A Christmas Dessert - Bûche de Noël

The Bûche de Noël I made this Christmas. The white shapes sprouting from my yule log? Meringue mushrooms of course!

If I had stayed in France, I would have wanted apple pie at Christmas. As I instead flew to Sacramento, California for the holidays, I wanted to bring back a taste of a French Christmas. So, I decided to make a Bûche de Noël, a traditional French dessert that we would call a yule log cake.

Around mid-December, Bûche de Noël began to appear in the pastry-shop windows of Toulouse. "Bûche" is the French word for log. They are small, cylindrical jelly roll cakes shaped and decorated as yule logs. These otherwise simple, brown cakes become a slice of woodland wonderment with little forest figures, sprigs of holly and a heavy frosting of powder-sugar adorning them. Small dear, a lone ax and mushrooms often complete the woodsy look.

Making the cake is a bit tricky for beginners. You have to roll a sheet of baked sponge cake into a cylinder shape, let it cool, and then go back and ice the curling cake carefully, trying not to brake it. Then you cover the entire log with frosting and add your woodland details on top. When the cake is cut, there is a spiral of frosted cake reminiscent of the rings in a log.

The most difficult part of my cake-baking experience was the meringue needed for the mushrooms and frosting. The Julia Child recipe I used called for meringue mushrooms and crystallized caramel cobweb decorations, two things that are normally beyond my pastry talents. I had to throw out two trail batches of meringue gone bad before I got it right! One tasted horribly burned and the other was too stiff. I decided to ditch the sugary cobweb, although I've never had a cobwebbed cake and it sounded tempting. But Christmas Eve dinner was fast approaching I had been yule logging most of my day away, so my cake was cobweb-less.

But, a culinary experience with Julia Child is bound to be worth it in the end. I was ultimately happy with my meringue mushrooms. They look very impressive once on the cake! And the bûche got many compliments which I should thank Julia for.

Of course, my family didn’t give up the apple pie tradition, and we ate a bit of both pie and bûche. However, I can see visions of yule logs dancing in our future Christmas Eve’s!


You can see more on how to make a “Bûche de Noël” here

The recipe I used was Julia Child's and can be found in the recipe book Christmas Memories. She makes it with an almond sponge cake and rum flavored frosting and I'm a fan.

Home. Which One?

I just got back to Toulouse after a two-week vacation in my hometown in Sacramento, California. Over vacation, I realized “home” was getting to be a tricky word.

While sipping coffee at Java City café just blocks from the Capitol in Sacramento, I mentioned to a high school friend that I was going “home” just after New Year’s. “Wait, you mean back to France?” she asked. Yes, exactly, home. After living in Toulouse, France for six months, my idea of home fluctuates constantly between France and California.

My friend also now lives far from Sacramento. She pointed out that we both use the word “home” to refer to the home where we are not. Sacramento is home for me when I am in Toulouse, and France is home when in California. For my friend, it is the same, except with New York.

Maybe this tendency to refer to the home where we are not is acknowledgment that we always feel slightly out of place these days in either home. We think we know our old hometown, but it seems unfamiliar at the same time. My friend used to go to cookie outings at this very same Java City with her mom when she was ten. But now she knows the cafés better in New York and has trouble finding her way around downtown Sacramento, where Java City is located.

Coming back to Sacramento after living in Toulouse was a bit of a shock for me because everything is the same, but seems different. The town, streets and people were familiar, but I also saw them with the French equivalent freshly imprinted in my mind. This made the familiar novel and absolutely intriguing.

The streets in Sacramento were amazingly expansive after getting used to the treacherously narrow “pathways” of streets in downtown Toulouse. They are so big in Sacramento that sometimes it felt a park had been covered with cement and road markings. I could see the sky stretch out forever above me while waiting for the light to change to green, and it was strangely awesome.

After months of thinking of coffee cups as the size of a shot glass, the immensity of the Venti at Starbucks in the US was breathtaking. We drink these tubs of coffee? This is the size of 50 French coffee cups. However, the taste of coffee with chocolate, milk and whip cream in it was a welcome one, this such a good idea, no wonder it comes in Venti!

My brother and I drove to the grocery store one night to pick up a few things. In Toulouse, most groceries close by 7 pm. But my brother and I waltzed into the one near our parents house at 9pm, and this wasn't one of the small, over priced stores that are open late in France, this was the full blown supermarket. I also didn’t have to lug my bags home as I usually do here in Toulouse, because, we had a vehicle! What a relief. When checking out I had a moment of doubt, should I help the bagger bag my groceries, or would that be rude? I decide to help bag because I’m now in the habit of it. I don’t think anyone has bagged my groceries since I’ve been in Toulouse, and absolutely no one has asked to help me out to my car. I probably should have accepted the help out in Sacramento just for the novelty of it.

Cheering at New Year’s was incredibly awkward given my new habit of looking directly in peoples’ eyes as I clink glasses. How strange that all my American friends avoided my stare! I felt very distant from them and a bit hurt until I reminded myself that looking deeply into another’s eyes while cheering in the US is more a sign of passionate love than friendly good wishes.

