tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66585740017179515842024-02-06T23:41:58.516-08:00Julia and IM. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-21820822328110585412010-02-22T14:02:00.000-08:002010-02-26T08:49:52.886-08:00Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Part One<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/img/b78e/RubenCV/46l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/img/b78e/RubenCV/46l.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="260" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/img/b78e/RubenCV/46l.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(Photo from www4.pictures.zimbio.com)</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Simca and Louisette asked Julia for help with their cookbook in late August, 1952. They'd just heard that the editor their publisher had hired, Helmut Riperger, had quit in the middle of the project. Now the two friends were on their own, with no idea of their audience and nowhere to start. So, they turned to Julia.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first thing Julia did was to read what they had so far. At over 500 pages, it was huge, and full of problems. Were the recipes exact enough, she asked herself? Were they too complicated? Were the instructions clear and comprehensible? The answer was no. The level of detail was inconsistent, often way too complex, and the book "was not well suited for the American home kitchen." In other words, the best thing about the massive amount of work Simone and Louisette had done so far was the idea. Julia decided, with her friends' approval, to "strip everything down to the bones". She'd start over from the beginning. And so, Julia Child plunged headfirst into the gigantic project of writing a French cookbook for Americans. </span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Julia's system was to test each and every recipe in the manuscript, using around four sources, including Louisette and Simca's method. She'd read through all of the ways, then made the recipe a few different ways. "...should the cabbage be blanched? Should I use a different variety of cabbage? Would the pressure-cooked soup taste better if I used the infernal machine a shorter time?" Julia was methodical and relentlessly precise. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: normal;"></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">This period of working on the cookbook was full of little setbacks and victories. For example, after a few weeks of thinking about sauces with butter, Julia and Paul ate dinner at a restaurant famous for it's <i>beurre blanc</i>, a wonderful sauce for which no recipe could be found. The Childs hung around after their meal, and were rewarded when the chef made <i>buerre blanc.</i> Julia watched intently, and took mental notes for when she made the sauce back in her kitchen. At home, she wrote what she thought "to be the first clear and comprehensive recipe for the sauce." She tested it on some friends a while later, and proclaimed it perfect.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">Simca was proving to be a very good, productive worker. She tested recipes and took notes at a furious pace, sometimes for nine to ten hours, according to <i>My Life in France</i>. Louisette wasn't around much for this stage of the work, though. She'd lost a lot a lot of interest when she saw how meticulous the work was going to be, as well as the fact that she was going through a divorce. Julia and Simca intended to finish their cookbook the way they were working on it, however-- they wanted the it to be well-written and complete.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">The Book, as it was called at Roo de Loo, was having problems with its publisher, Ives Washburn. Julia got a letter from the head of the publishing house saying that "After a year of frustration, we are still a long way from a completed book... The American woman who buys <i>French Home Cooking</i> will probably resent advice on how to arrange her kitchen, set her table, handle a skillet or boil an egg: she learned those things from her mother or Fannie Farmer, don't you think? She expects a book that will show her how she can give her cooking the French touch.... If the recipe... can't be easily used by the stupidest pupil in your school, then it is too complicated." The date was November 1952, and Washburn was expecting a mostly complete book by March 1st, 1952. Simca and Louisette opted for staying with the current publisher. They didn't believe they had much chance of finding another publisher-- they were completely unknown, and "Mr. Putnam was a nice man who like our book." Julia, however, believed that the book was going to be a masterpiece. She didn't see any reason to be pushed around by the publisher. The three Gourmandes decided to stay with Washburn for the time being. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">As for the part about "the American woman" who would "resent advice" and just wanted to "give her cooking the French touch", Julia replied to Mr. Putnam a while later. She explained to him that they weren't just writing a collection of recipes, they were writing a cooking manual. "It is not enough the 'how' [of making hollandaise or mayonaise] be explained." The three friends were writing a book that would enable you the full experience of French cooking--table setting and egg-boiling included. They were going to write a book that showed you how to cook the French way.</span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></span></div></div></div>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0Julia's Kitchen44.0509275 5.039102844.047072 5.0318073000000005 44.054783 5.0463983tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-50321533703441871492010-02-22T12:01:00.000-08:002010-02-22T12:01:42.185-08:00Julia Child's birthday<a href="http://famous-relationships.topsynergy.com/Julia_Child/AstroData.asp">Julia Child's birthday and astrological chart</a><div>An interesting link about Julia Child's birth.</div>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-17785174807223286412010-02-20T13:51:00.000-08:002010-02-20T13:51:03.919-08:00Ode to Julia<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you left your life</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">so soft and warm</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">plunging</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">diving headlong into the unknown</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you journeyed to a country far away</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">met a man</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you opened up your mind</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">grabbed love by her handle</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">my julia</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you tried all sorts of things</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">lived all over</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you didn't sit around</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">waiting for your knight</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in shining armor</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you found him</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and you learned to love each other</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">then</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">once again</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you left everything</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">made your home again</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">there you found your missing piece</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">your people</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you fell in love again</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">made up your mind</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to be one of them</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">my julia</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you tried</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">unfazed by burned crust</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">eggs on the floor</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"never apologize"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you said</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you never did</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">marching