Julia Child’s “My Life in France”

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I’ve never fully appreciated Julia Child until I read her memoir, “My Life in France”. I’ve cooked from her cookbooks, long endeavors of a generation past; and never seen her shows, entertainment for an older, stuffier generation. Her charicature lives large in my mind – “One cup of wine for the chicken, two cups of wine for the chef”. I could never relate to the patron saint of epicurean home chefs. Matronly and pedagogic, I am not.

“My Life in France” brings her down to earth, chronicling the time in her life when she discovers her passion for food and cooking, her “calling”. Written in a breezy tone of the wide-eyed California girl that she is, the book is filled with moments of delight and curiosity, lessons and dilemmas, friendships and love, a time when life just comes together. The details of post-World War II Europe makes me long for a time machine. Her enthusiasm and perseverance is inspirational. Most wonderful is her loving life with her husband Paul, who supported her every step of the way, sharing in their gastronomic pursuits, and translating her skills into educational visuals. This is a book and life to be savored.

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