Julia Child

Scooping up a potato pancake, patting chickens, coaxing a reluctant souffl, or

rescuing a curdled sauce, Julia Child was never afraid of making mistakes.
Remember, if you are alone in the kitchen, who is going to see you? she
reassured her television audience. Catapulted to fame as the host of the series
The French Chef, Julia was an unlikely star. Over 6 2, middle aged and not
conventionally pretty, Julia had a voice careened effortlessly over an octave and
could make an aspic shimmy. She was prone to say things like Horray and
Yum, yum. Her early culinary attempts had been near disasters, but once she
learned to cook, her passion for cooking and her devotion to teaching, brought
her into the hearts of millions and ultimately made her an American icon. To the
fans who knew and loved her, she was known simply as Joooolia.
Born in 1912 in Pasadena, California, she led a life of ease and privilege. She
graduated from Smith College with vague aspirations of becoming a writer, but
never found a focus. She confided in her diary: I am sadly an ordinary person . . .
with talents I do not use. Yet she continued to yearn for adventure and the
chance to escape from her comfortable upper middle class existence.
She found that chance in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor. Like many Americans her
age, she hurried to Washington to work for the war effort, finding a job at the
Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Eventually she volunteered to go to the Near
East. In March 1944, she set sail for Ceylon, now Sri Lanka, to work for the OSS
office in the ancient city of Kandy. Here, far from home, she finally had her
chance for adventure and for love.
But it was not love at first sight. Ten years older than Julia, Paul Child was an
artist, a poet who had earned a black belt in judo, traveled the world, and spoke
flawless French. Shortly after meeting Julia he wrote to his twin brother Charlie,
that Julia was wildly emotional and an extremely sloppy thinker who was
unable to sustain ideas for long. Julia, for her part, was disappointed in Paul,
whom she described as having light hair which is not on top, an unbecoming
blond mustache and a long unbecoming nose. But very slowly and over time,
the two fell quietly in love. In the summer of 1946, they traveled across the
country together, accompanied by 8 bottles of whiskey, a bottle of gin and a
bottle of mixed martinis. Paul wrote to Charlie, (Julia) never puts on an act, or
creates a scene. . . She frankly likes to eat and use her senses and has an
unusually keen nose. In another letter he reported She also washes my shirts!
Quite a dame! They were married that September.
Paul, who worked for the State Department, was soon posted to France. En route
to Paris, Paul took Julia to the oldest restaurant in the country, La Couronne. This
was her first experience with classical French cuisine and she fell in love. The
whole experience was an opening up of the soul and spirit for me . . . I was
hooked, and for life, as it turned out. Eager to learn how to make this food, Julia
enrolled in the famed Cordon Bleu. Between classes, she studied French and
roamed the open air markets, talking with fish mongers, bakers and fruit sellers.

She and Paul scoured the neighborhoods of Paris for friendly bistros, and under
her husbands patient tutelage, Julias palette grew more and more sophisticated.
It was in Paris that Julia met two French women, Simca Beck and Louisette
Bertholle, who were writing a cookbook aimed at an American audience. They
needed an American collaborator. Julia was perfectly suited for the job. She
began testing recipes. For nearly ten years, she devoted herself to writing,
testing and re-writing. She confided to her sister-in-law: Really, the more I cook
the more I like to cook. To think it has taken me 40 yrs. To find my true passion
(cat and husb. excepted).
Simca emerged as her principal collaborator. As Paul and Julia were posted from
Paris to Marseilles to Bonn to Oslo and on to Washington, they kept up a furious
correspondence, typing hundreds of letters with six carbon copies. Julia kept
meticulous notes and spent months perfecting recipes for one ingredient. She
made so many egg dishes that she finally wrote to Simca, Ive just poached two
more eggs and throw them down the toilet. When the women finally submitted
their manuscript, the publisher turned it down. They made major revisions. Again,
the publisher turned it down. Hell and damnation, Julia wrote to Simca. After
repeated rejections, the book was finally picked up by a new publisher, Alfred
Knopf and nurtured by a young and talented editor, Judith Jones. In 1961, Julia
finally held in her hands the book titled Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It
had taken ten long years of relentless toil to produce. But it was not clear how
the book would be received in America.
Now living in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Julia would soon find out. She was
invited to appear on a television program called Ive Been Reading, produced
by WGBH, Bostons public television station. The host of the show was reluctant
to take time for a subject as trivial as cooking. But Julia was undeterred. She
arrived with a hot plate, giant whisk and eggs, and made an omelet. Twentyseven viewers wrote to the station, wanting to see more. The station produced
three pilots, then launched into production of The French Chef. Produced and
directed by Russ Morash, the series broadcast a total of 199 programs, produced
between 1963 and 1966.
Julias timing was perfect. More and more Americans were traveling abroad. The
Kennedys were in the White House. The majority of middle class women had not
yet joined the work force; the bored housewife syndrome had not yet been
diagnosed as a national malaise. For women who admired Jackie Kennedy chic,
Julias translation of French cuisine offered a way to acquire a taste of French
sophistication. Soon a nation fed mindlessly on Shake n Bake, RediWhip and Tang
began experimenting with quiche Lorraine, boeuf bourgignon, and reine de saba.
Upwardly mobile Americans who regarded cooking as a waste of time, were
suddenly seizing whisks, molds and copper bowls, transforming the kitchen into
the most important room in the house and making cooking a national pastime.
On camera, Julias presence was relaxed, reassuring and informal. But behind the
unpolished quirky charm was a driven perfectionist, convinced that there was a

