What's a Bûche de Noël? Well, in English, it would be a Yule Log, a fat jellyroll of a cake that's filled and rolled into a long log shape, then iced and decorated to look like a branch fallen in the forest, complete with grooved bark, broken-off stumps,and cute little mushrooms clustered here and there, all under a dusting of powdered sugar "snow."

Typically, the "wood" of the log is a light, spongy cake, baked in a thin layer on a sheet pan. Flexibility is the key here, as the cake needs to keep its shape when rolled up without cracking, smushing, or falling apart. So, most bûche de Noël recipes start with genoise, a French-style sponge cake made from egg yolks, sugar, and a small amount of flour, lightened with stiffly whipped egg whites.

Personally, though, I find that while genoise has a nice springy texture, it tastes like very little, which may be why, in most French desserts, it's usually brushed with liquor or syrups then smothered in fillings and glazes. For true tree-bark verisimilitude, the filling and frosting is typically a truffle-rich, deep-brown chocolate or mocha buttercream. Decorations are exuberant and goofy: bright green-and-red marzipan holly leaves, meringue or marzipan mushrooms, little chocolate banners scrolled in icing spelling out Joyeux Noel.

Classic, then, means old-fashioned, butter-heavy and frankly, a little tacky. But still, the concept remains festive and fun. Why not come up with a seasonal, local cake made for a California Christmas?

So, to start: no more foam-rubber genoise. Instead, an equally light but more substantial almond cake, using whole eggs beaten to a thick cream, then folded together with toasted almonds, flour, and a surprise splash of hot milk.

And instead of a mouthful of chocolate-flavored butter, the filling is a creamy blend of mild fresh goat cheese (chevre) and quark, lightened with whipped cream and flavored with tangerine or clementine zest. I love Spring Hill Jersey Cheese Company's vanilla quark, a mild, spreadable fresh cheese speckled with real vanilla bean, which you can find at many farmer's markets around the Bay Area, but you could substitute Cowgirl Creamery's fromage blanc, or use whipped cream cheese or mascarpone instead.

To decorate, cover your log in lightly toasted almond slices for a rough, eucalyptus-looking bark. Surround with fresh or sugar-dusted rosemary sprigs and whole clementines with leaves or the dried clementine slices sold by local farm Everything Under the Sun. Finally, add a few fat dried figs, poached to plumpness in spiced wine or tea. Nuts, citrus, fresh cheese, dried fruit: that's the taste of California in the wintertime.

Happy Holidays!

California Bûche de Noël
Since both the filling and the cake mixtures require a lot of beating, a stand mixer comes in very handy here. However, you can also use a hand-held electric mixer. Feel free to substitute walnuts or hazelnuts for the almonds; omit almond extract and amaretto. You can make cake, filling, and garnishes the day before serving; filled and rolled, it will keep well in the refrigerator for 1-2 days. Add the garnishes just before serving.

Makes: 1 cake, serves 8-10

Almond Cake

Ingredients:
1 cup sliced almonds, divided
¾ cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
¼ tsp almond extract
2 tbsp amaretto liqueur, optional
1 cup + 1 tsp sugar
½ cup milk
1 tbsp butter

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9" x 13" rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. Lightly grease and flour paper, shaking off excess. Sprinkle a thin, clean tea towel with powdered sugar and set aside.

2. To prepare almonds, spread slices out on a baking sheet and bake for 5-8 minutes at 325 degrees, until they smell toasty and are light golden brown in spots. Remove from oven and let cool. Measure out 1/3 cup of almonds, and set remaining almonds aside. Toss 1/3 cup almonds with 1 tsp sugar. Chop finely or, using a food processor or blender, pulse in short bursts into a coarse powder.

