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1 Home & Garden Cooking and Food- Gastronomic Literature

My Life in France

by and

My Life in France Cover

ISBN13: 9780307277695
ISBN10: 0307277690
Condition: Standard
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Excerpt

Foreword_In August 2004, Julia Child and I sat in her small, lush garden in Montecito, California, talking about her life. She was thin and a bit stooped, but more vigorous than shed been in weeks. We were in the midst of writing this book together. When I asked her what she remembered about Paris in the 1950s, she recalled that she had learned to cook everything from snails to wild boar at the Cordon Bleu; that marketing in France had taught her the value of “les human relations”; she lamented that in her day the American housewife had to juggle cooking the soup and boiling the diapers—adding, “if she mixed the two together, imagine what a lovely combination that would make!”The idea for My Life in France had been gestating since 1969, when her husband, Paul, sifted through hundreds of letters that he and Julia had written his twin brother, Charles Child (my grandfather), from France in 1948-1954. Paul suggested creating a book from the letters about their favorite, formative years together. But for one reason or another, the book never got written. Paul died in 1994, aged ninety-two. Yet Julia never gave up on the idea, and would often talk about her intention to write “the France book.” She saw it, in part, as a tribute to her husband, the man who had swept her off to Paris in the first place.I was a professional writer, and had long wanted to work on a collaborative project with Julia. But she was self-reliant, and for years had politely resisted the idea. In December 2003, she once again mentioned “the France book,” in a wistful tone, and I again offered to assist her. She was ninety-one, and her health had been waxing and waning. This time she said, “All right, dearie, maybe we should work on it together.”My job was simply to help Julia tell her story, but it wasnt always easy. Though she was a natural performer, she was essentially a private person who didnt like to reveal herself. We started slowly, began to work in sync, and eventually built a wonderfully productive routine. For a few days every month, Id sit in her living room asking questions, reading from family letters, and listening to her stories. At first I taped our conversations, but when she began to poke my tape recorder with her long fingers, I realized it was distracting her, and took notes instead. The longer we talked about “little old France,” the more she remembered, often with vivid intensity—“Ooh, those lovely roasted, buttery French chickens, they were so good and chickeny!”Many of our best conversations took place over a meal, on a car ride, or during a visit to a farmers market. Something would trigger a memory, and shed suddenly tell me about how she learned to make baguettes in Paris, or bouillabaisse in Marseille, or how to survive a French dinner party—“Just speak very loudly and quickly, and state your position with utter conviction, as the French do, and youll have a marvelous time!”Almost all of the words in these pages are Julias or Pauls. But this is not a scholarly work, and at times I have blended their voices. Julia encouraged this approach, pointing out that she and Paul often signed their letters “PJ” or “Pulia,” as if they were two halves of one person. I wrote some of the exposition and transitions, and in so doing tried to emulate Julias idiosyncratic word choices—“Plop!,” “Yuck!,” “Woe!,” “Hooray!” Once I had gathered enough material, I would write up a vignette; she would avidly read it, correct my French, and add things as they occurred to her in small, rightward-slanting handwriting. She loved this process, and was an exacting editor. “This book energizes me!” she declared.Julia and I shared a sense of humor, and appetite, and she thought I looked like Paul, which probably helped our collaboration. As for me, I was grateful for the chance to reconnect with her and to be part of such an interesting project. Some writers find that the more they learn about their co-authors the less they like them, but I had the opposite experience: the more I learned about Julia Child, the more I came to respect her. What impressed me most was how hard she worked, how devoted she was to the “rules” of la cuisine française while keeping herself open to creative exploration, and how determined she was to persevere in the face of setbacks. Julia never lost her sense of wonder and inquisitiveness. She was, and is, a great inspiration.Another great inspiration has been our editor, Judith Jones, who worked with Julia for more than forty years. With patience and a deep understanding of our subject, she