Yule Log Cake and the History Behind This Christmas Tradition

Hello, my dears!

I can’t believe it is only five days until Christmas! Even less if you are reading this from the other side of the world. How are your Christmas preparations coming along? The holidays undoubtedly look very different for much of the world this year, but I would love to know what sorts of things you have planned. What are some of the traditions you and your family keep?

I hope that everyone who reached out about receiving a homemade Christmas card has received theirs. I mailed them on the last day of November, but as swamped as the postal service is this year, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if some of them take a while to reach their destinations. Please do let me know if you don’t get yours. I love making cards and I love you – my awesome online community.

So. I had this great idea, that I would make a Yule log cake (also called a Bûche de Noël if you want to sound fancy), share the recipe with you today before the winter solstice, and tell you about the history behind the tradition. In my fantasy, my cake would taste better than Mary Berry’s and look more beautiful than Paul Hollywood! But, alas, after two disastrously failed attempts which resulted in the wasting of food, the wasting of my time, and a wound to my pride, I decided to just buy the damn thing. This situation reminds me of the line in the cute movie “Calendar Girls” when Chris (Helen Mirren) wins the baking contest and gives the following advice on how she achieved such a light sponge: “Line the bowl with butter. Always use a warm spoon. And if it’s a special event, get it at Marks & Spencer’s.” Well, we don’t have a Marks & Spencer’s here, but we do have The Fresh Market, and it turns out they make a bloody good cake!

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“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”-Robert Frost

On this shortest and darkest day of the year, I want to share with you these lovely words penned by poet Robert Frost.

“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Happy Winter solstice, friends.  Blessings to you on this first winter’s night.

xo,

P.S. For my friends in the Southern Hemisphere, happy summer solstice to you!