Esperando*

Got a call from the genetic counselor this morning. Ducked into the tiny “phone booth” room sandwiched between the men’s room and the two mother’s rooms in our office for the impression of privacy. As one who used to sit at a desk just outside all three amenities, don’t be fooled: there’s no sound-proofing in that snug refuge.

Good news! Genetic testing revealed….nothing. Sharp little tears of relief.

And I scheduled the MRI-guided biopsy for the first available time slot. Which is 10 days from now. When asked how long the procedure should take, Nurse said, “Give yourself three hours.”

Which means that 229.5 hours from now, I should be out of the dreaded MRI machine and wearing an ice pack.

*waiting

Recapitulation

This week was….long. Surgery can’t happen until there’s an answer for the “to what extent?” question. At the suggestion of my oncologist, two additional tests were performed.

On Tuesday, I went for genetic counseling and a blood test. Might not be covered by insurance. It can take 2 weeks for results to come back.

Friday morning I went for an MRI. A dazed-looking woman in the locker room shared that she’d just had an MRI biopsy. Did not know that was a thing. Did not realize this was foreshadowing.

I do not care for physical confinement. Never been a fan of krautrock. Face-down in a tiny tube for forty-five minutes pushed my limits considerably. After an initial panic attack, I dug in. Effective coping mechanisms included diaphragmatic breathing, giving Kraftwerk the benefit of the doubt, and creating elaborate narratives about how Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick secretly hated the avant-garde and retreated to the comforts of milk and gingham after long days at the Factory.

For the second half, a contrast agent was injected via IV.  Through the earplugs I heard the sweet technician say, “You will feel cold. It will taste funny.” It was freezing and my mouth filled with metallic dirt. And then it was over and she said results would come back in 4-5 days. I went to work with smudged mascara and lines all over my face.

The doctor called a few hours later; I ducked out of a meeting to answer  (anyone else noticing a trend here?). Suspicious-looking spots were sighted. Another biopsy will be performed. An MRI biopsy. I need to work on my breathing.

Baby steps

I can identify with the thought that “hope is the thing with feathers*.” But patience is a virtue with which I am not endowed.

Today was the first step of many. We met with my surgical oncologist for the first time to map out what I thought was the full plan for kicking the shit out of breast cancer.

Turns out this will be more of a prolonged lingchi effort than one epic street brawl. More tests are needed to determine the extent and type of surgery required. And I was stunned to learn that the treatment plan can’t be formed until after the results of surgery.

So…booking more appointments and taking things one step at a time over here. And trying to remain hopeful.

*Really looking forward to that new movie about Miss Emily Dickinson.

Support system

Scary times reveal truths. As Magic Johnson said, “When something happens to you…and then you find out who really your friends are.”

I’m fortunate to have a deep bench of friends from every court, pitch, field, and locker room of my life. Which is funny because I suck at sports and don’t play any.

The support and generosity from friends and family is humbling. And then there’s the Husband, who has been my champion since 1997.

Diagnosis breast cancer

Bless me, mother, for I have sinned. It’s been 4 years since my last mammogram.

In early April, I went for a regular screening mammogram. Which got a call back. Literally: They call you on your cell phone when you’re sitting at your desk in your open floor plan office environment.

A week later, there was a diagnostic mammogram. And ultrasound. The perfectly-seasoned radiology technician took 60 images.

The next afternoon, there was a biopsy. Ultrasound-guided removal of tissue via a long needle, with tiny titanium clips nail-gunned in to mark six spots. And right after that, another mammogram. Hell yes, it hurt.

At the end of the next business day, another phone call. Excuse me please, advertising colleagues, while I step out of our meeting to talk about invasive ductal carcinoma.

Hash

Over the weekend I slow-roasted a delicious pork shoulder, loosely following this recipe in honor of our neighborhood’s upcoming festival. As there was an embarrassment of leftovers, tonight the Husband and I enjoyed a lovely hash for dinner.

Hash is simply a way to stretch meat with veggies and a starchy tuber, fried up in a skillet. It lends itself to variation based on your mood and the contents of your refrigerator.