was indispensable in helping to shape this book. Judiths assistant, Ken Schneider, was also a great help.On August 13, 2004—just after our conversation in her garden, and only two days before her ninety-second birthday—Julia died of kidney failure in her sleep. Over the next year, I finished My Life in France, but every day wished I could call her up and ask her to clarify a story, or to share a bit of news, or just to talk. I miss her. But through her words in these pages, Julias voice remains as lively, wise, and encouraging as ever. As she would say, “We had such fun!”Alex PrudhommeAugust 2005IntroductionThis is a book about some of the things I have loved most in life: my husband, Paul Child; la belle France; and the many pleasures of cooking and eating. It is also something new for me. Rather than a collection of recipes, Ive put together a series of linked autobiographical stories, mostly focused on the years 1948 through 1954, when we lived in Paris and Marseille, and also a few of our later adventures in Provence. Those early years in France were among the best of my life. They marked a crucial period of transformation in which I found my true calling, experienced an awakening of the senses, and had such fun that I hardly stopped moving long enough to catch my breath.Before I moved to France, my life had not prepared me for what I would discover there. I was raised in a comfortable, WASPy, uppermiddle- class family in sunny and non-intellectual Pasadena, California. My father, John McWilliams, was a conservative businessman who managed family real-estate holdings; my mother, Carolyn, whom we called Caro, was a very warm and social person. But, like most of her peers, she didnt spend much time in the kitchen. She occasionally sallied forth to whip up baking-powder biscuits, or a cheese dish, or finnan haddie, but she was not a cook. Nor was I.As a girl I had zero interest in the stove. Ive always had a healthy appetite, especially for the wonderful meat and the fresh produce of California, but I was never encouraged to cook and just didnt see the point in it. Our family had a series of hired cooks, and theyd produce heaping portions of typical American fare—fat roasted chicken with buttery mashed potatoes and creamed spinach; or well-marbled porterhouse steaks; or aged leg of lamb cooked medium gray—not pinky-red rare, as the French do—and always accompanied by brown gravy and green mint sauce. It was delicious but not refined food.Paul, on the other hand, had been raised in Boston by a rather bohemian mother who had lived in Paris and was an excellent cook. He was a cultured man, ten years older than I was, and by the time we met, during World War II, he had already traveled the world. Paul was a natty dresser and spoke French beautifully, and he adored good food and wine. He knew about dishes like moules marinières and boeuf bourguignon and canard à lorange—things that seemed hopelessly exotic to my untrained ear and tongue. I was lucky to marry Paul. He was a great inspiration, his enthusiasm about wine and food helped to shape my tastes, and his encouragement saw me through discouraging moments. I would never have had my career without Paul Child.Wed first met in Ceylon (Sri Lanka) during the Second World War and were married in September 1946. In preparation for living with a new husband on a limited government income, I decided Id better learn how to cook. Before our wedding, I took a bride-to-bes cooking course from two Englishwomen in Los Angeles, who taught me to make things like pancakes. But the first meal I ever cooked for Paul was a bit more ambitious: brains simmered in red wine! Im not quite sure why I picked that particular dish, other than that it sounded exotic and would be a fun way to impress my new husband. I skimmed over the recipe, and figured it wouldnt be too hard to make. But the results, alas, were messy to look at and not very good to eat. In fact, the dinner was a disaster. Paul laughed it off, and we scrounged up something else that night. But deep down I was annoyed with myself, and I grew more determined than ever to learn how to cook well.In our first year as young marrieds, we lived in Georgetown, in Washington, D.C., in a small white clapboard house on Olive Avenue. While Paul worked on mounting exhibits for the State Department, I worked as a file clerk. In the evening, I would approach the stove armed with lofty intentions, the Joy of Cooking or Gourmet magazine tucked under my arm, and little kitchen sense. My meals were satisfactory, but they took hours of laborious effort to produce. Id usually plop something on the table by 10:00 p.m., have a few bites, and collapse into bed. Paul was unfailingly patient. But years later hed admit to an interviewer: “Her first attempts were not altogether successful. . . . I