I spent the summer of 1987 in Paris, studying beginning French at the Sorbonne and staying at the Cité Universitaire, in a program geared toward older students. Some of them wanted to take a cooking class, and the Sorbonne organized it for them. They needed one more student to make it go, and I was browbeaten into filling the empty space.

Understand, I was raised on the five Alaskan staples of Spam, Bisquick, Velveeta, Pilot Bread and Carnation Instant Milk. If we didn't get our moose that year we didn't eat meat, except on my birthday, when I got pork chops no matter what. We got all the salmon and king crab we could eat for free. The salmon was mostly fried. The crab was mostly boiled. The first fresh milk I ever drank was in college. The first real cheese, same. Remember those Kraft Cracker Barrel packages of four logs of four different kinds?

So at the time I went to this cooking school, my most complicated prepared meal was a hamburger. Claudine, our chef, went around the class, asking where we were from, and when I said Alaska her eyes lit up. "Alaska," she said, "sauvage..." and made up a roux for wild game on the spot just for me.

I've been playing catch up in the kitchen ever since. I can't believe it's taken me this long to discover Julia Child.

This book is the story of her life in France, from the first oyster in Rouen to the last pot roast at La Pitchoune in Provence. It's a love story, of her marriage with Paul Child, who is about the most intelligent, charming man I've ever met between the covers of a book. It's a voyage of discovery into French cuisine, into the science of cooking, into collaborating on and writing a cookbook, or any book for that matter. And it's a mesmerizing walk through Paris looking over Julia's shoulder. The first year she says

By now I knew that French food was it for me. I couldn't get over how absolutely delicious it was. Yet my friends, both French and American, considered me some kind of a nut: cooking was far from being a middle-class hobby, and they did not understand how I could possibly enjoy doing all the shopping and cooking and serving by myself. Well, I did! And Paul encouraged me to ignore them and pursue my passion.

(You'll remember what I said about Paul being intelligent and charming.)

The how-to portion of this book is fascinating. French ingredients are different from American ingredients and the French learn cooking by watching, not reading recipes, so Julia would take the recipes of her French collaborators and translate them and the ingredients and the measurements of the ingredients into something an American cook could, first, buy the ingredients for in America, and second, understand and recreate. And then she'd test them and test them and test them and test them again, and she and Paul would eat them and eat them and eat them and eat them again until it was foolproof enough to unleash upon American cooks. "No one is born a great cook," she says, "one learns by doing."

In between they'd drive around France and eat in great restaurants. In a more perfect world I would have been their child.

She concludes with a remembrance of that first, marvelous meal in Rouen

...the sole meuniere I ate at La Couronne on my first day in France, in November 1948. It was an epiphany.

In all the years since that succulent meal, I have yet to lose the feelings of wonder and excitement that it inspired in me. I can still almost taste it. And thinking back on it now reminds me that the pleasures of the table, and of life, are infinite -- toujours bon appetit!"

After World War II, Julia Child lived with her husband Paul in Paris and Marseilles, where they worked for the U.S. government (pre-CIA type work) and she found herself attending Le Cordon Bleu and becoming a chef who could teach others how to master French cooking. I was really into this book for 200 pages or so and then the going go tedious. It is saved by Julia's humorous outlook on life, and her wonderful descriptions of people, food, and French culture. Much of the book was constructed from letters that she kept 50 years, and the entire story is illustrated by photography by her husband from their years in France.

Edited after re-reading - Julia is so inspiring. She recreated herself at age 37 and didn't start her tv career until her late 40s. She encourages you to try, who cares if you fail. :) This is great to read along with Julie & Julia by Julie Powell, or while trying recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I spent an immeasurable amount of time going down rabbit holes because of this book. It was delightful.

If you love food, eating, Julia Child, or France then this book will be Heavenly. I felt like I was there watching Julia and Paul live their lives in France. It was an absolute blast. I even made notes of particular foods she loved most so I can read some recipes. Her time at Cordon Blue was fascinating. There are many good times but also hard times, struggles, and upheavals. Julia’s personality shines through- as does Paul’s.

