Julie And Julia Page #3

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Here's my final word on the subject.

You can never have too much butter.

August 24th, day 11.

Is this what you mean when you say, "Don't

crowd the mushrooms"? Is this a crowd?

353 days to go. A horrible day at work.

An old grandma who looked as if

she wouldn't harm a fly

called me a pencil-pushing capitalist dupe.

But then I came home and cooked chicken

with cream, mushrooms and port,

and it was total bliss.

Here's the big news.

I had been cooking mushrooms

the wrong way my entire life.

Don't crowd the mushrooms,

otherwise they won't brown.

Are you listening, whoever you are?

You're gonna love that one.

Day 22.

This one's really good with fig jam.

I got carried away in Dean & DeLuca last

night and spent half my take-home pay.

And the first thing I realized

when I got to the subway

with my groceries, a bag of cat litter,

a bottle of olive oil I absolutely could not

live without, and a huge bunch of branches

was that the branches were

probably not a good idea.

Sorry.

They were slapping folks in the face

right and left and I was sweating like a pig.

Not surprising, since I've been way too busy

cooking fattening food to bother exercising.

And then I came home and got

a big vote of confidence from my mother.

Remind me again why you're doing this...

- Blog.

- Whatever it's called.

It's a regimen, Mom. Like doing sit-ups.

- Well, it's just adding pressure.

- What pressure?

You have a full-time job,

you have a husband,

and now you're gonna get sick

from blogging.

- It's sort of like being in AA.

- What are you saying?

It gives you something you have to do

every day, one day at a time.

How do you know this lingo?

Honey, are you an alcoholic?

I'm saying it's good for me to have

short-term goals.

Well, that is silly. That is just plain silly.

Who's reading this blog?

People. People are reading it, I'm sure.

Well, it's something you decided to do,

and you can decide not to,

and not one single person's gonna mind.

No. Don't you get it? I just started.

I can't stop, I have to finish. It's all I've got.

Hello? Hello?

Stupid dead phone.

Hey, it's not all you got.

I know. I know. I didn't mean that.

Yesterday, I poached an egg.

It seemed like the perfect thing to do

on perhaps the second worst workday

in recorded history.

Explain to me how you've never eaten

an egg in your whole life.

I've had eggs in, like, cakes.

Never had an "egg" egg.

I was a very willful child.

It's simmering.

I had this notion, God knows why,

that poaching eggs would be simple.

But I was deeply wrong.

"Immediately and gently push the white over

the yolk with a wooden spoon

"for two to three seconds." Immediately.

Disgusting.

Oh, maybe the eggs aren't fresh.

Julia says the eggs have to be fresh.

They are fresh.

Okay. You don't have to bite my head off.

I'm just quoting Julia.

It took three of us, crammed into the

kitchen over a pot of simmering water,

but, eventually, we nailed it.

- Hello.

- Welcome.

How cute is that?

And I ate my very first egg

of my whole life, ever, ever, ever.

I thought eggs were going to be greasy

and slimy, but it tastes like

cheese sauce. Yum.

Julia Child, you are so good.

- Cheers.

- Cheers.

And, may I say, excellent wine?

- Do you think Julia knows about you?

- I wish.

I have this fantasy that she comes for dinner

and I show her my new lemon zester.

We become very close.

The truth is, no one knows about me.

I feel like I'm just sending things

into this giant void.

Which reminds me. Annabelle's blog.

Have you read it lately?

Yes.

- It's sort of funny.

- Is it?

She's dating this rich guy who owns a plane.

His name's Lester.

And they do it in the air.

People love it. It's a huge hit.

What do you think it means

if you don't like your friends?

- It's completely normal.

- Men like their friends.

We're not talking about men.

Who's talking about men?

So it's five weeks down, 47 to go,

and I feel fantastic.

Sometimes, I can't help but wonder.

Is there anyone out there reading me?

But I'm sure you are,

aren't you? Somebody?

Anybody?

Ernestine, I have a comment.

My mother. Doesn't count.

Today we will begin by learning to boil eggs.

First, you must make sure

that the egg is fresh.

I was so hoping that...

Well, for something a little more advanced,

Madame Brassart.

But you are not an advanced cook.

But I do know how to boil an egg.

Do you know how to bone a duck?

No, but that's exactly the sort of thing

that I'm very interested

in learning how to do.

There is one other class,

but you will not like it.

It's for professionnel,

which you will never be, I'm sure.

All men. All GIs.

And very expensive.

I cannot imagine

that you would ever want to pay the tuition.

How much?

So the onion is ready, but...

You must hold the knife,

first of all, like this.

Wrist, easy. Leave the thumb here.

The hand and the knife are one.

And the hand, the other hand,

you must protect it.

Here, you must cut only the onion. Yes?

- Not me.

- Yes.

And then, you put your thumb here

and the other fingers here.

Jule?

You're being a little over-competitive,

don't you think?

Well, you should've seen the way

those men looked at me.

As if I were some frivolous housewife,

just looking for a way to kill time.

Well...

- Where are you going?

- Not here.

- You hungry?

- No.

Good.

Ta-da!

Well done, Madame Child.

Dear Avis,

I'm in my third week at Le Cordon Bleu,

and I'm in utter bliss.

Every morning the alarm goes off at 6:30,

and I leap out of bed.

I'm up!

By 7:
30 I'm in class, in my apron,

peeling potatoes.

Then we cook stock and we bone fish.

We dress pigeons.

We make pastry with so much butter,

it almost stops your heart just to look at it.

My teacher moves so quickly

I'm sometimes lost.

But I'm way ahead of the others in the class,

all of them men,

and all of them very unfriendly,

until they discovered I was fearless.

Something I realized

about the same time they did.

Morning class ends at 12:30,

then I go home and make lunch for Paul.

Then Paul takes a nap.

And later in the afternoon, he goes back

to the embassy and I go back to school.

You must have a mortar and pestle.

Incidentally, my father is horrified

I'm going to cooking school.

Offered to give me extra money

to hire a cook.

Go on. Fun! Joy! This is what matters.

I'm probably the only American I know

in Paris

who thinks shopping for food

is as much fun as buying a dress.

Course, you'd think so too,

if you lived in a country

where absolutely nothing comes in my size.

By the way, did you know

that if you don't dry meat,

it won't brown properly?

Irma Rombauer doesn't say a word about it

in the Joy of Cooking.

Avis, I am in heaven here.

I've been looking for a career all my life...

- Happy Valentine's Day.

...and I've found it.

We met in Ceylon when we were in the OSS.

But he never noticed me at first.

Well, that's not true. I noticed you.

I noticed your legs straightaway.

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