Returning to Toulouse felt comfortable and natural, which was also unexpected. The streets are still decorated with holiday lights and I was happy to be back to what now feels like home. Tomorrow I am going to the prefecture for the third time to get my provisional visa paperwork updated. This is a horrendous experience and probably the task I dread most in France. I will have trouble controlling my frustration over the lack of organization and the rudeness of the government workers. I will undoubtedly curse the French system and wonder why they can’t implement a more efficient one, like we have back home in the US. But for now, it is nice to be surprised by the novelty of my hometown of Sacramento, as well as the ease with which I re-enter my new one in Toulouse.

Release Party, Beaujolais Nouveau

The third Thursday of November in France is the nation-wide release party for this year's batch of French wines. Today, grapes harvested in August and September appeared for the first time transformed into wine with labels sporting the year 2008.

The Beaujolais nouveau celebration is one of mediocrity. Does anyone actually love the Beaujolais nouveau? No. Do people love celebrating with wine? Yes, always. So, on this day one week before Thanksgiving, French are out in restaurants and cafés tasting this year's vintage. Does it taste like raspberry? Banana? Does it matter? Like Christmas, birthdays and Valentine’s, the expectation created by the event might overshadow any enjoyment of the wine itself.

Beaujolais is a light, fruity red wine with little tannin. It comes from the region north of Lyon in central France. Part of the charm of this wine is that it can be drunk immediately and is easy to drink. It is not expensive and is better and more fruity the younger it is. Which is why it is ready right now, just after being bottled, to be quaffed by the thirsty.

My own opinion? Pas mal this year. Raspberry? Banana? Maybe some smoky traces? Does it even matter? You can use it as an excuse to get together with friends, be joyful, complain about the bad wine or just hang out and mark the passage of yet another year.

Dessert in Disguise

This is not a hamburger. . .



. . . this is the dessert my Grandfather ordered while in Toulouse. How very Franco-American of him. The French love presentation, Americans love hamburgers. This dish could help ease cultural misunderstandings between the two countries.

The "coca-cola" is iced coke in a very very miniature glass, the fries are cookies garnished with raspberry "ketchup's" sauce, the "bun" is a macaroon cookie, the "cheese" caramel and the "burger" chocolate. The concoction falls squarely between sounding yummy and awful, no?

Obama Wins Election

Living in France without fellow American expats in my social circle, I had a very different kind of election night.

I was awoken just after 5 AM today with news of the election in the US. Friends, who were nine hours behind me in California, called full of excitement to say that YES!, Obama had passed the 270 votes needed, and, Don’t worry, you can now be proud to be an American abroad! These words proved true almost immediately and it didn’t even take Bush being shoved off the playing field to happen.

Obama’s acceptance speech fed into the deep-rooted values and expectations that define how we as Americans understand ourselves. His climb to the presidency seems to affirm the American dream that we so strongly cling to, that we as individuals, communities and a nation have the power to become something better through hope, energy, and hard work.

Watching Obama speak live in Chicago, I was struck by the power of these values to create change in a positive direction. Far away from the frenzy and awe in Chicago, I burst into tears of relief and joy that we as a country had chosen a black president. I cried because we had chosen someone who includes gays, Hispanics, Asian-Americans and the disabled in his acceptance speech. And I sobbed because we had chosen someone who highlights the need for compassion for others and service. From far away, the dream of moving in a forward direction towards a brighter future seemed kinetic, alive and possible.

I also shed a few tears because I was suddenly aware that I identified so strongly with the unyielding hope that is sewn into our cultural personality, and I felt a part of that hopeful American community. My optimism for Obama and the US put me in strong contrast to the general French perspective. In France, to be optimistic is to be ignorantly blind to the catastrophe that will ultimately arrive. Ask your average French person if he thought Obama would be elected prior to the elections and you would have heard a resounding no, the US is fundamentally racist. Talk to the same person now that Obama has been elected and he will be doubtful that Obama can orchestrate much change before he is assassinated by a gun-wielding backwoodsman.

Hope might not have been a good campaign slogan in France. And yet the words "hope" and "change" have been all over the French media for months thanks to the extensive coverage of the elections. The breadth of this coverage has been astounding by American standards; it is very much everywhere, everyday and puts our coverage of any other country's elections to shame. However, many French have had their fill of such ubiquitous coverage and are relieved to get Obama in office and off the airwaves and news pages.

Despite their lack of hope for the American electorate’s ability to elect Obama, the French do see him as a positive change and are generally Obamamaniacs. Around 85% of the French wanted Obama to win the election! And yet there are some very strong differences between the left here and Obama’s version, and many French might not realize how Obama might not be everything a French leftist party would be. Two differences are Obama’s support of the death penalty, and the French self-proclaimed socialism, a nomenclature Obama avoids.