I’ve seen some articles & reviews complaining that Alex Prud’homme (Julia’s grandnephew) is the author of the book rather than Julia. I’m going to say that I absolutely read the entire book in Julia’s voice. Alex had been working on the book with Julia the last eight months of her life. He recorded conversations with her where he’d interview her for the book. He had decades of letters thanks to Avis De Soto and family members saving every letter.

The entire book was Julia’s voice. I forgot Alex or the present even existed. Alex clearly loved Julia. There’s not a whiff of his thoughts anywhere in the book. The book is all Julia.

There was not one moment that I felt the book waver in holding its course as Julia’s voice. The end of the book is abrupt. There’s a small part about Paul’s strokes and the end of La Peetch, but really nothing about Julia’s later years with France. I do wonder when is the last time she ever went to France? Was it that last time with Jim Beard and Phila at La Peetch?

By the way, I’ve seen the backlash & articles accusing Julia & Paul of being homophobes. First, I want to say that as long as someone isn’t rude or unfair to someone, they have the right to think whatever they want. No one has the right to legislate thought- that isn’t a democracy. I digress. What I want to say is balderdash. Jim Beard spent MONTHS living with Julia & Paul at La Peetch even in the 70’s. Listen, James Beard was OUT loud & proud. There is zero way that they could have been homophobes.

I’m sick of all the witch-hunting going on in this country. I’m positive that Julia would be aghast. She was a staunch. democrat and defender of equality.

The book is a joy to read. I fell a bit in love with Julia and Paul. I already was in love with France.

I expected to really enjoy this book. I came to it from the movie Julie and Julia, because I loved the movie’s portrayal of this large, fun-loving, charming American who finds her passion for food while living in Paris; I couldn’t wait to delve deeper into Julia and Paul’s adventures in France. Unfortunately, it turns out Meryl Streep endowed Julia Child with a charm and humility that is entirely missing from this book. In its place is a woman whose snobbishness, smug superiority and self-satisfaction I found…well, unpalatable.

I guess my biggest gripe is that Julia Child felt the need to settle scores with her father. The book was written when Julia was in her nineties and her father had been dead for four decades, but that didn’t stop her from taking potshots at him every chance she got. Way too much of the book is devoted to her railing about “Pop” and how much she didn’t like him, his attitudes or—most especially—his politics. Her relationship to him really had nothing to do with the story, and the anecdotes she provides about him show his generosity toward her more than anything:

After I’d written two politically provocative letters to my father, he had not replied. Instead, he’d deposited five hundred dollars in the bank so that I could buy some decent winter clothes. This put me in a quandary. I was grateful for his help, of course, but did I really want to accept his money? Well, I did

How lovely of her to overcome her stern principles to take her father’s money. Mind you, she was thirty-seven years old at the time she took handouts from her father while scorning his viewpoint. Nothing pathetic about that. But the worst is that even after decades to mature and reflect on him, she still used ungenerous and disloyal phrases like “moneyed, materialistic, not at all introspective…not intellectual, and was intolerant and incurious…he was an example of how not to be” and the kicker: “frankly, my father’s death came as a relief more than a shock. I suddenly felt we could go to California whenever we wanted to, without restraints or family trouble.” What a peach of a daughter she must have been. Too bad we can’t ask Pop what he thought of her.

Nor was Pop the only powerful man she felt a need to belittle. President Eisenhower did not meet with her lofty approval either:

Ike was just not inspiring: I got nothing but a hollow feeling from his utterances, as if Pluto the dog were suddenly making human noises.

Although here, you can kind of see her point. After all, Eisenhower was just the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe, architect of D-Day, and the president who maintained peace and prosperity in the face of Soviet aggression. What is that to a woman who has mastered the complex art of boiling eggs?

