use real butter

a slice of lemon mirror cake: my click entry

I thought that when my chemo was over, I would resume my life more or less the way I was before chemo. I will be the first to point out that how I feel now is a million times better than how I felt during chemo - so this is a good thing. While my ideas and enthusiasm are nearly on par with what they are normally, the reality is that my carcass is still playing catch up for a variety of reasons (complications, unexpected lingering side-effects, etc.). Add to that the daily radiation treatments that cut right into the middle of the day and I find I am not getting to all of the items on my ginormous to-do list.

let’s make some lemon mousse

It’s okay. I have learned to accept these setbacks and make the best of it. The tagline on my personal blog reads “things don’t always go as planned” which is funny, because I coined that one before I was diagnosed. But it’s a good concept to keep in mind and I feel that it keeps me on my toes, keeps me from feeling “entitled” and allows me to maneuver through life with greater flexibility… greater happiness.

brushing soaking syrup onto the chiffon cake

I still have trouble in the kitchen because my left arm and left hand are experiencing problems including pain, numbness, and weakness. While I’m right-handed, any avid cook knows that you use BOTH hands when cooking or baking. But some things can’t wait and I feel happier overall when I can get into the kitchen and create something.

layering the mousse

After I had contacted Bee about contributing a prize for Bri’s fundraiser, she encouraged me to enter the CLICK photo competition for June. The theme: yellow. Ah yes, that damn cancer thing. Pink for breast cancer (I hate pink) and yellow for cancer (I don’t love yellow but I do hate cancer). It’s not that I wanted to enter the contest so much as I wanted to show my support for Bri. If you think you’re tired of hearing and reading about cancer, try having cancer… that gets old pretty fast.

pouring the mirror

What I realized while I made the cake was that it was very much like my own experience with cancer. I usually have a grand plan in my head for pastries I want to make. I think about it for as little as a few minutes to as much as a couple of weeks - planning flavors, textures, components, shape, presentation. I have *expectations* and then I play it out. I used to execute most of my baking plans with good effort and great success. But this time things were slower. Folding whipped cream into lemon curd hurt my hand. Washing dishes that I needed burned my tender skin. My strength and balance were a little off so that I bumped the mold against the wall of the fridge, spilling liquid gelatin over the top. All of that control I had commanded before… lost for now. It no longer became a matter of what shots I would get, but if I could manage a damn cake at all.

the mirror is set

After my surgery, but before my chemo, I thought I’d push through the treatment like I push through everything else in life - with determination and gusto. I had high expectations and a good attitude. Things were off to a decent start as I could still run a 5K after the first infusion and remain active and upbeat. However, the four and a half months chipped away at me with complications that were unforseen, side-effects harsh enough to knock a horse on its ass, and the reality that mine was not going to be an easy peasy treatment. I learned a lot about myself and my limits this year. I had a pretty good idea to begin with, but I have a deeper understanding now. I think that is a positive. I’m accepting that there are aspects in life that I cannot bulldoze through in my usual way and sometimes we have to make due with less than ideal - but we can still be happy.

Driving up the canyon on my way home the other day, I thought to myself how wonderful it was to be alive right then and there. To see the sun glistening off the pine forests, smell the canyon air, feel that lovely breeze cooling on my face - to be able to smile. As in chemo, as in baking, as in life… many of us persevere the crap to get to the reward on the other side. I suppose for me, the journey alone is reward in and of itself.

lemon mirror cake with raspberry coulis

Lemon Mirror Cake

1 sheet or 1 round lemon chiffon cake (1/2 recipe)
lemon mousse
limoncello soaking syrup
lemon mirror

lemon mousse
2 1/2 tsp powdered gelatin
2 oz fresh lemon juice
10 oz heavy cream (medium peaks)
8 oz lemon curd, freshly made or warmed
1 oz light corn syrup
1/2 tsp lemon extract

Bloom gelatin in lemon juice then melt it to 100°F. Whip the heavy cream to medium peaks. Cover and put in refrigerator. Blend together the warm curd with the corn syrup and the lemon extract, stirring with a whisk. Add the melted gelatin to the curd. Strain and cool the mixture to 70°F. Temper 1/2 of the whipped cream into the curd mixture. Fold in remaining whipped cream. Immediately use the mousse, cover and refrigerate until set.

lemon mirror
1 1/2 cups lemonade, strained
1 tsp lemon juice
1 tbsp limoncello
1 tbsp water
1 tbsp unflavored gelatin
1 drop yellow food coloring

Place lemon juice, limoncello, and water in a small bowl. Sprinkle gelatin over this mixture; set aside until spongy and soft. Heat lemonade in a pan until it simmers and pour over gelatin mixture. Stir to dissolve gelatin. Stir in the yellow food coloring. Place bowl over ice bath and stir occasionally until the mixture is syrupy.

