Image via Wikipedia
I’ve always considered myself a smidgen of a foodie. A young foodie with time to mature and expand my palate. I’ve read MFK Fisher, Judith Jones and Julia Child. My most recent podcast was The Splendid Table with Lynne Rosetta Casper. My bedtime reading has been “The New Larousse Gastronomique“. Curnonsky is a love of mine. I just tore a hunk of a locally baked baguette and shoved it my mouth and quite nearly orgasmed.
My confession is that up until 7.30-ish this evening I had never seen an episode of The French Chef.
For quite awhile I’ve been in awe of Julia Child (I’ve watched Julia and Jaques and another show from the ’90s where she cooks with guests, I’ve seen clips of her online, I’ve read her book, I’ve cooked from Mastering, I’ve advocated just cutting Julie out of “Julie and Julia“, I’ve seen Dan Ackroyd’s sketch many times) but for some reason I’ve never gotten around to seeing her original show.
Tonight I finally lived a dream and combined Julia Child with a date. Alright, so the date turned out not to be a date (we’re just friends, yada yada yada) but I finally got to see The French Chef. It was everything I’d hoped it to be and more, The French Chef that is and not the date, though you probably got that already.
It was beautiful to see Julia Child in her kitchen, so comfortable and so chummy (on the chummy note: I sincerely feel like it’s just me and my not-a-date that Julia talks to when she looks out through the television screen to us.) Watching her cook gave me the same chills down my spine that I get when I see deer in the woods and photographs of J.R.R. Tolkien writing, it’s the chills of seeing someone exactly in their element.
When I think what would have happened if Julia (I feel comfortable calling her Julia in the same way that Benjamin Franklin is Ben and Patrick Leahy is Pat) had not taken Paul’s advice (and the advice of others) and decided to not go into television I get chills of another kind. Just imagining a world without that smile and tooting “Bon Appetit!” Go on, imagine it, I dare you. You just tried to imagine it, didn’t you? And you’re currently curled up in the fetal position with feces stained undergarments and tears running down your cheekbones, aren’t you? You saw the boils in a bag and bland potatoes with flaccid meat and processed food passing through your intestine. Go ahead and sob some more, I understand.
I’m not trying to say that Julia Child single-handedly revolutionized food in America (James Beard, Judith Jones and many others played very important roles) but she certainly seemed to have brought it into the main stream. (Fun fact: Her show was also the first to be adapted for the deaf, according to Wikipedia.)
Where was this post going again? Oh yes:
- I don’t know how I lived before watching The French Chef
- It’s best to have minor details such as “Is this a date?” cleared up before you watch Julia Child together and go for a moonlit walk in the woods together.
- Julia Child is, to quote Satchel Pooch, “The treat giver to my heart.”