on</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">people made fun of</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">your passion</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you ignored them</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">your mind was made up and you</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">were going to follow your path</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">my julia</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">peculiar describes you perfectly</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">saying exactly what you thought</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in your warbling voice</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">with your sun-baked personality </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">feet never fitting in your bed</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you could never fit in</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">never tried to</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">you stood tall</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">threw back your head</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">laughed at those</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">who said you couldn't do it</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like you do</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">my julia</span>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-63264044413523936912010-02-17T14:21:00.000-08:002010-02-18T16:15:42.346-08:00Between the Lines: Les Trois Gourmettes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegVi51sqcDAEATXiFm3hrcZ-0WpqtaZPoq5xh4uga5M3pKWyIC6X2dbrRLFzfJ_0LBCGUNlGP8-IUhScljxheuaEcrSn_Ubn2Lnj43iCco-ve9mpsYbGvHavle_IP2KVNbBj4MMMkYeY/s1600/JC+3+Gourmandes+Class.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegVi51sqcDAEATXiFm3hrcZ-0WpqtaZPoq5xh4uga5M3pKWyIC6X2dbrRLFzfJ_0LBCGUNlGP8-IUhScljxheuaEcrSn_Ubn2Lnj43iCco-ve9mpsYbGvHavle_IP2KVNbBj4MMMkYeY/s320/JC+3+Gourmandes+Class.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_1266445540699"></span>(Photo from http://2.bp.blogspot.com/)<span id="goog_1266445540700"></span></a></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div class="MsoNormal">In November 1951, a woman named Simone Beck came to dinner at Julia Child's house. The two women had met through a women's eating club, and would become fast friends. They would spend years working on perhaps the most famous cookbook after "The Joy of Cooking". Although their personalities were almost opposite, they shared a love and appreciation that would keep them together through all their arguments. They both loved French cooking.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal">Simone Beck Fischbacher, or Simca, grew up in a rich family in France. Although the household kept servants, she could frequently be found experimenting in the kitchen. She soon proved to be a natural cook, and was self-taught except for a few classes at the Cordon Bleu. Julia and Simca were instantly fast friends, united by their love of France and food. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Simca was a member of one of the only female gastronomical clubs in France at the time. Called Le Cercle des Gourmettes, the group had begun in 1927 to protest the traditionally male world of food clubs. Simca introduced Julia to one of her friends, who was also a Gourmette- Louisette Bertholle. Louisette, who was, according to Paul Child, "a charming little nincompoop", wasn't as enthralled with cooking as Julia and Simca, but still "bright and chic and full of enthusiasm". The three had a vague idea of starting a cooking school together, but before they had had time to do anything but talk, their first student-to-be presented herself. A friend of Julia's from Pasadena, named Martha Gibson, was coming to visit, and could they please give her cooking lessons? <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">L'Ecole des Trois Gourmandes (roughly "The School of the Three Food Lovers)") opened its doors January 1952. The three new friends placed a notice in the American Embassy's newsletter, telling of "[a] small informal cooking class, with emphasis on the 'cook hostess' angle... is open for five pupils... The meetings are Tuesdays and Wednesdays from 10:00 a.m. through lunch, in the home of Mrs. Paul Child. The fee is 2,000 francs including lunch, which is prepared and served by the group. There are three experienced instructors, who teach basic recipes, bourgeoise or haute cuisine." The ad was not quite accurate-- the "instructors" were indeed experienced, but in cooking, not teaching.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Although the new school was not perfect, it was pretty good. For each lesson Julia typed a script for each of the teachers; "Prof. Julia, Prof. Simca, and Prof. Louisette". One would be chopping onions and carrots while the other was explaining the proper method for basting chicken legs, and a third was heating up stock. Prof. Louisette was often absent, as she was going through a divorce. However, the school's aim, to teach French cooking without the frills, was accomplished.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">While Julia provided the lesson plan for des Trois Gourmandes, Simca and Louisette supplied the recipes. They drew from a cookbook they’d been writing for years; the finished cookbook-they hoped- would provide an “authentically French” cookbook for Americans. They’d gotten a publisher, Ives Washburn, but he didn’t know about the market for the type of product Louisette and Simca were working on. Ives did hire someone to translate the skinny manuscript into English and make a “teaser” for the book. Called “What’s Cooking in Frances”, it hadn’t been shown to Simca and Louisette before distribution and was published full of errors. The whole project was turning into a disaster. So, in 1952, the two friends asked Julia for help. Although she probably didn't realize it, this would prove to be an enormous event in her life.</div></div></div></span>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-35154378805727323332010-02-14T13:57:00.000-08:002010-02-21T12:45:39.810-08:00LinkHere's a great link about Julia's childhood. Enjoy!<br />
<a href="https://www.users.muohio.edu/shermalw/honors_2001_fall/honors_papers_2000/CHADWELL_JULIA-CHILD.HTML">https://www.users.muohio.edu/shermalw/honors_2001_fall/honors_papers_2000/CHADWELL_JULIA-CHILD.HTML</a>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com1The Internet37.509725842937513 -121.8164062536.42038984293751 -123.68408225 38.599061842937516 -119.94873025tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-61082824514188711722010-02-08T15:54:00.000-08:002010-02-08T16:54:50.472-08:00L'École du Cordon Bleu<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1265674008093"> </a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1265674008093"><img height="250" src="http://i.ebayimg.com/02/!Bh3syewBWk~$(KGrHqMH-C0EsMEGU9HqBLLWC0Ry2Q~~_3.JPG" style="-webkit-user-select: none;" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://i.ebayimg.com/02/!Bh3syewBWk~$(KGrHqMH-C0EsMEGU9HqBLLWC0Ry2Q~~_3.JPG">(Photo from http://i.ebayimg.com)</a></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.superchefblog.com/images/juliachildbugnard72dpi336pxl.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.superchefblog.com/images/juliachildbugnard72dpi336pxl.png" width="320" /></a></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://juliachildpictures.com/images/julia_child_le_cordon_bleu.png">(Photo from juliachildpictures.com)</a></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Although Julia liked French cooking quite a bit and was cooking at Roo de Loo quite often, she was looking for something more. "I wanted to roll up my sleeves and dive into French cuisine," she wrote in her memoirs. The perfect opportunity came when she wandered into le Cordon Bleu (French for Blue Ribbon), the well-known French cooking school for serious students. She went to a demonstration, then signed up for the next available class, a six week long "intensive course". <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">On Tuesday, October 4th, Julia arrived at the renowned school for her first cooking class, with a cold, and found out just what she'd gotten herself into. Instead of the 1 1/2 month course she thought she was getting, Julia had enrolled herself in an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Année Scolaire</i>, or school year, class. In other words, a yearlong commitment that cost $450 (in 1949). After talking it through with Paul, she went for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The Année took place in a bright, cheerful kitchen on the Cordon Bleu's top floor. Julia was one of three women attending; one of the others was English, the other French. Both were about Julia's age, but neither had any experience in the kitchen. She asked the owner of the school, Madame Brassart, for a transfer. Madame Brassart didn't like Americans because they "couldn't cook", a fact she made quite evident to Julia. However, the two talked it through, and soon Julia was enrolled in a different yearlong class for "restaurateurs". This time, she was one of twelve. Her classmates had all served in WWII, and were all male, but Julia refused to be intimidated. After the first few classes, she determined that there "wasn't an artist in the bunch", but they became a cheerful lot. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The new kitchen was the opposite of Julia's first experience. Far from working on the top floor, the restaurateurs cooked in the basement. It wouldn't have been small if it was empty, but it contained three four-burner stoves, six electric ovens, an icebox, and two long cutting tables, as well as twelve students and the teacher, Chef Bugnard. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Julia loved Chef Bugnard instantly. He was slightly shorter than the average height, rotund, and had round wire glasses. He'd been cooking nearly all his life; from the time he was a boy in the family restaurant to working in huge ocean liners to owning a restaurant in Brussels. He loved teaching at the Cordon Bleu, firing off instructions to food-impassioned students. Bugnard taught methodically, beginning with foundational recipes and techniques. Every so often, he would cook a complete meal to teach more in one class. "Bugnard insisted that one pay attention, learn the correct technique, and that one enjoy one's cooking-- 'Yes, Madame Scheeld, <i>fun</i>!' he'd say. 'Joy!'" Inspired by her teacher's gusto, "Madame Scheeld" put on a mask of mild "sweet good humor" for her all-male class, but listened raptly to Bugnard's swift instructions.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Julia's daily schedule around this time looked something like this.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">6:30: Wake up. Wash face, dress, etc. Drink tomato juice.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">6:50: Walk to parking garage, drive to Cordon Bleu, park nearby. Buy two newspapers (one French, one American), people-watch, eat a croissant, and drink café-au-lait. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">7:20: Walk to Cordon Bleu. Change into cooking "uniform" (white dress and blue apron), begin peeling onions and making conversation with classmates.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">7:30: Class begins.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">9:30-45: Class ends. Clean up.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">9:45: Shop for a bit, drive home. Cook for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">12:30: Paul arrives home. Eat lunch. Paul sometimes takes nap.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">2:30-5: Return to Cordon Bleu for demonstration. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Julia was enraptured with cooking, but she was going deeper. She was diving headlong into the world of<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> la Cuisine Française</i>. "I had never taken anything so seriously in my life--husband and cat excepted-- and I could hardly bear to be away from the kitchen." Her early life had been somewhat bland, like a beautiful world way overused. Her time at the OSS had placed a crack in the wall surrounding Julia's mind. Paul Child had placed a wedge in the crack, Paris had placed a hammer on the wedge, and the Cordon Bleu had swung the hammer. The wall came crashing down, and she was flooded with the recipes, the flavors, the history, the pure happiness inspired by the simple act of putting a fresh sprig of parsley on a perfect dish of scrambled eggs: Julia was coming alive with it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">And Julia’s skill and finesse in the kitchen was getting better the more time passed. “By now I was learning the French tradition of extracting the full, essential flavors from food—to make, say, a roast chicken taste really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chickeny</i>.” Sometimes the dishes shown in the afternoon demonstrations looked so mouth-watering that Julia would go home and make what she had just seen—such as the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boeuf bourguignon</i> that America would come to associate with her name. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The weeks sped by until November of 1949, when Julia realized with a jolt how fast time was passing. She’d learned much since her arrival in Paris a year earlier, but she was still not as adept as she aspired to be, in the kitchen or speaking French. One day at a dinner with friends, she began discussing French politics. “I got my foot in my backside and ended up feeling confused and defensive.” Julia thought for a while, and came up with three problems. “I was confused (evidenced by a lack of facts, an inability to coordinate my thoughts, and an inability to verbalize my ideas); I had lack of confidence, which caused me to back down from forcefully stated positions; and I was overly emotional at the expense of careful, “scientific” thought.” Her conclusion: She had gotten started late—with marriage, a career, and a passion—and was still learning about herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Among other things, one valuable technique Julia absorbed from the French was the power of simplicity. She describes how Chef Bugnard taught roast veal in her memoir, My Life in France. Salt and pepper the veal, wrap a “salt pork blanket” around it, pour in sliced onions and carrots, add a tablespoon of butter, and baste it. After degreasing the leftover juice in the pan, add some stock, more butter, and water. Heat for a few minutes to reduce, strain, and pour over the veal. Simply perfection. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">One of the quirks of Paris that Julia found out about were the weekly power outages (usually on Wednesdays) that blanked many neighborhoods in the city. Since the Child’s apartment was near the </span><u style="text-underline: #0023EB;"><span style="color: #0023eb; font-family: Georgia;">Chambres de Députés</span></u><span style="font-family: Georgia;">, one of France’s houses of parliament, their power remained on “by some kind of special political dispensation.” The Cordon Bleu, however, was not so lucky. Every Wednesday, instead of learning how to make a stunning soup or tart, Chef Bugnard would take the class to Les Halles, the market, and teach them how to shop for food.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Julia learned how the French value personal relationships with their customers. If you come into a shop friendly, and with a true interest in the merchant’s wears, they will talk with you about what you’re buying, and make sure you go home with the freshest or best-made products. However, if you walk in feeling nervous and suspicious, the proprietors will sense this and “obligingly”, as Julia put it, sell them an old apple or moldy parsley. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Another treasure Bugnard showed to his pupils was <a href="http://www.e-dehillerin.fr/en/index.php"><span style="color: #0023eb;">E. Dehillerin</span></a>, an enormous restaurant supply store. Loaded with everything you could ever need in the kitchen, it was as if Julia had died and this was heaven. Her teacher presented her to the owner, Monsieur Dehillerin, and the two became friends almost instantly. Julia would become a devoted customer, buying knives, frying pans, and everything copper from Dehillerin. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Although Julia’s cooking was becoming excellent, she was still far from being a whiz at it. When she invited a friend over, she “managed to serve [the friend] the most vile eggs Florentine one could imagine outside of England.” This had come about because, becoming a bit too self-assured, she hadn’t followed the recipe exactly. This brings us to one of Julia Child’s greatest rules: Never apologize for anything you cook. Even if you’ve dropped the turkey on the floor, stepped on it, and accidentally knocked a quarter-cup of baking soda into it, do not admit it or make excuses. As Julia says, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">eh bien, tant pis!”