3. Sift flour, baking powder, and salt together. Stir in ground almonds. Set aside.

4. Beat eggs with vanilla, almond extract, and 1 tbsp amaretto (if using) for 1 minute. Add sugar a little at a time, beating vigorously for at least 5 minutes, until mixture is very thick (about the consistency of soft mayonnaise) and a pale creamy-yellow. When you lift the beaters, the mixture should form a ribbon as it falls back into the bowl.

5. Over low heat, heat milk and butter together until butter is melted and milk is hot but not boiling.

6. Gently fold flour mixture in eggs. Pour in milk and butter and stir gently until batter is smooth. Pour batter into prepared pan. Bake for 30 minutes, or until top is pale golden and springs back when pressed with a fingertip.

7. Holding onto the parchment, lift cake off baking sheet and reverse onto prepared tea towel. Peel off parchment and discard. Using a small sharp knife, trim off any hard or crunchy edges. Starting at the short end closest to you, roll the cake and towel together away from you into a fat log. Set aside to cool for an hour or so. (It’s important to roll up the cake while still hot, so it will stay flexible as it cools.)

Chevre-Citrus Filling
If you're a goat cheese hater, substitute whipped cream cheese or Neufchatel. Leave out the orange liqueur if you don’t want to splurge on a name brand; cheap triple sec will make the whole batch taste like baby aspirin.

Ingredients:
1 cup (8 oz) quark, fromage blanc, or mascarpone cheese
4 oz mild, fresh goat cheese, crumbled
1 tbsp good quality orange liqueur, such as Cointreau or Grand Marnier
2 tbsp honey, or to taste
1 tbsp grated tangerine or clementine zest
1-2 tbsp milk, as needed
1 cup heavy cream
1 tbsp finely chopped candied orange rind and/or 1 tbsp finely chopped candied ginger

Preparation:
1. Beat mascarpone, goat cheese, orange liqueur, honey, and zest together until smooth, adding milk as necessary to get a smooth consistency.

2. In a separate bowl, beat cream to soft peaks. Fold cream gently into mascarpone mixture. Fold in candied rind and/or ginger. Cover and chill until needed.

Sugared Rosemary Sprigs
Fresh rosemary sprigs are a nice touch of greenery around your completed cake. However, if you want to go all out and make them look winter-frosted, beat 1 egg white until frothy. Dip rosemary sprigs into egg white to coat, then dip and turn in granulated sugar to cover. Set aside to dry.

Poached Dried Figs
You can use any liquid you like to poach the figs, such equal parts water and red or white wine; apple cider; or spiced tea.

Ingredients:
10 dried figs
2 cups liquid
Rind of 1 orange or tangerine, in large pieces
1 tbsp honey
1 cinnamon stick
4 or 5 whole cloves

Preparation:
Cover figs with liquid, add rind, honey, and spices. Bring to a simmer and cook over low heat for 20 minutes, or until figs are soft and puffed up. Remove from heat and let cool in liquid. Refrigerate until needed.

To Assemble Cake
Almond Cake
Chevre-Citrus Filling
Remaining toasted almonds
Fresh or Sugared Rosemary Sprigs
Whole clementines with leaves, or dried clementine slices
Poached Dried Figs, drained and halved

1. Unroll cake from towel. Sprinkle with 1 tbsp amaretto, if using. Spread half the filling across cake, leaving a bare margin of about ½ inch on all sides. Starting from the short end again, roll up cake tightly (without towel).

2. Using a butter knife or offset spatula, cover cake with remaining filling. Trim ends to reveal spiral pattern. Press sliced almonds over filling. Drape cake with plastic wrap and chill for several hours or overnight.

3. To serve, arrange rosemary sprigs, clementines (or clementine slices), and figs around cake. Slice and serve, including 2 poached fig halves with each slice.

Fig chutney with cheese, crackers, and cashews.

Did you like your presents? Although I was hoping for cashmere socks, the funniest, etsy-est thing I got this year was a little poster from my sister, printed in block type, that read, "Today I will be happier than a bird with a French fry." Words to live by, my friends!