Tonight’s version included (in order of appearance in the cast iron skillet): olive oil, chopped sweet onion, chopped yellow bell pepper, cubed sweet potato, a sprinkle of dried oregano, diced pork, salt, pepper, chopped arugula, minced parsley. To finish, a couple of eggs were nestled in and cooked til the whites were firm but the yolks were still runny (use a lid). Top with hot sauce (the Husband) or Sherry vinegar (me), as you please. Or ketchup, but please, bring your own.

[Ed. note: You poor, neglected blog.]

New-fangled coffee

This afternoon I was treated to what is sure to be a new obsession: a latte made with house-roasted espresso, coconut milk, honey, and a sassy dash of cayenne.

Love in a cup, people.

Hie thee to ipsento, posthaste!

What Petronius said*

I’m not going to lie to any of you: sometimes my daily diet is less than balanced. There are days when the meat or the baguette win the dinner lottery over the veggies and the whole grains. Also days when wine, cheese, and chocolate triumph over all others.

A recent article in the NY Times simultaneously pacified my guilt about loving the so-called naughty foods and inflamed my desire to eat more of them.

*”Moderation in all things, including moderation.” Although there are some who attribute this to Mark Twain.

Panforte

For Christmas Eve dinner this year, I decided to end things with an easy, make-ahead dessert. Panforte is a traditional Italian sweet—it means “strong bread”—that goes beautifully with an after-dinner cheese course and your unwinder of choice, or coffee. It’s not terribly sweet, and the spices add a warm finish to a heavy meal. It makes a large cake, which keeps well. Nice to have on hand for impromptu gatherings: simply slice, add cheese and/or chocolates, and you’ve got a great little treat to serve up. This recipe was adapted from an old issue of the late, great Gourmet magazine (oh, Condé Nast, what were you thinking?).

Panforte

1 heaping T cocoa powder

2/3 c flour

1 t cinnamon

1/2 t ginger

1/8 t cloves

1/4 t salt

1 c toasted whole almonds

1 c toasted whole hazelnuts (remove the skins by rubbing the warm nuts in a kitchen towel)

1 c pitted soft prunes, chopped

1 c dried soft figs, chopped

1/2 c dried apricots, chopped

1/2 c dates, chopped

zest from an orange

3/4 c sugar

2/3 c honey

1 T orange liqueur

1 T butter

additional cocoa powder for dusting

Preheat oven to 300F. Line a 9-inch springform pan with parchment, using a separate strip for the sides. Butter the parchment, then dust with cocoa powder.

Combine cocoa, flour, spices, and salt in a large bowl. Stir in nuts, fruit, and zest. Bring sugar, honey, and liqueur to boil over moderate heat, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Boil without stirring until the mixture reaches 238-240F on a candy thermometer. Working quickly, pour honey mixture over nut mixture and stir until combined. Immediately spoon mixture into prepared pan. With dampened hands, press down to fully compact the mixture into the pan. Bake for about 50 minutes, or until the edges have risen slightly and the surface has a dull, matte finish.

Cool in the pan, then remove sides and peel off paper. Once completely cooled, dust top, bottom, and sides with cocoa powder.

Store, wrapped in parchment and in a zip-top plastic bag, in the refrigerator for at least 1 week and up to 1 month before serving. Cut into narrow wedges to serve.

Birthday cakes for Libras

A couple of weeks ago, I made not one, but two cakes for the birthdays of my 2 favorite people: the Husband and my mom. In addition to sharing a birthday, they both adore lemon curd. I wanted to make something showy that could be mostly made ahead of time. A lemon meringue cake sounded gorgeous and delish. The recipe is from Tartine, one of my favorite cookbooks (which contains the secrets of a bakery I cannot wait to visit).

A week before the celebration(s) I did the hard part: lemon chiffon cake, moistened with lemon syrup, layered with lemon curd and caramel. Truly, a labor of love. At that point, both cakes were snugly wrapped and tucked into the freezer and all of the bowls and beaters were sent to our new dishwasher.

Getting ready for showtime was much easier and a lot more fun. The recipe calls for a thick, satiny meringue that gets swirled all around the cake. And then you torch it! It’s pretty sweet, so small slices are in order. Which means you can have a slice for breakfast the next day.