was brave because I wanted to marry Julia. I trust I did not betray my point of view.” (He did not.)In the winter of 1948, Paul was offered a job running the Visual Presentation Department for the United States Information Service (USIS) in Paris, and I tagged along. I had never been to Europe, but once we had settled in Paris, it was clear that, out of sheer luck, I had landed in a magical city—one that is still my favorite place on earth. Starting slowly, and then with a growing enthusiasm, I devoted myself to learning the language and the customs of my new home.In Paris and later in Marseille, I was surrounded by some of the best food in the world, and I had an enthusiastic audience in my husband, so it seemed only logical that I should learn how to cook la cuisine bourgeoise—good, traditional French home cooking. It was a revelation. I simply fell in love with that glorious food and those marvelous chefs. The longer we stayed there, the deeper my commitment became.In collaborating on this book, Alex Prudhomme and I have been fortunate indeed to have spent hours together telling stories, reminiscing, and thinking out loud. Memory is selective, and we have not attempted to be encyclopedic here, but have focused on some of the large and small moments that stuck with me for over fifty years.Alex was born in 1961, the year that our first book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which I wrote with Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle, was published. How appropriate, then, that he and I should work together on this volume, which recounts the making of that book.Our research has been aided immeasurably by a thick trove of family letters and datebooks kept from those days, along with Pauls photographs, sketches, poems, and Valentines Day cards. Paul and his twin brother, Charlie Child, a painter who lived in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, wrote to each other every week or so. Paul took letter writing seriously: hed set aside time for it, tried to document our day-to-day lives in a journalistic way, and usually wrote three to six pages a week in a beautiful flowing hand with a special fountain pen; often he included little sketches of places wed visited, or photos (some of which we have used in these pages), or made mini-collages out of ticket stubs or newsprint. My letters were usually one or two pages, typed, and full of spelling mistakes, bad grammar, and exclamation points; I tended to focus on what I was cooking at the time, or the human dramas boiling around us. Written on thin pale-blue or white airmail paper, those hundreds of letters have survived the years in very good shape.When I reread them now, the events those letters describe come rushing back to me with great immediacy: Paul noticing the brilliant sparkle of autumn light on the dark Seine, his daily battles with Washington bureaucrats, the smell of Montmartre at dusk, or the night we spied wild-haired Colette eating at that wonderful Old World restaurant Le Grand Véfour. In my letters, I enthuse over my first taste of a toothsome French duck roasted before an open fire, or the gossip Id heard from the vegetable lady in the Rue de Bourgogne marketplace, or the latest mischief of our cat, Minette, or the failures and triumphs of our years of cookbook work. It is remarkable that our family had the foresight to save those letters—its almost as if they knew Alex and I were going to sit down and write this book together one day.We tip our hats in gratitude to the many people and institutions who have helped us with My Life in France, especially to my dear friend and lifelong editor at Knopf, Judith Jones, she of the gimlet eye and soft editorial touch. And to my beloved French “sisters,” Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle, with whom I collaborated; to my sister, Dorothy, my enthusiastic niece, Phila Cousins, and her brother, Sam; to my invaluable assistant, Stephanie Hersh, and my attorney Bill Truslow. We also sing the praises of the Schlesinger Library at the Radcliffe Institute, which has graciously housed the bulk of my papers and Pauls photographs; the Museum of American History at the Smithsonian Institution, which has been kind enough to display artifacts from my career, including my entire kitchen from our house in Cambridge, Massachusetts; to WGBH, Bostons public television station; to my alma mater, Smith College; also to the many family members and friends who have aided us with memories, photos, good company, and fine meals as we pieced together this volume.What fun and good fortune I had living in France with Paul, and again in writing about our experiences with Alex. I hope that this book is as much fun for you to read as it was for us to put together—bon appétit!Julia ChildMontecito, CaliforniaAugust 2004