And what else do you have, in the holiday aftermath? The days after Christmas are often the best part, when the stress-inducing members of the family have gone up to the Wharf or down to Disneyland, and you're left with the fun sibs, the leftover booze, and a fridge full of leftover cold turkey and ham.

What's better than a stiff drink and a ham-and-turkey sandwich with people you never have to impress? I'll tell you: a ham-and-turkey sandwich dolloped with chutney, that's what. And not just any common-or-garden chutney, no sirree Bob, but McQuade's Celtic Chutney, made by red-headed Scotswoman Alison McQuade in small, aromatic batches, just like you would at home, if you were lucky enough to come from chutney-making people.

Hailing from Glasgow, McQuade comes by the Celtic appellation honestly, but her chutneys have a distinct California twist, thanks to the spark of heat and spice that zaps each one. Habanero and apple, fig and ginger (made with dried figs), and spiced apple are her mainstays, with other varieties rotated in depending on what's in season.

Walking through the darkened downtown San Francisco restaurant where McQuade rents kitchen space in the off hours, I could smell the sharp, sweet zip of spice and vinegar the moment I stepped in from the street. Back in the small, fluorescent-lit kitchen, McQuade and an assistant are stirring two pots on the stove, each half-full chopped figs, cider vinegar, brown sugar, raisins, apples, lemon zest and a plum pudding's worth of spices—nutmeg, ginger, allspice, cloves, cinnamon—all cooking down to a rich and fragrant gloss.

On the counter are boxes of fresh Fuyu persimmons, a backyard gift from the owners of the Hidden Vine wine bar nearby, a favorite hangout of McQuade's. They'll go into a new winter favorite, persimmon-habanero chutney. At the cozy Farm:Table cafe just a few blocks away (where McQuade often starts her day), jars of ruby cranberry-mandarin Christmas chutney are stacked up by the cash register. For McQuade, the chutney business is as much about building relationships and forging community as it is about filling jars.

Much of McQuade's ingredients are sourced locally, from farms like Torey's Farms, which she loves for their top-quality stone fruit and citrus. Cooking in small quantities (each batch usually fills about 30 7-oz jars) allows for a lot of flexibility. If something good turns up—fresh spring rhubarb, those backyard persimmons, a great deal on bananas or pineapple—she can adjust (or invent) a recipe on the spot, tossing the new variety into her ever-evolving product line.

Like many small-scale food artisans, McQuade had a long professional career first, working for the British Consulate and at law firms in both New York and Los Angeles. Missing the chutneys her grandmother had made while she was growing up in Scotland, she set to making a few jars for family and friends, bringing them to parties and giving it as gifts. Her hairdresser happened to try some, and a few days later called her from the salon. Get down here now with your chutney, she demanded. There's someone here who needs to try it. McQuade, mystified but intrigued, grabbed a few jars and headed over. The woman in question took a taste and asked for 60 cases on the spot.

She turned out to be Peggy Smith, one of the founders of Cowgirl Creamery, whose cheese shops have remained one of McQuade's best customers. That was 5 years ago, and now McQuade's chutneys are available in shops throughout the Bay Area, including Bi-Rite, Falletti's, Tomales Bay Foods, Whole Foods, Cheese Plus, and more. Restaurant and bars like Range, Hidden Vine, and the St. Francis Hotel's Clock Bar have found uses for her sweet-spicy-tangy spreads, adding it to cheese plates, even putting it into cocktails themselves.

Lately, she's been exploring more savory ways of using her chutneys, like shrimp stir-fry made with habanero chutney, or pork roast glazed with fig. Scrambled eggs, cheddar cheese, blue cheese, just about any kind of cold meat or sandwich: they're all the better for a smear of chutney to keep out the cold. Even peanut butter's better for a chutney hookup: the late (and much-loved) novelist and food writer Laurie Colwin often waxed rhapsodic about chutney, fondly recalling a tiny, perfect peanut butter-and-chutney sandwich she'd been served once at a cocktail party.