</i> (Roughly, “too bad!” or “that’s life!”)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: none; tab-stops: 362.0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">By mid-December, the Child’s small kitchen was overflowing with just about every kind of knife, copper pot, timer, and thermometer you could find in France. “My kitchen positively gleamed with gadgets. But I never seemed to have quite enough.” One thing missing was a mortar and pestle—essential to making <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">quenelles de brocet</i>, in which one filleted fish, ground it up in the mortar, forced it through a sieve, and, putting the mixture over a bowl of ice, beat in cream. So, Julia and Paul set out for the famous flea market March</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">é aux Puces, where you could purchase anything, provided you looked long enough. After spending several hours one Sunday searching through boxes and crates, street after street, Julia saw it. Not deterred by its immense size and weight, she knew instantly that it was hers. Paul “looked at me as if I was crazy”, but shrugged, handed over the money, and lugged it back to the Blue Flash. A few weeks later, he was rewarded with perfect <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">quenelles de brocet.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The more time passed, the deeper Julia went into cooking, and the more mature her approach became. For a while, all she did was test mayonnaise recipes. Starting from the beginning of the process and testing each step, she finally came up with a “foolproof” recipe. She spent two days preparing a lobster recipe, and then, having completed it, made it again. And she learned about mistakes. At first, she was devastated by errors in the detailed techniques Chef Bugnard placed such high importance on. But as time passed, she came around to the idea that repairing the damage was part of cooking the dish. “I was beginning to feel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">la cuisine bourgeoise</i> in my hands, my stomach, my soul.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">After a visit from her father and stepmother that ended on May third, Julia went back to the Cordon Bleu feeling less and less fulfilled with the lessons. Her classmates still didn’t know the correct procedure for cleaning a chicken, and, due to the neglect Madame Brassart showed to “details of management”, as Julia put it, teachers often did not have foundational ingredients needed to teach the class. She was growing out of the school, and Chef Bugnard sensed that. He showed her around Les Halles, and introduced her to the merchants he considered to be the best. Occasionally, he would even stop by Roo de Loo for a private lesson. Julia dropped out of classes at the Cordon Bleu, although she still went to demonstrations when she had time. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoteLevel1" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Julia decided she was ready to take the final examination at the Cordon Bleu in late 1950. If she passed, she would graduate and receive a certificate from the school. However, Madame Brassart had other ideas. She refused to set a date for Julia’s exam, and Julia thought that “the little question of money” was one of the reasons—she had chosen the </span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">restaurateur</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> class in the basement over the slightly more-expensive regular class upstairs. By March of 1951, Julia was getting fed up. She wrote a letter to the Madame, saying that her American friends and “even the ambassador himself” knew how hard she’d been working at the Cordon Bleu. She wrote that Madame Brassart should schedule the examination right away, as Julia was going on a trip to the US in April and refused to take the exam after she got back, but to no avail. At last, Julia talked to Chef Bugnard, and he agreed to talk to Madame Brassart. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">In the first week of April, Julia walked into the Cordon Bleu for her examination. For the first part, she was handed a card. On the card was written, “Write out the ingredients for the following dishes, to serve three people: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">oeufs mottlets avec sauce béarnaise; c</i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">ôtelettes de veau en surprise; crème renvers</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">ée au caramel.”</span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> Julia hadn’t the faintest idea what an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">oeuf mollet</i> could be, and she didn’t know how to make </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">de veau en surprise</span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> either. The solution: make everything up. She did perfectly on the second part of the exam, but was still bitter. She knew how to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">flambée,</i> pluck, cut up, and empty a chicken, but hadn’t bothered to remember easy recipes like <i><span style="font-family: Georgia;">crème renvers</span></i><i><span style="font-family: Georgia;">ée<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> from the booklet for beginners Cordon Bleu had published.</span></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Still furious, Julia returned to the empty kitchen of the Cordon Bleu that afternoon. She found the booklet that contained the recipes for the little </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">oeufs mottlets, </span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia;">the </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">veau en surprise</span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia;">, and the other recipes from the exam, and made them quickly and easily. “Then I ate them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoteLevel1" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">♥</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Julia received her certificate from the Cordon Bleu a little while later. It was dated March 15, 1951, even though she’d taken the exam in April. Madame Brassart, it seemed, had indeed read Julia’s letter, and had put an early date on the certificate on the off chance her student did indeed know the ambassador. Julia’s tiny list of people she hated—beginning with Sen. McCarthy, who her father strongly supported—contained Madame Brassart for many years.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></div></div></span>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0Le Cordon Bleu, Paris, France48.8566667 2.350987148.856225699999996 2.3500751 48.8571077 2.3518991000000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-76988381346525923582010-02-06T17:35:00.000-08:002010-02-06T17:38:42.289-08:00Julia's apartment in Paris (Roo de Loo)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="314" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=81+Rue+de+l'Universit%C3%A9,+75007+Paris,+Ile-de-France,+France&sll=48.860696,2.319523&sspn=0.001306,0.001958&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=81+Rue+de+l'Universit%C3%A9,+75007+Paris,+Ile-de-France,+France&layer=c&cbll=48.860696,2.319523&panoid=fTPmwy85FNfofcEMPm9zUA&cbp=13,185.71,,0,-15.34&ll=48.868893,2.323952&spn=0,359.951763&z=14&output=svembed" width="562"></iframe><br />
