So many food-loving North Americans of my generation, and of my parents’, have memories that involve the late, totally great, much-missed Julia Child. I am certainly one of these “many,” with two distinct memories that keep me company always. The earlier one is an aggregate of several memories, rolled together the way that kidhood memories roll... it is of trying to stay up past bedtime, sneaking into the hallway to catch snippets of Grownup TV sounds that came from the living room, where my mother sat reverently, holding a 3-by-5 notepad and pencil (sometimes pen), waiting for wisdom to pour forth from the reedy throat of Mrs. Child. Pour it did, and my mother watched and wrote... watched and wrote... scribbling the entire first series of WGBH broadcasts, absorbing the wisdom of Julia, well before The French Chef Cookbook could be purchased. All I could understand at the time was that Something Important was being transmitted, and the siren call of the fluty voice of La Child was impossible to resist, even though the scolding for being up past bedtime could be profound.
Of course our kitchen contained an early printing of both volumes of Mastering (I don’t need to spell out the whole title do I?), from which she taught me to make basic things like paté brisée for quiche; over time she acquired most of Julia’s books, including the very pretty but maddeningly cumbersome and glossy The Way To Cook (how can you annotate a recipe on glossy paper?). The handwritten notes, however, remain my favorite part of mom’s collection, combining the enthusiasm for food and respect for quality and process that these women shared, and which formed the core of my attitude about eating and my skills (meager though they remain) in cooking.
My second Julia memory is a one-off, a single day in my teens when my mother decided it was worth taking me out of school so that I could accompany her to a Los Angeles store where the reverend (I could say “revered” but it went farther than that with my mom) Mrs. Child was appearing to promote a new book. Although I have no memory of the presentation, I do recall our progress up the receiving line to greet her; and while my mother bubbled about her son attending Harvard (the Child home then being in or near Cambridge), the gracious Julia looked up at me, asked me if I was planning to attend Radcliffe, and smiled kindly as I mumbled my reply. A personal exchange! It was too wonderful, and mom and I chewed on it all the way home (I have not yet finished chewing).
The collage you see before you, which I made in honor of these memories, contains pictures of some of my inherited and bought copies of Julia’s books. I believe I have two-and-a-half sets of Mastering at this point. One of my favorite foodie factoids -- and one of few that I know of which combine the twin excellencies of book design and food -- is that Mastering was designed for Knopf by Warren Chappell. While Judith Jones gets more press these days as the “discoverer” of Mrs. Child and/or Mastering, whoever at Knopf chose the supreme Mr. Chappell to design the tome gets my unwavering gratitude. You don’t even have to cook anything! It’s simply one of the most beautiful, legible, comfortable food books ever made (I count the two volumes as one book, you see). Better than a teddy bear, if perhaps slightly less soft at the edges.
To mom, to Julia, and to Warren: thanks for the memories (and the food).
Trixie
