Translated into English as "Christmas Log Cake" a French Buche de Noel is a rolled cake, cylindrical, filled (apricot jam, marshmallow fluff, iPads, despair at our inability to control firearms, whatever you want, this is America).
And then it is frosted look like birch log in an old-country winter forest. The kind you might hunt for boars in with a semiautomatic rifle.
You can add "moss" made of spun sugar, "mushrooms" of Italian meringue, which I need no permit to eat right out of the pastry bag, because this is America.
I recommend control, when slicing what I have come to call "the Buche" because if you do it right it can look like the beautiful rings of a young sapling, or like the bullseye of a target. Your choice. Like in Westerns cowboys call guns "peacemakers," and today the private citizen fearmongers, and makes the implausible argument they need an Uzi to protect their own.
We're banning sugary drinks before a complete ban combat-grade assault weapons. But, this year, I'm writing to in my letter to Santa that it's only thing I want.