The question of Obama’s race plays an even larger role in France than in the US. I find France a deeply racist country, but the French think of American racism as more widespread and far-reaching than their version. Thus, the French feel Obama’s election marks a shocking turn away from traditional American racism and is significant mainly for this reason. Obama’s race is part of his appeal for many in the US, while a reason not to vote for him for others. His race actually energized many people, both black and white, to vote for him, a fact that is lost on French cynicism. In the US the fact that he is part Kenyan and black helps him encapsulate the American dream of progressing towards a more ideal version of ourselves. It is just a shame, and ironic, that it took Bush to push us towards Obama.

Fear and Loathing of the “Intello”

A few years ago while living in Paris I was confronted with an American cultural value I hold that, upon closer inspection, is counter intuitive. I was listening to a radio program and heard the guest speaker describing himself as “an intello.” I was left repulsed and revolted by the statement. He was calling himself an intellectual! After my anger at this unknown “intello’s” self-importance calmed down, I had time to evaluate my reaction. His arrogance deeply bothered me. I don’t feel the same anger when faced with a self-described “laborer.” So what was so horrifying about someone identifying himself as a thinker?

In the US, we are nursed by a culture that fears and loathes pretension and elitism. This intello dude represented both. In the US, you should be educated, but should refrain from dangling your knowledge over others in quotes, figures and, most importantly, unfamiliar words. You should be rich, but you have to earn it through hard work and street smarts; the harder you work for your fortune, the better. In the US, it is almost as detestable to be a moneyed pedantic as an unemployed alcoholic. At least the alcoholic is helplessly dependent. The academic has the choice to stop quoting Shakespeare ad nauseum!

Anyone who is too eloquent, too knowledgeable and too polished is considered a threat to the hardworking, straight-talking American. Such traits must mean this person is conniving and capable of malicious activity, not the next-door neighbor type that you can sit down and have a beer with after a long day of work (bring a six-pack and Governor Palin might come along ta chat with ya!)

In France, the “I’m an intellectual” comment is not exactly common either and verges on arrogance. However, there isn’t the same resistance here to looking to writers, academics or philosophers for insight and answers. Being an intellectual in France doesn’t diminish the value of your opinions and doesn’t necessarily place you out of touch with real life and real problems. In fact, being an intellectual might mean you can think questions through thoroughly, contemplate nuances and communicate ideas coherently.

American resistance to public displays of knowledge might account for the past 8 years of jumbled English coming directly from the White House. W. doesn’t sound like the elite he comes from, and we Americans like that. But then of course, he doesn’t speak as well as your average middle-school child, and that is a bit more difficult to swallow.

I’m going to let Maureen Dowd wail away at the speaking style of Pappa Bush, son W. and newcomer maverick speaker, Sarah Palin. But after you stop admiring just how exquisite Dowd's English is and your laughter (or anger) at her cutting jabs at Republicans has calmed, you might consider where our anti-intellectual values lead us. Is this path really the best road for the pragmatic American to take? Eloquence doesn’t necessarily make a good president, but then again, neither does your next door neighbor. Even if she does enjoy a six-pack.

A French Cultural Lens Turned on the US

Picture taken from "Le Monde"

From the French perspective, “Americans are reckless optimists, incurably blind to the tragedy of life, to the weary convolutions of history and thus to the need for lengthy August vacations and financial regulations.” So reads “The New York Time’s” “Memo from Paris” from earlier this week.

This article, titled “Gazing at America, the French Still See a Wild Frontier,” gives an interesting and funny counterpoint to an American point of view. We Americans all know how to pick out the French: they are the well dressed snobs, smoking away in the corner of the world party as they philosophize about the grandeur of their (lost?) Culture.

Seeing ourselves from their eyes is more difficult. This “Memo from Paris” helps Americans turn the cultural lens on ourselves. We thought we were hardworking, practical, honest and energetic. But we emerge from French scrutiny looking like boorish, over confident and under knowledgeable upstarts from the backwoods. Add our perceived ignorance and our superficial capitalism, and the French aren’t surprised by the current economic crisis in the US. Hey, it might even teach us a lesson.

The “Memo from Paris” also illustrates the French interest in US elections. Let’s not confuse this with an affection for the good 'ol US of A and especially not our government. There isn’t any. But that being said, news about the US is constantly playing on the radio, printed in the newspapers and sprinkled in French conversations. The French know what is going on in the US, though news is inevitably written from a French point of view.

As the representative American, I am constantly asked the question, “Who will it be, McCain or Obama?” Often my interlocutor has two things to say after I posit the response that I think it will be Obama. First, Obama will not be elected, the US is too racist. Second, it is a shame that Obama won’t be elected. He would have been a good president. I have not spoken with a single French person that is excited about "McCain the maverick."

French pessimism for Obama’s possible ascension to the presidency shows a little something about French optimism. Don’t they know that one of the Obama themes is “Hope”? It also helps show how influenced people are by their culture. The cultural lens through which we understand the world is large and strong, and most people have a hard time seeing without it.