</span><small><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=81+Rue+de+l'Universit%C3%A9,+75007+Paris,+Ile-de-France,+France&sll=48.860696,2.319523&sspn=0.001306,0.001958&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=81+Rue+de+l'Universit%C3%A9,+75007+Paris,+Ile-de-France,+France&layer=c&cbll=48.860696,2.319523&panoid=fTPmwy85FNfofcEMPm9zUA&cbp=13,185.71,,0,-15.34&ll=48.868893,2.323952&spn=0,359.951763&z=14" style="color: blue; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">View Larger Map</span></span></a></small></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">81 Rue de l'Université, 75007 Paris, Ile-de-France, France</span></span></span>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-2959464100741799522010-01-31T13:58:00.000-08:002010-02-09T12:42:05.303-08:00Roo de Loo, Minette, kitchen help, and other items concerning France<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;"></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.parisiensalon.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/ridi2450-274x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.parisiensalon.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/ridi2450-274x300.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Julia Carolyn McWilliams and Paul Cushing Child were married on September 1, 1946 in Washington, D.C. In late 1948, Paul was given a new job as exhibits officer at the United States Information Service (USIS) and transferred to Paris. Julia was thrilled. The story of her first meal in France at La Couronne has been told so many different times and in so many different ways that nothing is sure but one fact-- it was a rapturous meal.</span></span><br />
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<div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">Paul and Julia spent their first night in Paris at 7 Rue Montalembert, at <a href="http://draft.blogger.com/goog_1264971262724"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">H</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;"><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?client=safari&rls=en&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&q=H%C3%B4tel+Pont+Royal&fb=1&gl=us&hq=H%C3%B4tel+Pont+Royal&hnear=Paris,+France&cid=0,0,833874625184554760&ei=KfBlS6iOEZScswOdw_nGDA&sa=X&oi=local_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CBAQnwIwAA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">ôtel Pont Royal</span></a>. It took Paul an hour to park their blue Buck station wagon (nicknamed The Flash) and get back to the H<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">ôtel. He couldn't find the parking garage at first, so he parked the car on the street. While walking back to the H<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">ôtel, he found the garage, so he walked back to the car and re-parked it in the garage. Then he got lost walking back, but finally arrived, saying, "Let's eat!" They ate dinner at a place Julia described as "fine, although nothing compared with La Couronne...the standard by which I would now measure every eatery".</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">Although Julia had fallen instantly in love with her new home (she thought of Paris as one big family) she was hopeless at speaking French. She'd 'learned' it in school but despite this, she still had a horrible accent, and knew almost nothing about it. "'It's easy to get the feeling that you know the language just because when you order a beer they don't bring you oysters,' Paul said.... [But t]he longer I was in Paris, the worse my French seemed to get." Julia remedied this by signing up for a class at Berlitz. Also, Paul (who loved word games) would make up sentences full of "r"s and "u"s--her worst letters.</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">Paul and Julia moved out of their <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; line-height: normal;">Hôtel and into 81 Rue De l'Université on December 4th, 1948, just over a month after Julia's first glimpse of France through her porthole. It was "a bit weird", located on the second and third floors. The furniture was outdated, the electricity faulty, the plumbing froze in the winter, and the sink had no hot water. However, they made do, dubbing the new apartment "Roo de Loo". </span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></span></div></div></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span">In 1950's France, kitchen help was standard, and Roo de Loo was no exception. The apartment came with a 22-year-old farm girl named Frieda, who cooked fairly well but had no grasp of the concept that one serves food from the left, or how to arrange a table. This proved a slight difficulty, not to mention that Julia really didn't want to have domestic help-- she wanted to 'keep house' herself. She spent a lot of her early shopping trips buying enormous amounts of pots, cheese graters, frying pans, dishes, and other kitchen accessories. The last piece of their new life was finally put in place when a cat adopted them. Although Julia "had never been much of an animal person", 'Minette' was soon a major part of life in the kitchen-- she liked to sit on laps during meals, and was always twitching her tail while gazing intently at something underneath a radiator. Soon, Julia started seeing cats everywhere, and began to think of them as Paris itself. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">Partly because she had time on her hands, partly because she was engulfed in wonderful food, and partly because Paul was more than willing to eat meals she prepared, the amount of cooking Julia did went up. She'd meander around Paris, buying a little of this and a bottle of that, coming home to attempt complicated recipes, including "veal with turnips in a special sauce." Her first cooking instructor was a woman named Hélène Balstrusaitis. Friends in the States had given the Childs a lengthy list of people to meet, including Hélène, her husband Jurgis, and their son, Jean. The two families got acquainted one gorgeous day in December with a hike and a picnic. It was Hélène who loaned Julia her first French cookbook-- a giant book, "the size of an unabridged dictionary", by the famous chef Ali-Bab, it was written in Old French. Julia loved her new treasure. She thought it was "very amusingly written", and read it with a passion. She'd spend hours holed up in her room, regardless of the weather, devouring the recipes, chapter by chapter. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">As Julia's French improved, her tastes grew more exotic. She tried things such as <i>escargots</i>, which her conservative father would have balked at, and truffles, rare musky mushrooms that came in a can. She was also discovering little shops tucked away, from olive oil merchants to the excellent <i>c</i><i>rémerie</i> (cheese shop) nearby. The owner, "Madame la Proprietress", was pleasantly plump, rosy cheeked and blonde haired, and she knew her cheeses extremely well. You would wait in line for your turn, and then announce your choice "clearly and succinctly". Your order should includ the time you were serving the cheese as well, because Madame could judge the ripeness of cheese to the hour. Julia has said she used to go and order cheese even when she didn't need it just to watch Madame choose just the right one.</span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">During this time, the Childs would often take a map and go wandering around Paris. Paul, an avid photographer, always had his camera, and Julia learned to follow his eye to see the hidden surprises he found. She also explored Paris on her own, and loved it whole-heartedly. However, one day Paul said, "I fell it is my... duty to show you the<i> rest </i>of France." And off they went, in February of 1949, accompanied by their friend Hélène. They traveled to <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=safari&rls=en&q=vienne+france&oq=&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Vienne,+France&gl=us&ei=CoFnS-nmKpTiswPI7I2eBQ&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CA8Q8gEwAA">Vienne</a>, northwest of Paris, and explored the countryside nearby. Julia loved it, partly because it reminded her of Pasadena, partly because it had it's own lively sturdiness. And so, she became acquainted with France.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">In April, 1949, Julia's sister Dorothy arrived in France. She had written Julia a while earlier that she didn't know what to do with her life, as she had just graduated from Bennington college. Dorothy barged into France happily, not intimidated in the least by the fact that she had an atrocious accent. For the lack of anything else to do, she would call stores on Julia's newly installed telephone. "'Bong-joor!' she honked. ... 'Mair-ci!'"</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">Late summer in Paris was "<i>la morte-saison"</i> (the dead season), because almost everyone fled for the country. The average temperature was 75<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; line-height: 19px;">°F, and the city was humid. Not to mention that the few caf<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;">és and shops brave enough to remain open were overrun with tourists. Julia and Paul stayed in Paris, though. Julia wrote in her biography that when she went to buy some wine, the only person left to mind the store was the deliveryman. He was sitting next to a woman who had been a seamstress for a great <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Couturier">couturier</a> twenty-five years earlier, talking about the good old days. "It seemed that in Paris you could discuss classic literature or architecture or great music with everyone from the garbage collector to the mayor."