Yes, I know, Julia Child fever is gripping the nation. It is so cliche. But, you see, all the stupid people are reading "Julie & Julia." It's only us smart people who can say we read Julia Child's memoir. I am deboning a duck as I type.
Actually, I read "Julie & Julia," and it was one of those guilty pleasure kinds of books. Yes, I liked it. I devoured it. The movie was the same way. See it. It's fun. But Julia Child's memoir? That's something that will stick to your ribs, kind of like her filet of beef stuffed with foie gras, wrapped in bacon and braised in veal stock. She did love her meat. Though most people think of Julia Child as a cooking expert, I can't say I'll be following her recipes anytime soon. She writes with a straight face of soaking tuna in vinegar for five hours before cooking it. She had clearly never heard of ceviche. What a travesty.
But this lovely book has nothing to do with recipes. It was written, with the help of her nephew, shortly before her death in 2004. It's about her beautiful romance with her husband, Paul. But it's mostly about her move to France in her late 30s, and her subsequent awakening to the many pleasures of food and life. I'm sure Julia believed, as I do, that the way you eat reflects the way you live. Eat with gusto and a sense of adventure, and you will live the same way. She never had children and spent much of her life hosting dinner parties and writing cookbooks. And yet, what an incredible contribution she made to this world. Just goes to show that the purpose of life is to live--to eat and drink and laugh and love and enjoy. Bon appetit.