lifts. You get to just be. Because life is about evolution, it's about searching, learning, and unlearning. Growth isn't just physical—our bodies might stop growing, but our minds, emotions, and spirits? They grow until our last breath.

But back to Schitt's Creek.

My Story—The One I Didn't Get to Write at 19

I look at these photos and see someone searching for an identity that feels right to them, not one shaped by others.

I was jealous of David and Stevie because my coming out wasn't like that. I didn't get to say it on my terms. I was forced out at 19. I wasn't ready. I had thoughts and feelings I hadn't fully unpacked, an identity I hadn't fully figured out. I knew "gay" wasn't the whole picture, but the people around me—family, friends, society—shaped what was allowed. And when I came out, I was put into a box: Gay. Full stop.

For 20 years, I lived under that label, even though it didn't quite fit. I kept my head down. I tiptoed through queer spaces instead of diving in. I absorbed knowledge but didn't apply it to myself. I was the "acceptable" kind of gay—palatable, non-threatening. A good partner in a long-term relationship. A pastry chef, but not a gay pastry chef—because I was told not to let my sexuality define me. I lived a conditional life: be gay, but not too gay. Make others comfortable, even if it means sacrificing your own.

That kind of living? It chips away at you. Slowly. Quietly. Until you don't even recognize yourself anymore.

I developed panic attacks. Anxiety. Depression. But something had to give.

At 39, I stopped suppressing.

I spend a lot of time in the car—driving between Columbia, SC (where I live) and Charlotte, NC (where my co-parent and son primarily live). Those hours in the car have become my time to process. I let myself explore.

I started saying things out loud, giving language to the thoughts I'd kept inside. As terms like non-binary, gender-fluid, and queer became more visible, I reflected on my own experiences, my past conversations with myself. Until one drive home, pulling off exit 9B, sitting at a red light before turning left toward my house—I broke down.

Ugly crying.

Because I knew. I wasn't gay. I had never been. I was non-binary. I was queer.

I had never—not once—felt entirely male. I didn't relate to male behavior, and the expectation to perform it made me deeply uncomfortable. But I didn't fully relate to female behavior either. I lived in the space where the two intersected and coexisted. I realized that day: I was just me. Fluid. Ever-evolving. I didn't need to fit into one box or another—I was already whole. And for the first time, I saw myself.

A weight lifted. The self-doubt eased. I felt lighter. Freer. Happier.

And that's why I'm sharing this now. Because I know I'm not the only one who's felt this way. Who's walked this path. Who's taken years—decades—to understand themselves fully. Who's still figuring it out.

So, if you're still on that journey, wherever you are in it—know this: There's no deadline. No finish line. No rulebook. Just you, evolving in your own time.

I'm Justin. A queer, non-binary person. No pronouns necessary—though if you insist, he/they works. But really, it's just Justin.

And that's enough.

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