Long ago are the days spent wrought with butterflies in our stomach as we approach our starring role in our much acclaimed primary nativity. We no longer trundle into our educational establishment laden with enough baggage – purely in the form of impulse/ lynx gift sets and selection boxes – to shower among the entire class, simply to receive the same back. And as most of us are still quite resentful we are no longer blessed with crosswords and viewings of festive films in favour of work. However, although we can mostly contain ourselves – or at least we pretend we can by resisting consuming the entirety of our advent calendar in one – Christmas is undeniably paramount to student existence.
Whilst it’s great to be enjoying the additional socials and parties that the end of Michaelmas term thrusts upon us, we have a shared knowledge that our cheery exterior is virtuously because we are just a few more Klute trips from being nestled in our familial nirvana. The winter vacation affords us respite from structured work but arguably more importantly: the reality of being an adult. Or fears of impending adulthood provoked through our increasing independence. No more running out of loo roll or wearing a plethora of jumpers to retain some form of life, just an abundance of warmth amidst a bed of calories.
Obviously everyone indulges in food and we all have our favourite Christmas attributions – which in reality is bizarre, given that most other days we’ll eat three meals and maybe a couple of snacks – yet this one day is honoured with a hearty collection of canopes, desserts, chocolates, sides and drinks which is excusably eaten the whole month surrounding this glorified day. But Christmas food as a student has become increasingly more exciting, a bundle of joy and promise of the homeland.
Dabbling in domesticity is almost another aspect of the festive season – it seems that everyone is inspired by the magnitude of food on offer in shops, paradoxically deciding that they need even more. But I am no stranger to this bandwagon and also enjoy a Christmas bake.
In the grand scheme of life I am not an overly adventurous baker but I do like to while away my time conjuring creativity and accept my responsibility as head connoisseur in light of family celebrations. So, naturally I merrily embarked upon a Christmas culinary adventure.
For most, mince pies or mini Christmas cakes may be the go- to epitome of Christmas. However, until this year – where I received a true moment of anagnorisis at Christmas formal – I have always disliked such fruit burdened bundles. I was that child that didn’t like dried fruit, or cream, or nutmeg or anything slightly foreign to my everyday security, thus was rendered pretty puzzled by Christmas desserts and would abstain. Fortunately, I was a fan of the yule log – no nuts, fruit, alcohol, spices and if I had it my way, cream. Ideal, a winning solution.
Although, arguably we are somewhat missing out on this perfect pudding, the Christmas Yule Log, or ‘Buche de noel’ is a more common festive desert in France and Belgium as the customs of the Yule log is derived from medieval times and spread over Europe.
Historically, the Yule log was an entire tree that was ceremoniously brought into the family home. The largest end of the log would be shoved into the fire, whilst the remainder of the tree just pervaded the family home. Somewhat annoying, however whilst most of us employ central heating, so no longer see this as a necessity, we are yet to move away from this tradition of heaving trees into our living spaces to celebrate the birth of Christ. The yule log was also lit by the remainders of the previous years’ log. European countries use different tree species and have slightly different customs regarding the log.
In Cornwall the tree is called ‘The Mock.’ Within Devon and Somerset, West countriers actually cop out slightly in only burning Ash twigs, as apparently this was done upon arrival of the dishevelled arrival of Mary and Joseph. Likewise, the Irish only burn a candle.
Thus, comparatively my Yule Log effort here in Durham, is rendered slightly less pitiable. Enthralled by the prospect of wasting my day, I eagerly galloped to Tesco to collect some ingredients for the great bake. However, believing myself to have plenty of eggs I deliberately avoided purchasing said items. But on return, delving into my cupboard, I was only able to produce 2 eggs. In a normal scenario this would be a resolvable situation – one I feel confident I would have no problem in overcoming. But this is not a normal situation, I am honouring the great Nordic tradition attempting to create a majestic Yule log, not a mere cake. Knowing how strong my omelette game has been in order to rid myself of perishable goods before the holidays, I am not wavered into buying more eggs. Remaining strong, I power on with the bake. My dreams of creating a BBC good food creation, or one of Mary Berry’s fineries are crushed, but I take to the internet and stumble across a questionable recipe from a school.
Brilliant. I can make my yule log without having to squander my eating efforts or resurface from my house. However, in oversight this recipe appears overly simple and requires just 50g of flour – puzzling. Sieving and folding ingredients I begin. I am bemused by the inclusion of the sugar, recognising the absence of fat and therefore the lack of creaming, so revert to the recipe. It is only then that I realise, the method is in fact demonstrated through a power point presentation. This is so far removed from my baking hopes – I know Mary Berry would not afford me with such multi media – that I become resigned to my dismal efforts. As the year eight cookery class have provided me with labelled diagrams of eggs and flour, I abort their regimented process and whack in extra flour.
Soon, it becomes apparent that the larger tin I’ve picked out for my masterpiece is just not going to work out. The mixture is too small and will only burn. So an emergency tin change is implemented. But the surface area to volume ratio is really not ideal. In order to roll a larger surface area to volume ratio would be ideal, but also student facilities do not afford this luxury and I was forced to make a scathing decision between a burnt but better structured cake, or a poorly structured soft cake. It was nail biting, But I opted for the later, considering the detestation of a crispy log.
Once the cake was cooked – whoever knew when that was after resisting the constraints of tin size and ingredient amounts (that’s right, I can’t be tamed) – I released it from the oven and was immediately ready to roll. Hotly anticipating this time, I was aware it was now or never – I either rolled this brown carpeted sweetness with purpose and fervour or truly resigned it to the depths of despair. Realistically, with that pit being the bin I had no choice but to upwardly create, knowing that the cake would not comfortably fit, rendering me the inconsolable task of bin emptier. So I rolled. I’ll be honest with you, it certainly was not my best culinary offering to date but a butter icing bark does help and a sprinkling of chocolate and icing sugar is never a bad idea.
Traditionally, chemicals like wine were decanted onto the Yule Log to create coloured flames, so maybe if you’re really looking to impress you could try whacking some of them on your Christmas creations – or equally if you need something significant to avert attention a spritz of table salt – which will apparently turn the log bright yellow – may suffice.But even if it doesn’t remember, it’s the thought that counts, and the greatest gift is giving!