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I just finished reading “My Life in France” by Julia Child. I unabashedly admit that I never tire of Julia – her wit, her phrasing, her unexpected interjections of French, her whoops and hallas (is that a word?); her love of life – or rather joie de vivre?– her love for Paul, for her sister, for quirky people and most of all, her understanding that a meal is an event which (if properly treated) might never be forgotten. She repeatedly recounts unique meals while living in France- from a simple piece of fish to the most unbelievably ridiculous pressed duck– according to her, the best meal of her life and the best food in France. (Follow this- the duck is smothered to death in order to retain the blood; it is then partially roasted and pressed until the blood and other fluids drain out. They are mixed with wine and bits of the organs from the duck. “The height of elegance.”…… Whatever…...)
I just finished reading “My Life in France” by Julia Child. I unabashedly admit that I never tire of Julia – her wit, her phrasing, her unexpected interjections of French, her whoops and hallas (is that a word?); her love of life – or rather joie de vivre?– her love for Paul, for her sister, for quirky people and most of all, her understanding that a meal is an event which (if properly treated) might never be forgotten. She repeatedly recounts unique meals while living in France- from a simple piece of fish to the most unbelievably ridiculous pressed duck– according to her, the best meal of her life and the best food in France. (Follow this- the duck is smothered to death in order to retain the blood; it is then partially roasted and pressed until the blood and other fluids drain out. They are mixed with wine and bits of the organs from the duck. “The height of elegance.”…… Whatever…...)
“My Life in France” is a quick and
pleasant read, especially if you like food and France and Julia Child. Her voice
is strong and clear: “When [Paul and I]
read an article about the horrifying effects of TV on the American home life,
we asked [our in-laws] if they had bought a television set yet – they hadn’t-- or if they knew anyone who had – no, again. Did our nieces and nephew feel left
out of the gang for not having such a machine? ‘No… for the moment.’” These words spoken in 1949 – worlds before
Julia’s entrance into the American TV scene, into my DVR, and into my heart.
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