</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Julia was falling in love with Paris, and she knew it. It was big and friendly, like a Saint Bernard dog laying at your feet, panting. However, some of the Childs' friends did not think the same way--a woman named Alice who Julia had met a few months ago was miserable, and said she hated the French. Julia had been close to Alice and used to identify with her, but Julia loved Paris now, and that was that. </span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;">Julia's thirty-seventh birthday came on August 15th, 1949. It was a quiet affair, but marked with a milestone. From Paul she received her first cookbook ever. <i><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/goog_1265225482513">Larousse Gastronomique</a></i><a href="http://www.toquentete.net/style/livre/larousse_gastronomique_med.jpg"> </a>was 1,087 pages long, packed with drawing, definitions, recipes, stories, and "sixteen color plates". Julia loved it, reading it faster and even more eagerly than she had Ali-Bab's book. She was cooking regularly at Roo de Loo, even though all her friends thought she was "some kind of a nut", because cooking wasn't a suitable occupation for a middle-class woman. They didn't understand how she could love shopping for the food, preparing it, and serving it herself instead of letting the maid take care of everything. However, with Paul by her side, Julia stood firm and kept cooking.</span></span></div></div></div></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com2Julia's Apartment in Paris48.8582193 2.326522648.8546898 2.3192271 48.8617488 2.3338181000000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-73094119221320521892010-01-31T12:41:00.000-08:002010-02-08T11:06:19.927-08:00Between the Lines: Julia and Paul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://kitchenattempts.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/paul-and-julia-child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><img border="0" src="http://kitchenattempts.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/paul-and-julia-child.jpg" style="-webkit-user-select: none;" /></span></span></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Julia and Paul met in Ceylon, in China. They befriended each other instantly, probably because Julia "made friends as naturally as she laughed". </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Although they quickly became friends, Paul wrote in a letter to Charlie that "I have considered the matter carefully, ... but I believe that the lack of worldly knowledge, the sloppy thinking, the wild emotionalism, the conventional framework, would be too much [for me].... Her mind is potentially good, but she is an extremely sloppy thinker. She says things like, ... 'I don't see why the Indians don't just throw out the British' and 'I can't understand what they see in that horrid little old Gandhi". One major difference between them was their backgrounds. Paul's early</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"> life was something of a "boys' adventure story', compared to Julia's well-coushined, wealthy up-bringing.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Paul Child was born on January 15th, 1902, in </span></span><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?client=safari&rls=en&q=Montclair,+New+Jersey&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Montclair,+NJ&gl=us&ei=lj9iS8D4MoimsgPRuMzmAg&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=image&resnum=1&ved=0CA0Q8gEwAA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Montclair, New Jersey</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">. When he and his twin brother, Charlie, weren't even a year old, his father died. His mother, Bertha Cushing Child (who was a vegetarian), packed up the twins and their sister, Meeda, and moved back to her hometown of Boston. She earned enough money to keep the family together; Bertha was a singer (a </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contralto"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">contralto</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">, to be exact) and she performed withe the Handel and Haydn Society and the Boston Symphony Orchestra. All her children took music lessons; Charlie and Paul both on the cello and violin, their sister the piano. Music was the first of many careers. Having completed high school, he learned to cut and glaze stained glass. In Hollywood he was a waiter, in Italy a tutor for an American family, in Paris a woodcarver (he also learned to speak perfect French), and in New England a private-school teacher. He was also very interested in Photography, painting, gardening, poetry, and judo, which he had a black belt in.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Julia came to love Paul fairly quickly; one reason was that she'd already fallen in love with her new life at the OSS, and Paul represented everything about it she valued. He was sophisticated, talented, well-traveled, and loved food. It would take eighteen months for Paul to love Julia as well. </span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">♥ ♥ ♥</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Although Paul wasn't considering Julia for marriage, they were fast friends, and spent a lot of time together. They traveled a bit, went to movies, and went sightseeing together, but most of all they talked about food. Even though Julia had been raised on overcooked meat and stewed vegetables, for the most part, she loved and appreciated the conversations about recipes, flavors, and the culture of food she shared with Paul. In turn, he wrote his brother Charlie that "[s]he is a gourmet and loves to cook and talk about food", and over the months, as they became closer, Paul came to love Julia as well. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; border-collapse: separate;">They were married on September 1, 1946 in Washington, D.C. </span></span></span></span></div>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com5China35.86166 104.1953971.436853499999998 44.429772 70.2864665 163.961022tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-16365970927162272642010-01-28T15:27:00.000-08:002010-01-29T17:25:23.490-08:00Between the Lines: The OSS<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During her time at the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Office_of_Strategic_Services"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">OSS (Office of Strategic Services)</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, Julia came alive. She was surrounded by "missionaries, geographers, anthropologists, psychiatrists, ornithologists," and academics. All through Julia's childhood, she'd been in a palace made of glass. She grew up in a world of pleasure, where everyone had enough money and time to do anything, but all anybody ever did was lay around, go to parties, golf, and eat. Now her glass palace was shattered to bits, and she was having the time of her life. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Julia's original plan when she left Pasadena in 1941 was to enlist in the military, but she was turned away because of her height. Instead, she joined the OSS, an office set up to organize, "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">collect and analyze strategic information and to conduct special operations not assigned to other agencies." At first, Julia's job was to type names of thousands of little white notecards, but soon she got sick of that job. She soon tired of that, so she worked for with the Emergency Sea Rescue Equipment Section, developing shark repellent. After that, she flew to Sri Lanka. There she was set the enormous task of organizing the Registry, which processed an extremely high amount of classified documents from Eastern Europe. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19px;">Julia met Paul Child in the summer of 1944, in Ceylon, and they became very good friends. Paul encouraged Julia to come out of her palace even more- he taught her to think more broadly about many things, including music and more importantly, food.</span><br />