For next year, McQuade is working on a line of savory shortbreads flavored with fresh herbs like thyme and rosemary. Will they go with chutney? Did you even have to ask?

Roasted Beet Salad with Lavender-Scented Fried Summer Squash, Chevre, Figs, Cucumber Relish and a Balsamic Reduction

I finally jumped on the CSA wagon and I must admit, it was kind of like Christmas when my first box arrived, full of the lingering summer's bounty.

Fresh lavender perfumed the air as I unpacked each item with glee: heirloom tomatoes, okra, honeydew, beets, figs, flying saucer squash, and lemon cucumbers, among other loot.

Specimen A: Lemon Cucumber

Side note: this was the first time I encountered lemon cucumbers. They are pale yellow, the size of a small lemon, and quite adorable. They're sweet, and delicate-flavored, and don't have as many seeds as your average green cucumbers.

I rinsed off and bit into a plump, ripe, fig as the culinary inspiration started working its way through my thoughts. I was stoked to see a handful of the flying saucer squash that I have been admiring at the farmer's market the past few weeks. And, the beets called out to me. I love roasted beets with their crimson bleed and mellow, sweet flavor. But, I've never actually prepared them myself before.

OK, this is why I signed up for this, right? To try new things? To push my comfort zone? To eat good, healthy, veggies? Turns out, roasting beets is not difficult at all. And as for inspiration, before I knew it, sauce pans were out, kitchen cabinets hung ajar, and a CSA salad was born.

Roasted Beet Salad with Lavender-Scented Fried Summer Squash, Chevre, Figs, Cucumber Relish and a Balsamic Reduction

Serves: 4-6

Ingredients:
2 beets
3 flying saucer squash
4 figs, halved
1 lemon cucumber
1 cup panko bread crumbs
1 egg, beaten
Chevre, or cheese of your choice
2 teaspoons rice wine vinegar
¼ cup balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon lavender
Olive oil for frying
Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:
Roasted Beets
1. Preheat oven to 450 F.
2. Rinse beets, remove leaves, and wrap in foil. Place on a baking sheet and roast for an hour until the beets are tender through.
3. Let cool until you can handle them. Tip: wear gloves or place a plastic baggie over your hand to protect your fingers from getting stained. Using a paring knife, peel the skin off the beets. It should come off easily.
4. Slice into ¼ inch rounds. Set aside.

Figs & Balsamic Reduction
1. Heat a small saucepan to medium-high heat.
2. Sear the fig halves, flat side down for a few minutes, just until the surface caramelizes a bit. Remove and set aside.
3. In the same pan, lower the heat and add the balsamic vinegar and sugar. Let simmer until the sauce becomes thick and syrupy. Set aside.

Cucumber Relish
1. Cut the cucumber into a fine dice. You can leave the skin on if you're using lemon cucumbers since their skin is softer than regular green cucumbers.
2. Mix with rice vinegar, a sprinkle of salt and pepper, and set aside.

Fried Summer Squash
1. In a deep frying pan, heat 2 inches of oil to right below smoking point. I like the taste of olive oil (don't use the expensive stuff), but you can use vegetable oil if you prefer.
2. Prepare your assembly line: squash sliced into ¼ inch rounds, egg wash, dish filled with bread crumbs seasoned with lavender and a pinch of salt and pepper. I prefer panko because of its extra crunch, but you can use regular dried breadcrumbs as well.
3. Dip each slice of squash into egg wash, then coat with breadcrumbs.
4. To test the oil, drop a little piece of eggy breadcrumb into the pan. If it just sinks, the oil is not hot enough. If it burns quickly, the oil is too hot. If it starts to bubble right away and floats, it is just the right temperature and you're now ready to start frying up your squash.
5. Let the fried squash drain on a plate lined with paper towels. Sprinkle with a little salt while they're still hot. Set aside.

