Julie And Julia Page #5

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You don't need a diploma to teach.

You're probably right.

- Avis says the same thing.

- Who is Avis?

My friend, Avis De Voto,

who lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

She's very wise.

But I can't help it. I want a diploma.

I am very conventional.

I don't know what to do.

Well, why don't you write

to the horrible Madame Brassart

and threaten her?

Threaten her? With what?

The United States of America.

Yes!

Tell her the American ambassador

personally wants you

to take the examination.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

I couldn't do that. Heavens, no!

The American ambassador.

Hardly even know the man.

Of course you can.

Dear Madame Brassart,

everyone at the American embassy,

including my dear friend the ambassador,

will be very surprised if I'm not allowed

to take my examination.

You will write the recipes

for oeufs mollets.

Ctelettes de veau en surprise,

et crme renverse au caramel.

Ctelettes de veau en surprise.

I had no idea

what veal en surprise was. None.

Cooked it in class.

It's a veal chop with mushrooms in a bag.

A paper bag. That's the surprise.

You open the bag, surprise!

Veal and mushrooms, it's just

I've never flunked a test in my entire life.

- I am an A student.

- You can ask to take it again.

- I can?

- Of course.

Meanwhile, you can come teach with us.

Gosh!

Is it true you plan to teach?

Yes, we're going to teach

Americans in Paris how to cook.

Madame Child, I must tell you,

you have no real talent for cooking.

But the Americans

will never know the difference.

We are, I am sorry to say, entering aspics.

An aspic is sort of a beef-flavored

Jell-O mold.

Doesn't that sound delicious?

I can't imagine

why no one makes them anymore.

You begin with a calf's foot,

which I am in possession of

thanks to my sainted husband,

and you boil it until

your kitchen smells like a tannery.

And then it gels in the refrigerator

and you flip it onto a plate.

Which, according to Julia Child,

is supposed to be easy.

And all I can say about that,

no offense intended, Julia, is

the b*tch lied.

Sh*t.

- Sh*t!

- How many more aspics are there?

Seven.

No one will know if you don't do them.

It's not like there's, like,

the Aspic Police or something.

You could lie.

I can't. I just can't.

Julia will know. It's like she's watching me.

I'm under her influence.

I'm becoming a much better person

because of her.

Yuck! The sink! Look at this!

I hate it here!

Did you put something down the sink?

You hate it here?

How am I supposed to cook anything

in this kitchen?

It's no wonder that my mold fell apart.

I don't suppose we have any Drano.

Not unless you bought it.

I do all of this

and I'm supposed to buy Drano, too?

Right now, you are so

not under the influence of Julia Child.

What if I don't make my deadline, Eric?

I'll have wasted a whole year of my life.

I used to be thin and now I'm getting fat.

- Fat?

- On top of which,

I have to bone a whole duck.

- When?

- At some point.

- Can you even conceive of boning a duck?

- No, I can't.

Of course you can't.

I'm sure you all remember,

because it was only a few days ago,

that I had a meltdown over my aspic

and vowed to transform myself

into a better human being.

And then I was trussing

the poulet rti la normande,

which is roast chicken stuffed with

chicken livers and cream cheese,

and it fell on the floor and the stuffing

fell out into a big gooey mess.

So, long story short, another meltdown.

This is crazy.

Worse than the last.

I can't even truss.

And I cried like a small,

emotionally disturbed child.

I'm a mess.

I got it. I got it.

Hello?

Yeah, who's this?

Can you hold on just one second?

I'm not sure if she's here.

She might've stepped out. Hold on.

Hey, it's a reporter from

The Christian Science Monitor.

He wants to write about you.

He does?

I should tell him to call back, right?

No, no, I'll take it.

Hello?

Yes?

You want to bring who to dinner?

No, of course, I know who that is.

I know exactly who that is.

Who? Who, who, who, who?

That would be great,

that would be completely amazing.

Goodbye.

- Who?

- Guess who's coming to dinner?

Oh, my God.

To Les Trois Gourmandes.

One for all and all for one.

Yes!

All right. I had such a horrible time

converting these recipes

from the metric system.

- Measurements do not matter.

- Oh, but they do!

They absolutely do.

This is one of the biggest arguments

Louisette and I had

when we worked on our cookbook.

Which is finally finished.

Sent off to the publisher.

Soon Simca and I will be famous.

We'll be the next Mrs. Joy of Cooking.

Maybe. All right. Well, let's try.

Let's just give it a...

Can I help?

Yeah. It is mieux.

So, yes. They're early. Americans!

Dear Dorothy,

your sister, Julia, is now a cooking teacher.

We have three students who pay $2 a class.

Barely enough to cover the cost of the food,

but who cares?

Simca, Louisette, and I

are Les Trois Gourmandes.

Although sometimes we are only

Les Deux Gourmandes

because Louisette

turns out to have headaches

and doctor's appointments

she schedules during class.

I have a little headache.

You'll meet them both

when you come here next month,

unless, of course,

Louisette is having a stomachache.

Perfection.

And even if it isn't, never apologize.

No excuses! No explanations.

Louisette abandoned us,

another stomachache.

And the day before that,

she left class before we even finished

making the chocolate Bavarian cream.

I can't believe that's the only time

her dentist could see her.

Keep an eye out,

we don't want to miss Dorothy.

It's impossible to miss your sister.

I don't see her!

- There she is.

- Dorothy!

Hi, Julia! I missed you!

So good to see...

- Paul!

- Hi. Hi, sweetie.

I've had an adventure on the ocean liner!

- I didn't get sick once!

- Good girl! How about your legs?

People were dropping like flies

all around me!

- Look.

- Oh, my goodness.

Look at that.

All I think about all day is food

and then I dream about it all night.

It is true, she's obsessed.

If I didn't sit in the kitchen, I'd never see her.

Last week, I dreamed that

I made cassoulet for Dad,

and he hated it, of course.

He doesn't understand any of this.

I almost feel sorry for him.

He wanted so much

for us to stay in Pasadena,

marry Republicans, and breed like rabbits.

- Why didn't we?

- Too tall.

Let's face it, it's true.

From the beginning,

you just don't fit in. Literally.

- So then you don't.

- I know, it's true.

Do not bait Father about politics

when he comes.

- No.

- Or he won't pick up the check.

- He won't, will he?

- I can't make any promises.

- He loves Senator McCarthy.

- Oh, I know.

- Pasadena.

- Pasadena.

Jinx.

Dort, do you have... You have the Brie.

- Is this the Brie?

- Yes. Yes, that's the Brie.

Is that not the most wonderful cheese

you ever had in your life?

- Yes!

- Yes.

The answer's yes.

I got the chef at Chez la Mre Michel

to give me the recipe for beurre blanc.

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