Fine, I admit it. I loved Julie & Julia. The movie, because Meryl Streep is a goddess, and Stanley Tucci should be in everything. I could have done completely without the other parts and just wanted two hours of Paul and Julia Child together. Talk about romance goals. It was actually thanks to a spam comment on the Cannonball site that I saw someone else had read My Life in France and, without hesitation, clicked the link and bought myself a copy. Julia Child is one of my heroes, and not just because I loved visiting her re-created kitchen in the Smithsonian as I was growing up. From what I knew of her, I lover her bombast and her personality and her complete love of life. She seemed like she was just so much fun to be around, so smart and sweet. Not to mention, of course, an exception cook. This memoir, written by her with the help of her great-nephew, solidified every opinion I’ve had of her.
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I love this book so much. Before my bff had kids, we would make a pilgrimage to Julia Child’s kitchen at the Smithsonian every Spring. We’d sit there and watch the Best of Julia tapes on an endless loop and talk about our dream kitchens. The year she had her first kid, we weren’t able to get to the museum because I was working insane hours and she was uncomfortably pregnant. And we haven’t been back since. A few years ago she got me My Life in France as a reminder of all the good kitchen bonding time we still had even with out Julia’s kitchen.
I hope you two get a chance to go back together! That is such a sweet tradition and a testament to friendship. (I’ve also had quite a bit of wine tonight, which might explain why this made me cry a little and want to call my BFF.)
I’m too tired for wine and just sent my bff a rambling, teary and incoherent email.
Mine was a text. Have a hug from me!