From the Hardcover edition.

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Sharon Dressen, January 30, 2013 (view all comments by Sharon Dressen)
Julia Child's "My Life in France" is the best book I read in 2012. Her positive attitude and zest for life infused every page. This book was such fun!
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bookbabeBG, January 23, 2012 (view all comments by bookbabeBG)
I loved this book. I am not a foodie, but Ms. Child has such an engaging style of writing I couldn't wait to follow her wherever she cared to take me. She creates a picture of a country, of a culture, of a cuisine she loved so much - dedicated to love of life and hedonism. She also imbues the book with her sorrow of a disappearing way of life - one that cherishes the art of cooking, that invests hours in creating the perfect culinary experience. A way of life that is slowly disappearing in front of her very eyes even in the country that proudly proclaims itself the birthplace of classical cuisine.
I also loved the persona of Ms. Child - optimistic, open to new experiences, full of zest for life and new tastes. The whole book left me with an optimistic feeling and I was sad to finish it - it was like saying goodbye to a much loved friend. This is a book I will be sure to reread in future.
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Gale Trachtenberg, January 8, 2012 (view all comments by Gale Trachtenberg)
A thoroughly enjoyable and satisfying read. I learned alot about the process of learning a vocation and becoming an "expert", and about a loving and committed marriage that worked. Thanks Julia.
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Product Details

ISBN:
9780307277695
Author:
Julia Child and Alex Prud'homme
Publisher:
Anchor Books
With:
Prud'homme, Alex
Author:
Child, Julia
Author:
Prud'homme, Alex
Author:
Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme
Author:
Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme
Subject:
History
Subject:
Cooking
Subject:
Personal Memoirs
Subject:
Cookery, french
Subject:
Cooks -- United States.
Subject:
Biography-Cooking
Subject:
Biography - General
Copyright:
Edition Description:
Trade paper
Publication Date:
20071031
Binding:
TRADE PAPER
Grade Level:
General/trade
Language:
English
Illustrations:
79 PHOTOS IN TEXT
Pages:
368
Dimensions:
8.02x5.29x.73 in. .79 lbs.

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Related Subjects

Biography » General
Cooking and Food » Award Winners » General
Cooking and Food » Food Writing » Gastronomic Literature
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Cooking and Food » Reference and Etiquette » Historical Food and Cooking
Travel » Travel Writing » Europe
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My Life in France Used Trade Paper
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Product details 368 pages Anchor Books - English 9780307277695 Reviews:
"Staff Pick" by ,

An inspiring look at the life and times of the culinary genius, Julia Child's My Life in France is a good-humored memoir of her influential and transformative early experiences in France with her then new husband, Paul. Julia's devotees, as well as those less familiar, will equally enjoy the wit of her storytelling, and her gift for describing a great meal.

"Review A Day" by , "[A] delightful and ebulliently written new memoir....The result is a tone that is pure Julia. One can almost hear her unforgettably fluty voice uttering such Julia-isms as 'ta-da!' 'ouf!' and 'phooey!' throughout the book. Her joy just about jumps off the book's pages....Julia Child was a natural teacher, and My Life in France makes that abundantly clear." (read the entire CSM review)
"Review" by , "Like a surprise nougat bursting from the center of a chocolate truffle, My Life in France also serves up her moving romance with the Renaissance man of her life...her husband, Paul Child."
"Review" by , "In mouth-watering detail, her learning years in Paris and the stellar career that followed."
"Review" by , "Captures her charm, warmth, and, above all, her determined and robust spirit....Anyone who has heard her on television will immediately recognize the frank, jovial, and embracing tone."
"Review" by , "What a joy...charming...inspiring."
"Synopsis" by , US
"Synopsis" by , Exuberant, affectionate, and boundlessly charming ("The New York Times"), this is the delightful and highly acclaimed memoir from the woman who revolutionized American cooking in the 20th century.
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