Assembly: Place ring mold on foil base. Cut the cake into two slices for the shape of the mold or pan you are using. Set the first slice down in the ring mold and brush with half of the soaking syrup. Pour half of the mousse on top of the cake layer. Set the second cake layer over the mousse and soak with remaining syrup. Pour the rest of the mousse on top and smooth the surface. Refrigerate until the mousse is set. Remove from refrigerator and pour mirror on top and return to the refrigerator until gelatin is set. Unmold and serve.

I need a favor here, folks.

I’m a pretty independent chick, ask anyone who knows me. It’s a fairly small circle of people that I allow myself to rely upon - that I allow myself to feel safe enough around when I’m vulnerable or in need. It is just my way. This was especially true during chemo. I made mention of how chemo kinda sucked and made a mess of my ski season and my food blogging but… I never talked about the other stuff like desperately holding back tears and an unexpected wave of shock when I left the hairdresser’s after getting my head shaved despite not caring about the hair itself. Or trying to get sick as quietly as possible in the middle of the night hour after hour, night after night so I wouldn’t wake Jeremy because he was exhausted from taking care of me and working 80+ hours a week on his own demanding job. Or feeling so hungry from not being able to digest solid food for 5 days that when I dared to nibble on soft bread it felt like razors going down my throat and racked my insides for hours. Or lying in so much pain at home alone that I couldn’t get up to take my meds and I actually cried to the dog to fetch the bottle (it didn’t work - she just kept pawing at me to be let up on the bed to snuggle).

But the worst was the mental and emotional isolation. Even though Jeremy tried to always be there for me, I could see he was giving more energy than he had. Did I mention that his sideburns have started to turn grey since I began chemo? Yeah, I’ve given my beautiful husband premature grey. I couldn’t bring myself to ask more of him, to ask him to talk to me about my fears, my sadness - only to stress him out and force him to pile more on his plate - because he would do that for me. So I let those thoughts fester in my mind for a long time, alone.

And one night while I sat around waiting to get sick after my fifth round, I read on Married with Dinner that Bri’s cancer had come back - this time in her bones, in her lungs… I don’t know how dread affects you… I’ve experienced genuine dread a couple of times in my life and it’s a sucking feeling in my gut that quietly, but instantly empties my body of breath. I had, until then, kept fears of recurrence and doubt of my own treatment under wraps - stuffing it down into the furthest corners of my brain - for my own mental well-being. I try to avoid histrionics and self-induced hysteria because I’ve seen it in others and it’s really ugly, really destructive. I don’t live that way. But I sat in the dark, in disbelief, tears rolling off my face - for Bri, for myself, for the bullshit that is cancer and the ridiculous treatment that isn’t really a treatment but more like a blunt instrument where a precision tool is required. On Bri’s blog she said, “I’ve been to a couple doctors, and one of my greatest fears has been pretty well confirmed.”

I had asked my oncologist earlier what he would do if my cancer came back. He said it wouldn’t. I was persistent and when I asked if I would have to do the chemo again, my voice broke. His jolly demeanor saddened and he softly told me I wouldn’t do this chemo again, that there would be better treatments down the road. I thought it was a non-answer, but cancer treatment is a non-answer in my opinion. I went into round 6 with a positive smile and cake for my nurses. I joked with my dear oncologist and handed him a few thank you gifts: a photo of a lovely Colorado stream, some fishing flies, a book on cosmology that Jeremy had selected for him, and a card. In that card I told him I don’t fear death so much as not being able to live a quality life. Yes, I know Bri’s fear.

When my surgeon recently removed my port, I mentioned that I had felt a tiny lump in my left breast and I wasn’t sure what it was. As I spoke, I couldn’t keep that fear in check and it tumbled out into my words, into my tears. Luckily, the ultrasound was clean and I can get on with my radiation treatment and stop freaking myself out for a while. I know each person is different as is each case, but I can’t help but feel a pang in my heart when I think of Bri and it is not sympathy, but empathy.

Bri was first diagnosed with breast cancer at age 28, two and a half years ago. I was diagnosed at 36 last year. [If I had been diagnosed at 28, the first thing I would have done was quit my PhD program and tell a certain faculty member where he could stick the dissertation and all of Northern Chile.] Bri had a full mastectomy of her right breast. For those who aren’t in the know, a full mastectomy means no more right boobie, understand? This is almost guaranteed to throw any woman for a loop. And you thought hairloss was a big deal for a chick… So after this crude and barbaric surgery (I’m sure my surgeon would disagree with this characterization, but then again, he doesn’t have boobies to lose) she underwent the suckiest chemo possible because she’s young and they always come *this close* to killing you when you’re “young and healthy”. She was theoretically clean for 2 years and now it’s back and the cancer is Stage IV. Again, for anyone who isn’t up on the cancer lingo, there is no Stage V - Stage IV is teh suck. Bri has begun a different form of chemo, but it is still chemo and it still blows. In addition to the conventional methods of treatment, Bri is also attempting other alternative forms of treatment which her insurance company won’t cover (big surprise!). I won’t open up a tirade on health care in this country right now because I’d like to finish this post before summer begins…

