Another Point of View

When I turned on the early NFL game yesterday, I instantly knew it was October. Yep, there was pink this and pink that and courageous this and heroic battle that, all over the place. October is breast cancer awareness month, people! Pink out!

Seriously, can there be one single person in this country not living in a cave who is not aware of breast cancer? The October shenanigans alone have been going on annually for twenty-nine years, and when you add in the TV advertising, professional sports hoopla, and everything else pink and ribbony that is going on seemingly everywhere, you got some serious awareness, right?

Well maybe. But I take another view, that we have succeeded in turning a horrible, terrifying disease into some kind of national party, a decidedly for-profit orgy of merchandising and marketing. God forbid you should suffer and die from it! It’s all about positive attitude, fighting the battle, and “beating” cancer.

I’ve got news for you: cancer kills people. It’s what it does. Nobody "beats" cancer. Some of us are lucky enough to get effective treatment and survive, at least for a while. There are literally millions of good folks who do everything right and still die from cancer. The whole “pinkwashing” of our society every October is deeply disturbing to many people who are living with, through, and hopefully beyond the dreaded diagnosis of cancer. No amount of insulting, juvenile “Save the Boobies” campaigns will change this fact.

I’m not saying awareness is not a good thing, and there is a lot of money raised for cancer research every October. But could you stop for one minute and consider how much more could be done if every penny spent on the annual commercialization of breast cancer were spent on real science instead? On research into the genetic causes of cancer and the promising new immunotherapy treatments, the first new approach to cancer treatment in almost a hundred years. We could end the “cut, poison, burn” trio of surgery, chemotherapy and radiation.

So what about awareness? How about becoming more aware of the literally hundreds of cancers that people know little or nothing about, like bladder and esophageal cancer, or the host of incredibly cruel cancers that prey primarily on our young children.

Think about it.

Portland, OR  

October 6, 2014

Perfect-Every-Time Pan fried Oysters

When I find a particularly good dish preparation in a restaurant, it is not unusual for me to attempt some version of it at home. One of our favorite Portland eateries, Wildwood (now mourned,) used to serve fantastic cornmeal crusted, pan fried Wilappa Bay oysters. I tried quite a few times to cook them at home, with uniformly awful results; the oysters were either under or over-cooked, and the coating of egg wash and cornmeal was a half-fallen-off greasy glob. One Saturday afternoon after buying some Wilappa's at the farmer's market, I Googled pan fried oysters. Needless to say, there were tons of links to recipes, but one at the bottom of the results page caught my eye. The subtext read, "perfect pan fried oysters every time!"

They weren't kidding. Here's my version.

Ingredients: (serves two for main course, four as an appetizer)

1 8-ounce container of extra-small Wilappa Bay oysters (or similar)

Panko (Japanese crispy breadcrumbs)

1 egg, beaten

Canola oil

1/4 tsp unsalted butter
Sea salt and black pepper

There are two things in this preparation that I did not see in any of the other recipes. First, the oysters are blanched first. Second, they are left in the egg wash and then the breading for a carefully measured period of time.

Dump the oysters into a medium-sized pot of lightly salted water that has been brought to a full boil. Blanch for one minute, then drain them in a colander until cool.

Place a cup or so of Panko into a gallon plastic baggie. Add salt and pepper to the egg wash. Take the cooled oysters an place them in a small bowl with the beaten egg, which should just cover the oysters. Let sit for five minutes, then stir the mixture so all oysters get equally soaked. Let sit for five more minutes.

Place the oysters in the bag with the Panko and shake thoroughly until all the oysters are well coated. Lay the oysters carefully on a sheet of waxed paper. Let them sit for exactly five minutes. Sprinkle a little more Panko over any spots that look thin, then carefully turn them over. Sprinkle them with a bit more Panko and let sit for another five minutes.

Heat about 1/4 cup of canola oil  until it is wavy but not smoking in a large non-stick fry pan and carefully add the butter (helps the browning process.) Put all the oysters in a single layer and fry until golden brown, about a minute or so. Turn them over with long tongs and do the same with this side.

That's all there is to it! The blanching insures that the oysters will not be undercooked so you can fry hot and fast, which seals in the juices and makes a great non-greasy crust on the oysters.

I serve them with a simple salad with balsamic vinaigrette and Wildwood lemon-garic aioli (Whole Foods house brand.)

Un-oaked Sauvignon Blanc is our wine of choice, either a New Zealand or a Sancerre from France.

Now go eat some pan fried oysters!

(Portland, March 23, 2014)

Here is a "commercial" created by our oldest son, Keith Sadowski, who works at Cirque du Soleil in Las Vegas.

Brilliant!

A Close Encounter

This blog is usually pretty straightforward, as it’s title suggests. At the risk of being uncharacteristically schmaltzy, I offer you this brief post on an experience that was strange enough and touching enough to share.

On January 27^th I flew to Burbank, CA, and checked into the Hilton San Gabriel. The next morning I was to undergo my annual day of tests at USC Norris Comprehensive Cancer Care Center under the supervision of my surgeon, Dr. Sia Daneshmand. It had been just over six years since my cancer surgery.

I started my day the next morning with a light breakfast at the hotel, and reported for the first phase, labs, at 9:00am. After giving enough blood to supply Lance Armstrong and Keith Richards for a year, I proceeded to the waiting room for the imaging department, where you check in for X-rays, CT scans, ultrasounds, and/or MRI’s. When I entered the waiting room at a few minutes before ten, there were three other patients there. One was a painfully thin older man with wispy white hair and a deeply lined, pale face. Another was a woman of indeterminate age, morbidly obese, sitting on a motorized scooter with an oxygen bottle attached to the side of it. A clear tube snaked up her arm and rested in her nostrils.

But it was the third patient that grabbed my attention. She was a girl, no more than fourteen or fifteen, and seated directly across from me. I smiled at her quickly, and was met with that uniquely teenaged look between a frown and an outright sneer. Her eyes were dark and unblinking. She was dressed like a Goth: black skinny jeans, black boots, and black lipstick. She wore a black baseball cap with a single white question mark, and an oversized black t-shirt with the words “FUCK CANCER” on the front in large white block letters. I looked at her more closely and realized she had no eyebrows, and not a hair protruded from under the black cap.

Chemo.

While we had been sizing each other up, the white-haired man had left and a nurse had called the scooter lady back for her tests. We were alone. The girl looked me straight in the eyes.

“Do you have cancer?” she said, her voice surprisingly soft.

I attempted a weak smile. “I certainly hope not,” I said. “But I guess that’s what I’m here to find out.”

We looked at each other for a long few seconds.

“I don’t know if I still have cancer or not,” she volunteered. “And I guess that’s what I’m here to find out too.”

She looked so small and vulnerable, yet she sat straight up and had a look of fierce determination on her young face. A nurse with a clipboard opened the door to the lab.

“Frank Sadowski.”

I stood up quickly, and the black-clad girl stood up too. I realized then how tiny she really was, the top of her head not even reaching my shoulder level. She stepped close and put the side of her face on my chest and wrapped her arms around my waist, giving just the slightest squeeze.

Then she turned her head away and sat back down.

Stunned, I said nothing and followed the nurse into the lab.


Portland - February 10, 2014