so, stephanie took me to see julia child’s movie. i am a curmudgeon. typically i don’t go to see pictures. but i went, largely because stephanie rarely asks me to see a film, and to some extent because my friend marie thought it was fabulous flick. but i ask you, how good could a movie be that follows some blog about julia child’s cooking? i went along without even grumbling and i could barely contain sniffles during some of the films episodes. and i wiped tears over julia’s superb and very over the top scenes. and my heart jumped when the famous food writer didn’t show for the much belabored beef bourguignon. and i loved the very paul child for the patience with his ever so madly exuberant wife. and yes, i have lived in paris. and i have learned at the cordon bleu, though i moved on, sensibly without the diploma. and it is true that my wife’s notions of good cooking was to eat at a fabulous restaurant. and that my mother in law presented me with both volumes of ‘mastering the art of french cooking’ at my wedding day. i have cooked from the book since and often. i do know how hard it is for the uninitiated to work from this tome. the use of the ‘batterie de cuisine’ alone must require an extensive ownership and certainly knowledge.
so, i ask you, how credible is it that a young wife, if from texas, however much without child, but with a very nerve-wracking eight-hour job in manhattan, cooks and blogs daily from this french bible in a teensy tenement over a honky pizzeria in of all places, queens? how might she have found time in a twenty-four hour day and succeed to shop, cook, taste and eat food of five-hundred-twenty-four individual recipes for three-hundred-sixty-five days, her birthday included, in a row? never mind the cat or the ever so patient, if horizontally neglected husband. how did she make time to get stuff downtown at dean and delucca or likely at bridge's for the required copper pans? she had to take time to ride subways, changing trains twice to get finally out to queens. how? though stephanie says she didn’t have to do make-up or hair, i observed that she didn’t look train-wrecked in the movie, so i deduce (i am a huge nero wolfe fan) that her clothes got pressed somehow and that she at least looked in the mirror before taking an f-train to her day-job.
so, having such reservations after seeing the movie, i will make an honest attempt to read julie powell’s book. and blog about what i find daily, if not for a year. i will re-read page by page julia child’s scripture once it arrives from amazon’s store (it is at present back-ordered) and i will report on the workings and time requirements of those very recipes the real julia developed ultimately for the use of her american audience.