Cheese
You can use any cheese you'd like, however, fresh goat cheese and beets are a traditional pairing. If you're like me though, and have an aversion to goat cheese (I know, one of my great downfalls as a foodie, I disappoint myself in this respect time after time), try a gooey burrata, or Cowgirl Creamery's buttery Mt. Tam, or a ricotta salata for something sharper and firmer.

Now you're ready to assemble and plate. Layer beets, cheese, squash, repeat, and top with the cucumber relish. Garnish with the figs and balsamic reduction.

Enjoy!

Figs photo by James Ormsby

Figs are sexy. Why? Is it their smooth, barely downy skin, so much like a soft cheek? Is it their plump, curvy shape, swerving out and in like a hip or breast you can surreptitiously palm right there in the produce aisle? Is it the drop of nectar that drips from the flower end at the moment of perfect readiness? Unlike the other fruit of our late summer, the plums and peaches, the raspberries and early apples, figs are all seedy lushness. There is no sweet-tangy snap, no whiplash between sugar and acid. Instead, figs are fleshy, breaking apart easily against the tongue, an odalisque who needs no convincing to roll back and give in.

Which makes gilding the lily, or the fig, even more alluring. A naked fig is nice, but a fig burnished with pomegranate syrup, rolled in prosciutto, and stuffed with a pinkie's worth of goat or blue cheese, is divine.

Tracing the genesis of a recipe that you think is original is always an entertaining exercise in the anxiety of influence.

I'd cede the original concept to a fabulous salad of grilled fig, arugula, and pancetta dressed with a port and fig-vinegar vinaigrette that I had at The Girl & the Fig restaurant, back in Glen Ellen sometime in the late 90s.

Then there was the cold plate of figs and proscuitto shared with a date at an Italian restaurant in New York City on a balmy summer night some ten years later. Good, we agreed, but it could be better. A month or so later, my old pal Bucky and I ended up at the posh Brandy Library bar in Tribeca, sipping Ukiah's Germain-Robin XO brandy and nibbling what the kitchen there had dubbed Figs & Pigs, in which heat had definitely been applied to said proscuitto and figs, to fine effect.

Hitching a ride along the way was my fondness, nay, obsession with pomegranate molasses, the perfect way to add a fruity zing to earthy vegetables, like beets, which are all sweetness with no snap.

Finally, it all came together in my Brooklyn living room, late summer 2005. I invited the Italian-restaurant date home for my own version of Figs & Pigs. September figs, maybe Black Missions or Kadotas, were cut crosswise halfway through and plumped with a nubbin of cheese, soft goat for me, blue for her. Then the figs were tightly swaddled with a strip of proscuitto and perched on a lightly oiled baking sheet. Meanwhile, a half-and-half mixture of balsamic vinegar and pomegranate molassses was simmering on the stove over medium heat, bubbling down to a runny syrup. When it was just slightly thickened, it was drizzled lightly over the figs, the whole tray then popped into a hot oven, about 400 degrees. A few minutes, 5 at the most, and the fig were oozing and yielding, the cheese slightly melted and the syrup just sticky.

Out of the oven, onto a plate, they were drizzled with more syrup and served one by one from my hand to her lips while reclining on the couch.

And if there's another appetizer that can more emphatically assure that you'll never get to the main course, I haven't met it.

Every year, I look forward to the real fig season--figs have two seasons: the first, in early summer, is fleeting and generally unremarkable; the second one takes place late in the summer. And yes, folks, it's that time of year again. Late summer. My favorite moment in food time, when tomatoes and basil and zucchini and cucumbers and peppers and stone fruit and even berries are still prolific in the farmers' market, and each week, there are more shell beans and succulent delicious figs on display. But it's the figs that send me into squeals of joy, and when I bite into a perfectly ripe fig, perfect bliss.