Not that it was just men she scorned. Indeed, the targets for Julia’s venom and snobbery were as plentiful—and tedious!—as her menu recitations. Great Britain:

It was those ruddy English faces, so held in by duty, the sense of “what is done” and “what is not done,” and always swigging tea and chirping, that made me want to scream like a hyena

the military:

The army families showed almost no interest in Germany or the Germans…wives were perfectly nice, but conventional, incurious, and conservative; the men spoke in Southern accents, usually about sex and drink
...
unlike most of the US Army types, our OSS colleagues were a fascinating bunch

Americans (of course):

many of our fellow citizens seemed blissfully unaware of world politics or culture, and seemed exclusively interested in business and their own comfort

fellow chefs:

she didn’t strike us as especially organized, or sober

her co-author:

She was a dear friend, but horribly disorganized and rather full of herself
...
Simca didn’t have as full a grasp of the language as she thought she did

and even, occasionally, her beloved France:

I usually knew more about a dish than the French did, which is so often the case with a foreigner

In fact, no one lived up to Julia’s exacting standards except, of course, Julia herself.

All in all, it was tedious exercise in self-congratulation and I’m sorry I read it. Next time I see Julie and Julia I'm going to try to forget what an unpleasant person she really was and pretend that Streep’s is the more accurate portrayal.

Julia was a remarkable woman! I doubt she even realized just how extraordinary she was. Her greatest successes came at an age when most people think their best years have already passed them by.
I'm not fond of French cuisine or rich foods in general, but there is much to enjoy in this book, even if some of the food doesn't sound appealing.
I admire her enthusiasm and eagerness to just dive in wherever she was and learn the language and experience absolutely everything.
It was a revelation to me how much went into creating her cookbooks. Years and years of research and testing, re-testing, re-re-testing recipes! Talk about a labor of love.

This book really opened my eyes to Julia's passion to excel at French cooking over the course of her lifetime, which really took a great deal of courage and conviction given the lack of American female role models. I thought the writing seemed a bit choppy in parts though that probably was due to Julia's death in 2004, before she would have been able to fill in some of the narrative. A great read for anyone who appreciates fine food.

Audiobook read by Kimberly Farr.

A truly delightful listen. Romantic view of food, France, and fellowship. Be cautious, however, this book will make you irrevocably HUNGRY.

Julia Child calls herself “cold blooded” and that she certainly was. She was cruel to her maids and made them cry (then laughed about it), lacked empathy and self-awareness, and carried an elitist attitude that made this a torturous read. I quit at page 264 after she said she loved her mother but immediately qualified that her love was despite the fact her mother was “uneducated”.

She was “relieved” when her father died because he had different opinions from hers? That is worse than cold-blooded. Snakes aren’t that nasty.

Julia’s disdain for Americans was written practically every other page. It is possible to love a new culture while also still loving (or at least respecting) the culture you came from. Julia Child only had room for one. And she even found it in herself to occasionally snub the French for daring to think they knew more about their cuisine than she did.

While the book is equal parts fascinating and tedious, I can’t help but love Julia and everything she’s done.

i am jealous of Alex Prud'homme. I wish Julia Child was *my* aunt. she is funny, honest, everything awesome. i can't say i'm knowledgeable about anything French, especially French food, but that absolutely did not matter while reading this book. in fact, i didn't want the book to end. now i plan to watch every episode of The French Chef and read her other books. maybe i'll blog about it. and get a wicked book deal. and a movie. just kidding... ;)
really and truly, i loved this book...and it was an impromptu read...thanks Asmah and Anne (and friends who gave it five stars)!

Я нарешті збагнула чому мені так подобаються мемуари! Це ж наче подорож в часі. Герої та події цілком реальні, а описи країн і місць навіюють легку меланхолію.

Чи існує ще ресторан La Couronne з путівника Michelin, який з такою любов’ю і трепетом до всього французького описує Джулія Чайд? Чи готують там ще Sole meunière — найважливішу страву її життя? Мабуть, ні. Адже, з листопада 1948 пройшло вже 75 років! Проте на сторінках мемуарів Джулії він все ще існує в своєму найкращому вигляді.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the rising perfume. Then I lifted a forkful of fish to my mouth, took a bite, and chewed slowly. The flesh of the sole was delicate, with a light but distinct taste of the ocean that blended marvelously with the browned butter. I chewed slowly and swallowed. It was a morsel of perfection.