right and a wrong way to do things. Working closely with Paul and her associate
producer Ruth Lockwood, Julia spent as many as 19 hours preparing for each halfhour segment. Detailed notes described every move she had to make. Her
producer wrote out idiot cards that read Stop gasping. Wipe brow. The
camera wore a helpful sign Me camera. The audience loved it. So did the
critics. One newspaper called her televisions most reliable female discovery
since Lassie.
By the end of 1965, The French Chef was carried by 96 PBS stations. Sales of
Mastering the Art of French Cooking were picking up speed 200,000 copies
sold. In 1965, Julia won a Peabody. In 1966, she won an Emmy. Time put her on
the cover in a feature article on American food Everyones in the Kitchen. In
December 1966, Julia and Paul spent their first Christmas at La Pitchoune, a
country house they built in Provence with royalties from the sales of Mastering
the Art of French Cooking. Here they shopped for bread and meat at the local
boulanger. They cured olives from their own trees. Around them, fields of roses
and jasmine filled the air with perfume, along with violets and mimosa. For the
next twenty years, Julia and Paul would escape to La Peetch as they called it. In
this place, so reminiscent of California, Julia rested, worked and wrote. By
Christmas 1967, she was busy correcting proofs of The French Chef Cookbook,
based on the television series. Reveling in domestic bliss, Paul wrote to his
brother: How fortunate we are at this moment in our lives! Each doing what he
most wants, in a marvelously adapted place, close to each other, superbly fed
and housed, with excellent health, and few interruptions.
But Julias health was not good. Left breast off, she wrote in her date book for
February 18, 1968. Back in Boston, a routine biopsy called for a full, radical
mastectomy. She stayed ten days in the hospital. Paul was devastated by the
specter of cancer and the fear that he might lose her. Julia was stoic. But released
from the hospital, she crept into a bathtub and wept. Soon public tragedy
eclipsed private sorrows. Martin Luther King was killed. Bobby Kennedy was shot.
Julia and Paul, now back in France, heard the news on their tiny transistor radio.
Julia was devastated. In Provence, the church bells tolled. Riots broke out at the
Democratic convention in Chicago. The times recalled the poetic lament, The
center cannot hold.
Julia focused her energies on completing Volume II of Mastering the Art of French
Cooking. Rushing from stove to typewriter like a mad hen, she wrote. She was
determined that this book must be better and different. The publishers
deadline was pushed back repeatedly. Once again, she was locked up in a room;
she wrote to her friend Avis DeVoto: I have no desire to get into another big
book like Vol II for a long time to come, if ever. Too much work. I am anxious to
get back into TV teaching, and out of this little room with the typewriter. Screw
it.
She got her wish. In 1970, after a four year hiatus, Julia returned to film more
episodes of The French Chef this time in color. Commercial television had

