Julia Child

Today’s the anniversary of the birth in 1912 of Julia Child. Pat and I watched The French Chef when we were in our 20s and living in Pasadena (interestingly enough, Ms. Child’s birthplace). It was an important influence on our food lives. Watching her make a soufflé made them seem pretty simple, so we became accustomed to making them and with lots of meals—soufflé and chilli beans!

Later, friends gave us the two-volume set of Mastering the Art of French Cooking (which Jim Kauffman later defaced by crossing out “cooking” on one volume and replacing it with “kissing”) and we cooked from them. Ms. Child’s books (volume 1 with Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle and volume 2 with Ms. Beck) made the concepts undergirding complex dishes pretty clear, so if one got the idea of them, one could make all manner of things by varying other features. It was, too me, like learning that one could make an object, say a ball, and then vary other features (color, size, texture) at will, creating different dishes.

And there were lots of personal features I enjoyed, too. She would make noises as she tugged at things, saying “Aaargh” as she dismembered a chicken (or some such). One time, on the TV show, she wiped a bunch of scraps off the counter and said, “Isn’t it wonderful to have a self-cleaning kitchen?” She would add a little wine to a dish as it cooked, and then add a little more.

Good fun! And the effort was rewarded routinely by good eats. So, I’ll raise a glass to Julia Child’s birthday.