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</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19px;">Julia's work at the OSS did more than develop shark repellent for the world. It opened the eyes of one of America's greatest chefs to new ideas, new people, and new ways to think about food. In went an overgrown girl who'd written "No occupation decided. Marriage preferable" on her college application. Out came a 6'2" woman with ideas and opinions of her own, and an ambition- to marry Paul Child.</span>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com1Sri Lanka7.873054 80.7717975.1533005 77.036445500000013 10.5928075 84.5071485tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-55758179635516109272010-01-25T17:04:00.000-08:002010-01-26T10:04:24.910-08:00BP or Before Paul<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After Julia graduated from </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smith_College"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Smith College</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> (located in </span><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?client=safari&rls=en&q=northampton,+ma&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Northampton,+MA&gl=us&ei=5y1aS4nuDZSgsgPZnO3MBA&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CA0Q8gEwAA"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Northampton, MA</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">) in 1934 with a B.A. in history, she moved back to her hometown of Pasadena, CA and did essentially nothing. She attended her friend's weddings, went to parties, and participated in </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Junior_League"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Junior League</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. After a year of this, perhaps becoming stir-crazy, Julia decided it was time to get a job-her abstract dream was to become a novelist; however, her more practical dream was to be hired by a publishing company of some sort. After taking a course in </span><a href="http://www.ehow.com/about_5044086_stenography.html"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">stenography</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, she and two of her friends from Smith moved to New York. By autumn, 1935, the three girls had an apartment on East 59th street. Julia went first to get try for an interview at </span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The New Yorker. </span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When this fell through, she turned to </span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Newsweek</span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">... and flunked the entry typing test. </span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally, she was hired by W. & J. Sloane, and worked in the advertising department of the wealthy furniture and rug store. Although Julia wasn't very knowledgeable about furniture, she loved to write, and so she began writing press releases on Sloane's new products for New York's newspapers. "When you have put your all into a party, and struggled over making sandwiches that are chic and dashing as well as tastey [sic], it is terribly deflating to have their pretty figures ruined by guests who must peak [sic] inside each 'wich to see what it's made of," read one of her drafts for "sandwich indicators" (toothpicks with paper icons on top to distinguish different kinds of sandwiches). The solution? "Wooden picks which you stick in the sandwich plate, nicely shaped and painted. There is 'Humpty-Dumpty' for egg, a rat in a cage for cheese, a dog, boat and pig for meat, fish and ham. And it seems like a very sound idea." The last sentence sounds like it was written by a person throughly unenthusiastic about the product-and indeed, Julia was back in Pasadena by May of 1937. Soon after she arrived back home in California, her mother died from high blood pressure. Caro, as she was called, was sixty. </span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Julia's father wanted his eldest daughter nearby after the death of his wife, so even though Smith College's vocational office sent news of opportunities for work in Paris and New York, Julia chose a job in fashion writing at a small new local magazine called <i>Coast.</i> She wrote about the latest styles, women's clothing, and how to pair outfits. However, she had no interest whatsoever in the fashion industry, and soon <i>Coast</i> closed. Next Julia tried another position at the local W. & J. Sloane, again in the advertising business. Her job was to manage the $100,000 budget and plan all the advertisements. She didn't have enough experience or knowledge of business for the job, though, and was fired after only a few months. </span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Although Julia had a long string of jobs ending in disaster, her social life and volunteer efforts were flourishing. She was still very involved in Junior League (often submitting writing to their newspaper), gave lots of parties, and wrote children's plays. Around this time, she realized that she might never marry- although she had received an offer from a family friend named Harrison Chandler, the marriage wouldn't fit her requirements. This didn't faze Julia, though- in autumn 0f 1941 she was inspired to start volunteering at the local Red Cross. When Pearl Harbor was attacked, Julia applied for the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WAVES">WAVES</a> (a female division of the Navy during World War II) and headed out to Washington D. C. She was pronounced too tall for the Navy, so instead she found a job at the US Information Center in the Office of Wartime Intelligence...typing index cards. It proved to be "unbearably tedious" and Julia left after three months. Although she was too tall to fight and not interested in index cards, WWII helped Julia find a way out of her small, padded world with her father in Pasadena and a place in the real world. She was rebuilding herself; changing from a little girl into an adult.</span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Having broken free from her old life, Julia turned her attention to a new organization called the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Started by a man named William Donovan (nicknamed "Wild Bill"), the idea of the OSS was to fling a net of espionage operations over Asia and Europe. Julia was the ideal secretary. After working in Washington for a few months, she heard that Mr. Donovan was looking for volunteers to work oversees. She applied, and by March of 1944, Julia McWilliams was on a ship bound for Ceylon, India. </span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once in Ceylon, Julia took over the huge chore of single-handedly managing the Register, which processed secret documents from China, India, and Burma. By the time an assistant showed up a while later, she had created an organizational system for the formerly chaotic Register. About ten months went by. The OSS shifted toward China, and even though Julia was growing weary of processing papers, she jumped at the chance to see a new country. Her easygoing, take-it-as-it-comes kind of nature would be evident on the plane ride to China. The route was over the Himalayas, and it was famously treacherous. Throughout flight, Julia sat in her seat and read a book while her fellow passengers were nervously <i>not</i> remembering how hundreds of planes on this route had crashed. In China, she would meet arguably the most important person in her life- Paul Child.</span><br />
</div>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com3E 59th St, New York, NY 10022, USA40.7615532 -73.966583840.7574902 -73.9738793 40.765616200000004 -73.9592883tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-10655444489108268272010-01-18T19:12:00.000-08:002010-01-28T18:10:41.375-08:00'Dort-the-Wart, Juke-the-Puke, John, and Philapop' or 'Julia's Family'<span style="font-family: inherit;">One might expect Julia Child to have been acquainted with food from an early age, or at least to have had the slightest interest in it on her own. I suggest you revise your expectations on this score. She has said herself that “As a girl [she] had zero interest in the stove. [She] always had a healthy appetite, … but [she] was never encouraged to cook and just didn’t see the point in it.” She took her first cooking lesson when she was 37 years old, and through her childhood ate “good, plain New England food”-well-done meat, seasonal vegetables, and baking powder biscuits. Her mother rarely cooked; Julia’s family was wealthy and kept household help for the kitchen throughout her childhood. According to Laura Shapiro, Child’s biographer, Julia was frequently asked about what she ate during childhood- her answers were always that food wasn’t really something that she thought about when she was young.</span><br />
