Photo Via Buche de Noel Pierre Herme
1988
"Buche de Noel is my favorite cake!" Bright-eyed and hopeful was the response eagerly given by my French Husband, the newlywed. The flavor was a known fac; spread chocolate on anything and it was labeled Yann's.
My mother had made jelly-roll cakes for my brothers and me when we were younger, was that the same thing as Buche de Noel? The only difference between the two cakes as I could see was that we could have a jelly cake any time of the year and in France during Christmas as it is a traditional Christmas dessert. Kind of like candy canes, you can eat them any time of the year but usually, they are out of sight until December.
30 some years ago, before the Internet and ex-pats were easy to find in France, anything in English was reduced to one word, "Hello." Peter Mayle was probably writing, "A Year in Provence," while I was struggling in Paris with only three words of French in my pocket of vocabulary. How was I going to find the recipe? Calling my Mom in California was out of the question given the ridiculous cost five dollars a minute plus the surcharge and tax. Which meant fast talk and no umm, let's see, I think it takes, oh no, just a minute, let me go check.
To make a French Christmas cake, a Buche de Noel was going to be a challenge equal to anything Napoleon had to do. Napoleon is believed to have said, "The man who never makes mistakes never makes a war." Couldn't Yann have said brownies? His expectations were high as he asked me to make a Buche de Noel for his birthday which is in September, "Imagine a Buche de Noel in September!" Yann said like a child at Christmas. With Napoleon on my mind, I decided chocolate anything, even chocolate batter would be a hit.
Down to the metro, direction Rue de Rivoli, destination: Brentano's, the bookshop in Paris (since 1895) with a large English section. Certainly, they would have a cookbook in English.
On entering Brentano's in Paris there stood an American the size of a fortress. With a can of Coke in hand, he was carrying on like his world was coming to an end, demanding the saleslady, "… Don't you understand, E-N-G-L-I-S-H! I want a map of Paris IN English! I want a map that says, "Big White Church on top of the Hill," none of this rue crap, you understand! Why tell me why can't you folks just print a map that says street instead of rue?!" he was the ultimate tourist with his camera around his neck and coke-a-cola in one hand he continued, "I don't want any of this rue shit on my map." The petite saleslady looked bewildered as she tried to explain. I left the bookshop, to embarrass to request a French cookbook in English.
Up above the markets of Les Halles, battling in our kitchen the size of a nutshell, mustering up memories of my Mother making jelly-roll cakes, gathering allies in chocolate, sugar, eggs, and flour I conquered my Waterloo. We "ate cake" that night Buche de Noel in September.
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