This all leads to why I went rattling on and on for several paragraphs. Bee and Jai of Jugalbandi and many other wonderful food bloggers decided to help raise money to aid in Bri’s medical costs. Jugalbandi has turned the monthly CLICK! event into a special fundraiser for Bri. The deadline for CLICK! is June 30, 2008. Part of the fundraiser is a raffle with prizes and I am contributing a matted photo to that bounty. You may recall from Menu for Hope that I offered this photo which had been featured on the NPR website:

the owl creek pass aspen stand

I’m offering this photo again because it goes so well with the yellow theme of CLICK! and LiveSTRONG. One raffle ticket costs $25 and this puppy will ship anywhere in the world. It is an original photo by yours truly at 12×18 inches matted to 18×24 inches with your choice (if you are the winner) of a black matboard with white core or white matboard with black core. I’ll plant my l’il ole siggy on it too. All materials are archival. Really, you should go and peruse all of the raffle prize offerings. You have until July 15, 2008 to bid.

Seriously though, I could care less if you bid on my photo or not. What I really want is for you to consider making a donation either by buying a raffle ticket or just donating outright for Bri (but if you’re going to donate $25, you may as well get the ticket unless we all agree that it’s Christine’s turn to win the photo!). It’s obvious that I feel a connection to what Bri has gone through and is dealing with now. I want to help her. I guess I am hoping that we will all help her in some small way. Thanks for staying on the line this far.

lemon petits fours glacés

The last time I participated in a cancer-related food blogging event was for the Boobie Bake Off. I hate the color pink. I really do. All of my life I have fought the girly-girl look and pink was pretty central to being a girly-girl in my mind. But I could overlook that aversion for a good cause. What a hoot when a month after the Boobie Bake Off, I was diagnosed with… you guessed it - Boobie Cancer aka breast cancer at age 36. WTF, right?

W.T.F., indeed.

The news was more of a shock for others than for myself. Some folks reacted as if I had died while others assured me that I’d get through this, no problem. Still others said nothing and some said too much. The two best things I was told: “Love you. Anything you need,” [Sam(antha)] and “We’ll do this together,” [Jeremy].

slicing the sheet of lemon chiffon cake

As my regular readers know, I am undergoing my chemo treatment now. My oncologist is a very sweet man who reminds me of Captain Kangaroo. He poisons me every three weeks - he even got me on Valentine’s Day. But he tells me that I’m going to be okay. I would like to believe him.

I don’t blame anyone. I don’t pity myself. I don’t want pity. Cancer blows, but I know there can be worse in life (um, my PhD comes to mind). Reading this blog, it looks like I’ve been a total ski whore during my chemo, but I fight hard for my good days. I put my carcass on the treadmill, the bike, the rower and work my ass off as soon as I can walk again after each chemo even though it hurts in ways I never knew I could hurt. I work to take back my body, keep my mind sane, and maintain a positive attitude. I bounce back and feel great and then I get hit again and it gets harder each time. I don’t drag you guys through my personal hell because… it’s mine and it’s personal and you might stop reading :)

layering buttercream then lemon curd

The first time I met with my surgeon to have the lump biopsied, he was sure it was some sort of cyst. I asked if I could sign up for a women’s telemark ski program. He said to go ahead and do it. When he called me a week later to tell me the results were cancer, my mind wandered to the ski program. I’d have to withdraw. But eventually I decided not to. I decided I needed that program as long as I could physically participate. With the cooperation of my surgeon and anesthesiologist and oncologist, I missed only one out of six classes. One morning, while waiting for my advanced group to show up at the lifts, I was chatting with some of the ladies in the intermediate group. Someone, we’ll call her Leslie, learned I had breast cancer and she said, “I have lumps in my breasts.” Another woman chimed in, “I have lumpy breasts too.” Leslie corrected, “No, I have lumps in my breasts.” Turns out she’s had these for years and she was too afraid to see a doctor because… because she didn’t want to know. I wanted to cry. I wanted to take her by the hand and drive her to my surgeon and have him take care of her the way he took care of me. At the same time, I couldn’t whole-heartedly recommend chemo (freaking chemo…) - couldn’t tell her it’s great and she’ll be fine and it’ll be worth it. I encouraged her to see a physician, to please see someone about the lumps. Please. I don’t know if my words had any impact, but she thanked me before she got on the lift and I never ran into her again.

brushing limoncello simple syrup

If I make it through my treatments, will I call myself a cancer survivor?