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</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Julia’s father, John McWilliams Jr. (1880-1962), was raised in Chicago. He attended Princeton, and met Julia’s mother in 1903 at the Chicago World’s Fair. He was involved in banking his whole life- first at the Bank of Odell in Illinois, then at the J.G. Boswell Company in California. John was very influential in Pasadena. He was a major landholder and investor, and helped to finance Richard Nixon’s first political campaign. He was a staunch Republican. Julia Carolyn McWilliams (1877-1937), whom John married in 1911, was almost his complete opposite. Nicknamed Caro, Julia’s mother was a cheerful red-haired woman from a large, wealthy family in Massachusetts. She attended Smith College, and loved it so much that she and a classmate swore to send their daughters there. Caro loved her mother deeply, and blamed her father for the frequent children that Caro believed caused her mother’s early death.</span><br />
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</span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Julia was born on August 15</span><sup><span style="font-family: inherit;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: inherit;">, 1912, in Pasadena, California, into a wealthy family that was unaffected by the Depression. The oldest of three children (her sister was named Dorothy Dean, her brother, John III), she was known as a tomboy with a huge appetite. As a girl, she was quite mischievous- she hurled mud pies at passing cars, and frequently stole her father's cigars to smoke with her friends in the orchard behind their house (her father was so frustrated by this habit that he offered his eldest daughter a deal- if she promised not to smoke until she was 21, he would give her a thousand dollars- and she accepted). Julia attended a grade school run by May and Augusta Davies, who had studied with Dr. Montessori. Although her parents were very involved and proud of Pasadena, Julia was sent to an out-of-town high school- the Katharine Branson School in Marin County. It was small, and "offered West Coast girls a traditional New England education". Julia became a boarder there, and although she made fairly good grades, the schooling wasn't what she liked most about the school. Although she preferred hiking and track, beach parties with classmates, and acting to studying, she was named Branson's First Citizen and was given numerous awards at her graduation. Julia was given no say about what happened after high school. She said later that she would have gone to a coed collage if she'd known about them, but her mother had been waiting for years to send her eldest daughter to Smith College. Although looking back, she didn't really know why, Julia majored in history. After she graduated, she spent a year in Pasadena golfing, going to weddings, and partying. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Julia Child led a very normal early life- she wasn't at all interesting in cooking during her youth, but she did learn skills -such as excellent coordination- that would prove extremely useful in her later career as a chef.</div>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com4Pasadena, CA, USA34.1477849 -118.144515534.005719899999995 -118.37797499999999 34.2898499 -117.911056tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-6169035800390222312010-01-05T16:52:00.000-08:002010-02-15T18:31:46.627-08:00Why Julia?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2d/Julie_child_kitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2d/Julie_child_kitchen.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My mom started it. Her boyfriend found a copy of </span><i><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2414/2401885005_79d9a37609_o.jpg"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mastering the Art of French Cooking</span></a><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> in a dumpster when she was 18. Julia has always kind of been there, in the back of my consciousness. We saw her kitchen at the Smithsonian in October of 2002, and here and there my mom and I would watch an episode of <i>The French Chef</i> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWmvfUKwBrg">(link to The Omelette Show)</a>. However, I wasn't really inspired by her until Mom and I saw <a href="http://www.impawards.com/2009/posters/julie_and_julia_ver2_xlg.jpg">Julie & Julia</a> on August 11th, four days before Julia's birthday (<a href="http://food4tot.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/julie-julia-movie.jpg">link to the movie poster,</a> <a href="http://blogs.salon.com/0001399/">link to the blog,</a> <a href="http://travelingwilbury.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/julie-julia-blog.jpg">link to the book cover</a>). :) The movie really struck me-partly because I loved the scenes of Paris. </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My dad went to school </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">there for a while when his dad worked in Paris, and our family took three tr</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ips to the area when I was thirteen, fourteen and seventeen months old. (Did I mention that we went to Hawaii when I was two? I'll probably find out Mom went to the moon when she was pregnant with me.) I've always wanted to go back, inspired by my dad's stories about having <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/73/Morning_baguettes.jpg">fresh baguettes</a> and <a href="http://www.unc.edu/depts/europe/francophone/Icons/images/fromage1.jpg">French cheese</a> for dinner, and the little apartment he and my grandpa had (65 Rue de Lourmel, 75015 Paris, France). </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Back to the movie. When I stumbled out of the theater, slightly dazed by the light, I wanted to learn how to cook. However, once I got home and settled back into the routine of daily life, the only effect Julia had on me in the cooking department was to inspire me to add a dash of cinnamon to my soup. I was about to say that Julie inspired me to get a blog, but I just checked that and it turns out I got my first blog on July 27th. Oh well. Julie <i>did</i> inspire me on the blog front, even if I was already a blogger. </span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anyway, even though Julia didn't inspire me to learn how to cook <i>right now, </i>or, rather, right then, she left a little pinch of her behind. That pinch has been itching for a while, demanding that I learn more about Julia. When I finally got my writing teacher (hereafter referred to as the tenacious vine) to turn blogger and start a research blog session, the itch got bigger, and by the time I got <a href="http://jillhough.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/MyLifeInFrance.jpg">My Life In France</a>, Julia's memoirs, for Christmas, I was hooked. Now I'm in the middle of not only My Life in France, but <a href="http://cooknkate.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/julia-child-book.jpg">a biography,</a> <a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2414/2401885005_79d9a37609_o.jpg">Mastering the Art of French Cooking,</a> and soon I'm going to start Julie and Julia, the book. I picked Julia because I've always wanted to know about her, and this seemed like the perfect way to transform that want into existence.</span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bon Appétit!</span>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-8840976334904527292010-01-05T16:18:00.000-08:002010-01-05T16:18:08.732-08:00About Julia Child and The French Chef<a href="http://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/episodes/julia-child/about-julia-child/555/">About Julia Child</a>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6658574001717951584.post-23477879448349746722010-01-05T16:07:00.000-08:002010-01-05T16:07:54.771-08:00http://www.biography.com/articles/Julia-Child-9246767<a href="http://www.biography.com/articles/Julia-Child-9246767">http://www.biography.com/articles/Julia-Child-9246767</a>M. Gabriellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15037904928803580672noreply@blogger.com0