Провести кілька вечорів в товаристві Джулії та Пола Чайлдів (поміж своїх Pulia, так наче вони були дві половинки одного цілого) — така прекрасна форма ескапізму! Я закохувалася у Францію, розглядала майстерні плівкові фотографії Пола на сторінках, досліджувала гастрономічний та кулінарний світ того часу, аналізувала політичну ситуацію в роки після Другої Світової (rapacious Russion was not to be trusted), спостерігала за клопітким процесом творення знаменитої кулінарної книжки Mastering the Art of French Cooking і захоплювалася стосунками, які вони плекали у своєму шлюбі. А ще уявляла себе однією зі запрошених на вишукані вечері у їхньому будиночку La Pitchoune в Провансі (тепер у ньому розташована кулінарна школа https://www.instagram.com/lapeetchfr/...)! Ви лишень погляньте на це меню…

We started our evening off with iced Clos des Goisses champagne, which Paul served in the big bubbly-glass goblets that we’d bought in Biot, the local glassmaking town. The first course was tomates farcies à la pistouille (https://cookswithoutborders.com/tomat... tomatoes stuffed with chopped eggplant, fresh tomato pulp, basil, and garlic. A poached egg sat on top, like a queen on her throne. Underneath was a lettuce leaf, and the dish was surrounded by freshly made mayonnaise. With this we served a lovely Chablis, Fourchaume 1964.

From there we moved on to un feuilleton de boeuf en croûte, a beef tenderloin in a pastry crust. Inspired by our loup en croûte, this dish was like a beef Wellington, only it substituted the more handsome, delicious, and non-damply dumpling brioche crust for puff pastry. The tenderloin was sliced into about fifteen pieces and sauced with a heavenly mixture of duxelle of mushrooms, ham, foie gras, shallots, and Madeira; then the whole was wrapped in brioche and baked. Each slice was served with a bit of crust and stuffing, and a spooning of sauce. An important dish, our boeuf was served with the non-distracting pommes Anna fromagées (https://www.suggest.com/pommes-anna-r...) and pointes d’asperges sautées à la chinoise (https://www.neff-home.com/fr/the-ingr...). This was accompanied by a magnum of velvety Château Haut-Brion, Premier Grand Cru Classé, 1964.

For dessert we had a so-called pouding pélerin (https://www.wgbh.org/dining-in/2018/0...), made of ground toasted almonds, kirsch, and apricots with crème anglaise in a mold lined with lady fingers toasted in butter and sugar, the whole covered by a sauce purée aux fraises et framboises (https://noshingwiththenolands.com/jul...). (The dessert’s name refers to the pèlerins, the old pilgrims who stuffed their pockets with nonperishables like dried apricots and almonds.) Our pouding was accompanied by the nectarlike Château d’Yquem 1962. And we finished with cigars from Havana, brandy, liqueurs, and coffee. Three of the ladies shared cigars, and everyone’s faces were aglow. At about 1:30 a.m., the party broke up. What a splendid evening.

P.S. Кажуть, що потрібна книжка приходить у правильний час. Скільки років лежала вона в мене на Kindle, і ніяк не було натхнення читати спогади Джулії. Думаю, тоді коли я активно подорожувала і сама смакувала світ, мені б не вистачило посидючості і такого захоплення про це все читати в якихось мемуарах! А зараз під час війни була дуже потрібна ця втеча в минуле життя і смаки Франції..

I almost want to cry thinking about how much I loved this book! As someone who is very proud of my French heritage (78% according to Ancestry), and who LOVES to cook, this book deeply resonated with me. I remember watching reruns of The French Chef with my mom as a kid and just thinking the lady on TV talked funny. Little did I know that many years later I’d fall in love with Julia Child and this book. Julia tells the story of her and Paul’s life in France through her experiences with culture, food, and the people she meets that turn into colleagues and life-long friends. This will be a reread down the road but until then, Au revoir Julia!