"Yule" Have a Great Holiday With This Chocolate Cake of Decadence

Sometimes Christmas baking goes smoothly, but other times, like today, it goes spectacularly wonky.

A Medieval Tradition Turns Into a Cake

I've been wanting to make a yule log, also known as Bûche de Noël, since I read about it as a little girl. I was delighted by the oddness of celebrating the holidays with a cake that looked like a log.

Originally the yule log was, you guessed it, a log. In medieval times people would celebrate the Winter Solstice by burning an enormous tree trunk on the shortest day of the year. The act was a way to celebrate the rebirth of the sun as well as give thanks for the warmth and life it would bring with it.

Some believed the flame of the yule log would burn out old wrongs, while others used it to predict future events. Cinders were saved to help start the fire for the next year's yule log, or be dug into the earth to ensure a good harvest. The ashes of the yule log were believed to hold special powers that would ward off evil spirits for the coming year.

Some time in the 1800s, people changed from burning the yule log to making one they could eat. The reason is lost to obscurity, but some blame Napoleon I who decided that an increase in illness in Paris was best combated by blocking up chimneys so no one would risk the dangerous fresh air that was thought to carry disease. Without chimneys burning, a yule log was out of the question, so enterprising bakers began making yule log cakes for people as a substitute, and the tradition continued long after the chimneys were reopened.

The yule log cake is usually made of genoise (sponge cake) baked in a shallow baking sheet, covered with cream or ganache, rolled up like a jelly roll, and iced to look like a log. It is often decorated with marzipan holly leaves, meringue mushrooms, twigs, and berries.

The Little Yule Log that Could

I made my yule log with a flourless roulade batter filled with a luscious dark chocolate ganache and dusted with cocoa powder. All was going well until I put the cake in the oven.

It rose so much that it spilled out of the pan and all over the oven — even the door! Once I rescued it and cleaned the oven, I discovered it wasn't cooked through, so I returned it to the oven only to completely scorch the bottom. Humph.

Then I set it on the table to cool and my dog hopped up as soon as my back was turned and happily devoured the corner. Gosh.

In snatching it out of her way and setting it on the counter, I inadvertently planted it in the path of ants marching through. They were delighted to clamber all over it. Ayiyi.

When it was finally assembled I dropped it and it broke in half. Good heavens.

Needless to say, after all that rigamarole, meringue mushrooms and marzipan holly leaves were not happening.

I cut off the burnt bottom, cleaned off the dog-eaten bit, popped the whole cake in the freezer so I could easily sweep off the frozen ants, and turned the break into a decorative feature. I decorated with pine cones and cinnamon sticks, and raided my garden for fern and mint leaves.

Sometimes even the wonky things turn out alright in the end.