The sincere friends of this world are as ship lights in the stormiest of nights. – Giotto di Bondone

 Forty-two years ago, a young man on the brink of adulthood, a young man just seventeen years old and soon having the heavy responsibility of choosing his future career, of selecting his university, stood in the hallway just outside the kitchen of his parents’ apartment in a working class suburb of Paris, unobserved by his mother and his French professor who were discussing him, speaking in undertones. A school theater group, with this professor as chaperon and theater director, had just returned to Paris after a summer trip to Corsica where they performed their play to the public and discovered the island, and the young man’s parents had invited the group in for lunch.

“You know, I’m worried about him,” his mother confessed to her son’s teacher. “How do we know he’ll make the right choices? And be successful?” The teacher, a Jesuit priest and a favorite teacher of the young man, who had joined the boy’s mother in the kitchen to help dry the dishes, put down the cloth and looked at her. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about,” he said. “Jean-Pierre is a bright young man and I’m sure that whatever he chooses to do it will be something he is passionate about and he’ll be very successful at it!”

These words spoken by this much-loved, much-respected teacher meant the world to the young man. And he carried those words with him throughout his life; this brief conversation came back to him often, at each crossroads, each fork in the road. These words got him through thick and thin, hard times and doubts. Every time he made a decision, each time he chose to leave one job, one career behind and look for a new, he was comforted by those words, buffered by the confidence of the man who spoke them, strengthened even when those immediately around him doubted or, worse, scorned.

Along the way, over the years, the young man, less young, more experienced and then husband and father, responsible for others, often wondered about this priest who had had such an influence on him. One year ago as he once again stood on the threshold of a grand and daring new adventure, having made the decision to start all over again with a new profession in a new city, decided that it was finally time to track down that priest, that teacher. And thank him for that gift that he never knew he had given to a self-doubting young man all those years before.

A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops. – Henry Adams

Google search is quite the handiest thing when one has a crazy, overwhelming curiosity to delve back into one’s past and discover whatever became of old friends, classmates or teachers, work colleagues, childhood friends or foes. For better or worse (and don’t tell Santa; some of that curiosity is often quite naughty). Every now and then, my husband or I can be found in front of a laptop squinting hard at the screen, studiously scouring the hits and the images in an attempt to guess whether or not this is indeed the person we have been looking for. And this time, magic happened. He, that long ago young man now my husband, sat down and googled and found the trace of this teacher. And he sat down and penned a letter to him, explaining and thanking. He slipped the letter into an envelope but decided to check one more time if the address he had found was still the current address. He checked, he telephoned and what a holiday miracle. Father Michel had retired to Nantes! Ten minutes away from where we were then living.

And that is how we had a Jesuit Priest for dinner on the fifth night of Hanukkah one year ago. And what a joy. Charming, smart, funny and cool he was and the two of them, former student and teacher, young man and mentor, caught up, sharing stories and gossip and news about other teachers and students they had known, and about their own lives. We all had a wonderful time. Jean-Pierre prepared a splendid fish and seafood choucroute, accompanied by a beurre blanc nantais that I whipped up alongside of him.

And we ended the meal with this seasonal, festive Bûche de Noël.

Dreary autumn weather transforms into glorious winter chill and bright sunshine and elves begin to scurry around the house making plans, secreting away goodies wrapped in brightly colored paper and tied up in plump ribbons, the excitement sets in and good moods are handed round. Time spent back on the old home front with mother, brother, and sisters has added to my festive mood and the holiday cheer risks spilling over from Hanukkah into Christmas, doubling the jolliness and good will. We eat latkes and exchange gifts while the flames dance atop multi-colored candles in our old family Menorah and pretty paper is strewn across the floor. And as soon as I return to France and the hotel, the Christmas rituals begin! We will decorate the tree for the reception area and drape the hotel in swags of fairy lights. And Jean-Pierre and I will begin the discussion of what to prepare ourselves for the Christmas meal.

The French are nothing if not traditional and their holiday celebrations never waver from one year to the next: foie gras glistening with fig jam; oysters on the half shell nestled in platters of chipped ice; smoked salmon and blinis, scallops drizzled with Champagne cream sauce or lobster with a splash of lemon, ducks and capons bundled around luscious fillings of mushrooms, fruit, or more foie gras, wrapped up like presents. Candied chestnuts tucked into gold foil and bowls of orangettes, nuts and dried fruits followed, of course, by a festive bûche de noël reflect the joyful repetition of these customs. As Hanukkah slides into Christmas, our home is warm and convivial, wonderful smells emanate from the kitchen, and we sing and dance and laugh together, lighthearted and mirthful for the time, at least, of the holidays.

The Yule Log or Bûche de Noël is a delicious, sophisticated, and impressive dessert for any occasion but an absolute must for the holiday season. Although bakery cases across France are laden with bûches of all sorts, heavy with buttercream or rich with ice cream, glazed and iced and swagged with sugar, festive with meringue, I choose to make my own bûche for my family, preferring a confection cakier and lighter with less overly sweet creams and frostings, something simple yet elegant. A bûche really isn’t that difficult to master, and once you get the hang of working with the cake to create a flawless roll, the sky is the limit where flavors, fillings and décor go.

Christmas is doing a little something extra for someone. –  Charles M. Schulz