competed for her talents, but she refused to be bought. Ill stick with the
educators, she said.
Fans packed her cooking demonstrations. Talk show hosts clamored to interview
her. She appeared with the Boston Symphony. She was feted at the Four Seasons.
By now Julia had become a celebrity, and Paul reveled in his wifes success. But
Paul was suffering from chest pains. He underwent a coronary bypass. During the
surgery, he suffered several small strokes. The strokes had affected his brain. He
completely lost his French and verbal fluency. Whatever it is, I will do it, Paul
had said. He had acted as her manager, served as her photographer, tested her
recipes, proof-read her books, and was content to let the light shine on her, not
on him. Now, the man that Julia had counted on for so much would need her
support in his struggle to survive. Julia gave freely and fully. She did not spend
time lamenting their fate. She did what she always did in times of crisis. She
moved on.
But the world in which Julia moved was changing Vietnam, Watergate and the
resignation of Richard Nixon. So, too, was the world of food. By the 1970s, a new
generation of younger chefs was tossing aside traditional ways, discovering
American ingredients and experimenting with new approaches that stressed
regional influences, strong flavors, and fresh ingredients. The classic French
cuisine that Julia loved so well now seemed slightly quaint. Julia never gave up
her fondness for the classic style, but she encouraged the new up-and-coming
generation, including Boston-based chefs Jasper White and Gordon Hammersly.
Traditionally, chefs had labored in obscurity, behind closed doors. Julia was
determined to change this. She labored tirelessly to promote the profession, and
as a result of her efforts, chefs began to receive the recognition they deserved.
Now they emerged as celebrities and food became a form of entertainment.
Seated at their tables, restaurant patrons could vicariously participate in
unfolding drama of food preparation bread pulled from brick ovens, chickens
roasting on spits, vegetables tossed in open skillets. Julia was pleased that chefs
were finally getting the attention they deserved, but she disliked the social
snobbery that sometimes accompanied celebrity. She wrote to her friend and
collaborator Simca Beck, Food is getting too much publicity and is becoming too
much of a status symbol and in business.
Julia herself had shed what she called the French straight jacket. In her new
series, Julia Child & Company and Julia and More Company, she moved with the
times. In 1983, twenty years after the anniversary of The French Chef, Julia
launched Dinner at Julias filmed at the Swank Hope Ranch, just outside Santa
Barbara. Here she was cast in the role of a glamorous hostess, not the familiar,
slightly eccentric cook that her fans had come to love. Many found the series
disappointing and disconcerting. Julia seemed to shrug it off. She had made her
mark. At this point most people would have been ready to retire.
But not Julia. She wrote a big new cookbook, The Way to Cook, accompanied by
a home video series. In her late 70s and 80s, she collaborated with a young

talented director and producer, Geof Drummond, to make four new series
Cooking with Master Chefs, In Julias Kitchen with Master Chefs, Baking with
Julia, and with her good friend Jacques Ppin, Jacques and Julia at Home. Each
series was accompanied by a companion book.
In 1992, Julias contribution to food and cooking in America was celebrated on the
occasion of her 80th birthday. Three huge parties were held in her honor in
Boston, Los Angeles and New York. Honors continued the following year, when
Harvard University granted Julia an honorary doctorate. Her citation read A
Harvard friend and neighbor who has filled the air with common sense and
uncommon scents. Long may her souffls rise. The audience responded with
thunderous applause.
Yet one person was not there to celebrate her success. Since 1989, Paul Child had
been confined to a nursing home. His once robust body had grown frail and
withered. On the evening of May 12, 1994, he passed away.
For six more years, Julia continued to live alone in the house that she and Paul
had shared. But she grew weary of New England winters and yearned for the
warmth of the California sun. In November 2001, Julia moved to Santa Barbara.
Her kitchen was moved to Washington, D.C. The place where she had chopped,
stirred and sauted for forty years is now on display at the Smithsonian
Institution. Her pots and pans, her knives and kitchen tools proudly proclaim a
culinary revolution that transformed the way that Americans cook, eat and think
about food.
Julia Child died just two days before her 92nd birthday, on August 13, 2004,
surrounded by her family and friends. The nation mourned her passing, still
remembers her with affection and fondness. Not simply for her contribution to
American cooking, but for who she was a deeply generous person, open to
experience, eager to learn and to teach. The young and restless woman who
once mourned her lack of talent became an American icon, and in countless
kitchens across the country and around the world, her spirit still lives on. Bon
Appetit!