If you’ve never tried a fig, then put aside your pre-conceived notions, and take a bite. Seriously. Now is your chance! Figs are at their peak from now until the end of the month. Longer if we are lucky. Kind of like a honeyed, sweet strawberry or raspberry but with a much more subtle flavor and less tang, figs are perfect when served with tangy cheese, a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, or wrapped in salty cured meat.

How to choose the perfect fig
Unlike most other fruits, the best figs are often the “ugliest,” at least until you know what to look out for. Once picked, figs no longer ripen, and you’ll never get the succulent figgy perfection if you choose underripe fruit. So back away from that perfectly smooth, unblemished, firm fig, it’s underripe!

Look for fruits that are soft (but not mushy) with cracks in the skin. They should feel heavy and plump, and maybe slightly wrinkled, but make sure to smell them to be sure they haven’t sat for too long and started to ferment.

Because figs must be picked when ripe, they have a very short shelf life. You should plan to use them within a day or two once purchased. Not that I’ve ever been able to hold back once I’ve snagged a bag of fresh juicy delicious figs. It’s best to store them in a paper bag in the refrigerator, unless you are using them the same day you purchase them.

Some figgy ideas
Not only are figs amazing out of hand, they are super versatile, and pair really well with salty, tangy, herbaceous flavors. Trim the stems off, slice them lengthwise in half or quarters, and then serve them:

• Sprinkled with fresh goats' cheese
• Alongside a wedge of tangy blue cheese
• Topped with thin slices of prosciutto or jamon serrano
• Drizzled with balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with chopped fresh basil
• In a salad of chopped toasted almonds, wild arugula, and fresh goats' cheese
• Drizzled with honey and crème fraiche

You can also cook them whole, for example:

• Wrapped with a thin slice of pancetta and then grilled until crisp on the outside
• Roasted in the oven with a drizzle of honey, and served with whipped cream and a sprinkle of toasted almonds

And if you want to go all out, then impress your friends (and co-workers) and make a very simple, but very gorgeous, fig tart.

Fresh Fig and Mascarpone Tart

Makes: 8–12 servings

Ingredients:
One 10-inch tart pan lined with flaky pie dough (use 1/2 recipe of my Flaky Pie Dough recipe below or use your favorite tart dough)
8oz excellent quality mascarpone
1/2 cup whipping cream
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 tablespoons golden brown sugar
Pinch of salt
About 10–16 figs, depending on how many figs you like
Honey, for drizzling

Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 400F. Line the tart pan with the dough, then line the dough with foil. Fill with ceramic pie weights or beans or rice. Place the tart shell on a baking sheet and bake until it starts to dry out, about 15 minutes. Remove the foil and weights and continue to bake until golden brown, about 5–10 minutes more. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool.

2. In a mixing bowl, whisk together the mascarpone, cream, vanilla, brown sugar, and salt until soft peaks form. Be careful, especially if you are using an electric mixer, because the mixture will thicken very quickly.

3. Carefully spread the mascarpone cream evenly onto the bottom of the tart shell.

4. Trim the stems off the figs and slice in half or quarters, lengthwise. Place them evenly on top of the mascarpone cream, overlapping so they all fit. Drizzle the figs with honey.

5. Cut into thin wedges and serve. Mmmmmmm. You can store this in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2–3 days.

Flaky Pie or Tart Dough

Makes: Enough for two 10-inch tarts

Ingredients:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
12 tablespoons very cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
1/3 cup ice water + 1 tablespoon

Preparation:
1. To make the crust, in the bowl of a food processor, stir together the flour, and salt. Sprinkle the butter over the top and process for a few seconds, or just until the butter is slightly broken up into the flour but still in visible pieces. Sprinkle the water over the flour mixture evenly, then process until the mixture just starts to come together.

2. Dump the mixture out of the bowl onto 2 large sheets of plastic wrap. Press the dough together into a mound and then wrap with plastic and press into a flat disk. Refrigerate the dough until chilled, about 30 minutes or up to 1 day, or freeze for up to 1 month.