Lemon Meringue Cake

Cake
2¼ c. flour
2 t. baking powder
1½ c. sugar
¾ t. salt
½ c. safflower oil
6 large egg yolks, at room temp
½ c. water
¼ c. lemon juice
1½ t. grated lemon zest
10 large egg whites, at room temp
¼ t. cream of tartar

Preheat the oven to 325F. Line the bottom of a 10-inch springform pan with parchment paper cut to fit exactly; don’t grease the pan. I used two 6-inch pans so that I could make 2 cakes.

Sift together the flour and baking powder. Add 1¼ cups of the sugar and the salt and whisk to combine. In a separate bowl, whisk together the oil, egg yolks, water, lemon juice, and lemon zest. Add the yolk mixture to the flour; whisk until very smooth.

In another large mixing bowl, beat the egg whites until frothy, then add the cream of tartar and beat on medium-high speed until it holds soft peaks. Add the remaining ¼ cup of sugar slowly while beating on medium-high speed until the whites hold firm, shiny peaks. Fold a third of the egg whites into the yolk mixture to lighten, then fold in the rest of the whites until just combined.

Pour the batter into the pan, smoothing the top if necessary. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 45-55 minutes. Let cool in the pan on a wire rack. Once completely cool, run a thin knife around the sides of the pan to loosen the cake an then release and lift off the pan sides. Invert the cake and peel off the parchment. Wash and dry the pans.

Caramel
â…” c. heavy cream
¼ vanilla bean
1¼ c. sugar
¼ c. water
1 t. sea salt
2 T. light corn syrup
¾ t. lemon juice
4 oz. unsalted butter

Pour the cream into a small, heavy saucepan. Split the vanilla bean in half lengthwise and use the tip of a sharp knife to scrape the seeds from the pod halves into the milk. Place over medium-high heat and bring to just under a boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat to low to keep the cream warm.

In a medium, heavy saucepan, combine the sugar, water, salt, corn syrup. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Then cook, without stirring, until the mixture is amber colored, 5 to 8 minutes. Remove from the heat. Immediately (but slowly!) add the cream to the sugar syrup. The mixture will boil vigorously at first. Let the mixture simmer down, and then whisk until smooth. Add the lemon juice and transfer to a bowl. Let cool for about 10 minutes. Cut the butter into 1-inch chunks and add to the caramel one at a time, whisking constantly after each addition. Then whisk the caramel periodically as it continues to cool.

Lemon Cream
½ c. + 2 T. lemon juice
3 large eggs
1 egg yolk
¾ c. sugar
pinch salt
8 oz. unsalted butter

In a heatproof bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water, combine the lemon juice, eggs, yolk, sugar, salt. Make sure the bottom of the bowl doesn’t touch the water. Whisk constantly until very thick, or 80°C (180°F) on an instant-read thermometer. Remove from the heat and cool  until warm to touch (60°C or 140°F on a thermometer). Place the lemon cream in a blender or food processor and with the motor running, add the butter in small pieces. Allow to cool completely.

Lemon Syrup
â…“ c. water
â…“ c. sugar
â…“ c. lemon juice

In a nonreactive saucepan, combine the sugar and water and bring to a boil over medium heat. Transfer to a bowl, let cool, then chill for half an hour. Stir in the lemon juice.

Assembly

Split the cake into 4 equal layers. Line your cake pan with plastic wrap. Place the bottom layer in the cake pan. Brush with ¼ of the lemon syrup, spread ⅓ of the caramel over the cake, then ⅓ of the lemon cream. Repeat with 2 more layers, using up the remaining caramel and lemon cream. Top with the fourth cake layer and moisten with the remaining lemon syrup. Wrap well with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least four hours or freeze. If you freeze, thaw the wrapped cake on the counter for an hour.

Meringue
7 egg whites
1¾ c. sugar
pinch of salt

In a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water, combine the egg whites, sugar, and salt and whisk until the whites are hot to the touch, about 120F, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and beat on high speed until the mixture is very thick and holds stiff, glossy peaks.

Final assembly

Unwrap the cake and place on your fanciest serving plate (go ahead, bust out the cake pedestal).

Spread the meringue all over the cake, using an offset spatula to make swirls as crazy as you desire. Using a propane torch, toast the meringue, blackening the tips if you like.