Last year, Christmas Day Dinner was at Dr. Tex and Bacon’s house. Because Bacon was putting in so much effort to make the ham and turkey, I wanted to bring something really special for dessert. Celebrated pastry chef and chocolatier Francois Payard had shown off his famous Buche De Noel on Food Network. "Buche de Noel" is the French term for that ubiquitous Yule Log cake we see at every bakery around this time of year.
When Chef Payard revealed how it was made, two things struck me as poignant. First, he did not roll the cake into a log. Instead, he cut the sheet sponge cake into 3 rectangles. In addition, he covered the entire concoction with a decadent chocolate ganache so that the Buche De Noel looked less like a traditional yule log and more like an enormous gourmet Hostess Ding Dong. I also remembered that my mom filled her yule logs with chocolate mousse instead of the traditional pastry cream. (Now that I think about it, she may have also spiked the mousse with Grand Marnier or DiSaronno).
With all of these ideas in mind, I set out to put together a more do-able Payard Buche de Noel and pay homage to my mom at the same time. I made a traditional Genoise sponge sheet cake and cut it into 3 rectangles. Then, I wrapped each rectangle separately and froze them so that the cakes wouldn’t absorb any refrigerator flavors. I made a chocolate mousse and stored it in airtight Tupperware in the refrigerator to let it set, foregoing any liqueur because the kids might not have liked it.
On Christmas Day, after the presents and pancakes, I layered the cakes with the chocolate mousse. Then, I covered the whole thing with homemade buttercream. Now I was all ready for the ganache. At this point, I was a bit nervous because I had forgotten to thaw the cakes out of the freezer, but we wouldn’t be eating the dessert for several more hours, so I crossed my fingers.
Before I started to make the ganache, I announced to my family that I was going to be very busy and that I couldn’t possibly be interrupted. I knew that immediately after the ganache was finished, I had to confidently dump the molten chocolate all over the cake. I had about 15 seconds to spread it and encourage it to spill over all of the corners and sides. Fifteen seconds before everything hardened into a permanent statue.
Right after I made the ganache, I held the bowl of chocolate over the cake and watched it tip. I held my breath as the ooze went over one side readily. The corners took some nudging with my spatula, but soon 3 were covered with smooth, velvety ganache. I was about to grab the plate to get the luscious chocolate to spill over the other side of the cake, when Major Obvious burst into the kitchen with the following announcement, “There is red paint all over the couch!”
Furious, I set down the bowl. I walked over to the couch to inspect the damage. Little Man had accidentally waved his paint brush and red paint had landed on an arm and cushion of our white canvas couch. True to male form, Major Obvious had attempted to get out the stain by grabbing some baby wipes and smearing the red spots into red streaks. I sent Major Obvious to strip and bathe Little Man while I attempted to get out the red paint. Who sends indelible paint to a 4 year old? (Several friends). Who lets a 4-year old conduct a painting project 1 hour before our departure to a dinner party? (My optimistic husband). Who lets her husband entertain the fantasy that he can effectively supervise any kind of craft project more complicated than coloring with washable Crayolas? (I did). Who buys a white canvas couch, anyway? (Again, my optimistic husband). These were the angry questions I kept asking myself as I scrubbed away.
While I was creating pink and red foam on the couch with the bubbly soap and wiping that away with a towel, Bacon called several times to report a crisis on his end. He had completely forgotten to pick up fresh green beans at the store and no other stores were open at this point. Our menu could not possibly include his fresh green bean casserole at this stage. I pulled it together long enough to answer the phone each time and tell him that the dinner would still be great. I thought about telling him about my own troubles, but the wounds were too raw. I just told him that we were coming in 90 minutes and that we’d check both grocery stores on the way for green beans. After about 15 minutes of persistent scrubbing, our couch returned back to a somewhat respectable state. Believe it or not, the stain actually came out.
I sighed and went back to the cake. Like an industrial-strength MagicShell, the chocolate coated the log in a solid, hard casing. There was no way I could possibly change anything at this point. When Major Obvious came downstairs, I pointed to the cake and said, “There it is. It’s ugly and terrible and there is nothing I can do about it. I had, no joke, 15 seconds. FIFTEEN SECONDS! Seriously, you couldn’t give me FIFTEEN SECONDS?! It was against my better judgment to let you ‘supervise’ a craft project! Why on earth did I let you talk me into it?” As if that ridiculous tirade wasn’t enough, I am ashamed to admit that I then ran into the kitchen and broke down into tears. I do not rule out the possibility that PMS may have played a role in this drama.
My husband stared at me, dumbfounded. His first instinct was to argue on his behalf, but one look at my angry eyes had him quickly playing the Sorry Spouse card. I listened to his apology, then I turned away to wrap everything up. He knew that I would eventually forgive him, but that I just needed some time to distance myself. After about 20 minutes, I remembered that Christmas wasn’t really about perfect pastry. We were all together and we all loved each other. My kids had a father who wanted to be there for them while they painted. I had children who were kind (and smart) enough to quietly excuse themselves during my blow up, sparing me the chore of explaining to them why I was acting like a 2-year old. Major Obvious and I each apologized and hugged. Then, we went to Tex and Bacon’s.
When Bacon saw the cake, he said, “It looks great. What’s wrong with it?” I shrugged, trying to concentrate on not conjuring up past emotions. He grinned, rubbed my shoulder, and said, “I know, you wanted it to be perfect.” I tried to give him the same reassurances about the vegetables.
Instead of fresh green beans, we made brussels sprouts sautéed with, naturally, bacon. They were fabulous. And everyone at the party was gracious enough to ooh and aah for about 5 minutes before diving into the Buche de Noel. My guy even made some sort of speech as I cut into the cake, indemnifying me of all responsibility concerning the cake’s imperfect appearance. It was incredibly embarrassing and heartwarming at the same time. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the cake had thawed out perfectly and that the Buche de Noel, while not gorgeous, tasted divine.
Holiday revelers, as you are swearing at yourself (or loved ones) because the royal icing on your Christmas cookies is not as perfect as Martha’s, or your grandmother’s German pastry recipe is proving unwieldy, or your homemade mince meat is refusing to thicken and your guests are due to arrive any minute, remember that we are fortunate to have each other. Our loved ones don’t really care what the Buche de Noel looks like. It’s just nice to give it a try.