No. I’ll not don the cancer survivor label because I don’t believe in letting cancer define me as an individual. I know a lot of folks who were diagnosed with cancer said it changed their lives. I don’t doubt that it did. Cancer has royally inconvenienced me, but I have been through tragedy boot camp before. I suppose that prepared me to deal with cancer better than I would have otherwise. So instead of calling myself a cancer survivor, I think I will say that I kicked cancer’s ass. I accept that cancer could come back and kick MY ass. One way or another, one of our asses is getting wupped. I’m hoping medicine will get its act together in due time so that I will be the one to serve up the final can of Cream of Whoopass Soup should it come to that.

glazing with poured fondant

A Taste of Yellow is an event hosted by Barbara of Winos and Foodies in support of LiveSTRONG Day which is on May 13 this year. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to participate since the deadline was so close to one of my chemo days, but I managed to pull it off today. I’m not blogging this entry for me…

It took me all day to make these petits fours. While I folded the batter for the chiffon cake, I thought of Leslie. As the lemon curd thickened, I recalled the kind words of support from loved ones. Okay, I swore like a sailor when I glazed the darn things, but these tiny bites are made with hope, thanks, and love. These petits fours are for Leslie, for Jeremy, for friends, family, my doctors and nurses, my readers, for anyone touched by cancer. Live life. Live Strong. The Soup du Jour: Cream of Whoopass Soup.

a small bite with big meaning

Lemon Petits Fours Glacés

1/2 sheet chiffon cake
2 cups lemon swiss meringue buttercream
1 cup lemon curd
1 cup limoncello simple syrup
poured fondant icing
blackberries and lemon zest for garnish

chiffon cake
makes 2 11×17 sheets or 2 9×3 rounds (you need only 1/2 of one sheet)
this recipe originally intended for baking at 5300 ft.

14.5 oz cake flour
8.75 oz confectioner’s sugar
6.75 oz whole milk
6 oz canola oil
3.25 oz eggs
0.5 oz baking powder (omitted at 8500 ft.)
13 oz egg whites
9.5 oz granulated sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
3-4 oz lemon juice

Oven 375F. Prep pan by buttering bottom and sides. Place parchment in pan and butter the parchment. Sift dry ingredients (except granulated sugar) into a large bowl. Mix all ingredients (except the 13 oz of egg whites and granulated sugar) in the large bowl until combined. Whip whites and granulated sugar to medium peaks. Fold into batter gently. Bake until set, about 20-25 minutes. Remove from oven and remove from pan. Let cool on a rack. Cut one sheet in half. Wrap the other half and the other full sheet for other use. With a large serrated knife, cut the cake into two layers.

lemon swiss meringue buttercream
makes about 2 cups

4 oz egg whites
8 oz sugar
1/2 lb butter, room temperature
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3 oz lemon juice

Combine egg whites and sugar in a Kitchenaid mixing bowl. Whisk constantly over a bain marie until 140F is reached. Place on mixer with whisk and whip until stiff. Turn down whip speed to 3rd and whip until cool to the touch (this takes a while - should be cooler than your hand). Change to a paddle and gradually add soft butter by tablespoon pieces. Mix to emulsify. Once desired consistency has been reached, add vanilla and lemon juice.

lemon curd
makes 3.5 cups

6 oz fresh lemon juice, strained
9 oz sugar
3 oz butter
3 oz heavy cream
6 eggs
1 tbsp fine lemon zest
pinch of salt

Boil lemon juice, sugar, butter, salt, and heavy cream in a saucepan. Place eggs in a bowl and whisk to loosen up the whites and yolks. Temper hot lemon mixture into eggs. Add mixture back into saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring constantly until thickened and nappé consistency. It should be quite thick or else it will be too runny in the final product. Strain, add zest, and stir. Place plastic wrap directly on curd and cool over an ice bath. Refrigerate when chilled. Can be frozen for up to 4-6 months.

limoncello simple syrup

4 oz sugar
4 oz water
2 oz limoncello

Heat water and sugar in a pot until sugar is dissolved. Bring to boil and turn off heat. Let cool. Mix in limoncello.

poured fondant icing

4.5 cups confectioner’s sugar
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp lemon extract
drop of yellow food coloring (optional)

Combine all in double boiler except coloring. Heat until lukewarm. Remove from heat and stir in food coloring. Ladle over petits fours.

assembly
Set first cake layer on a sheet of wax paper on a cutting board. Use a pastry brush to apply the limoncello simple syrup to the layer. Spread a layer of buttercream frosting, then carefully spread a layer of lemon curd on top. Set the second layer of cake on top and brush with more simple syrup. Using a ruler and a good sharp serrated knife, cut the cake into 1×1 inch squares. Place the squares on a rack over a pan or wax paper (to catch the drips) with enough space between each square for glazing. Take warm glaze and pour over the squares. Garnish and serve.