Julie And Julia Page #7

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But we would still be somewhere in Europe.

Don't you think?

It's very hard to say,

given the current political climate.

Senator McCarthy

does not like people like us.

Us? Why? What have we done?

We haven't done anything.

That's not the point.

The point is, we were in China.

And that's practically sufficient.

Well, meanwhile, we're still here.

- Yes, we are. You're right.

- Yes.

Here's to the book.

French Cooking for All!

Or French Home Cooking.

Do you like that? Which one do you like?

I like them both.

Dear Avis, enclosed is part of our cookbook

from the chapter on sauces.

Naturally, it must not be shown to anyone

unless you are sure they are not,

never have been,

and won't have anything to do

with the publishing business.

There are people

who would love nothing more

than to steal this hollandaise recipe.

We're late! Do you suppose she'll be there?

Louisette? Of course she'll be there.

It's at her house.

I was making a little joke.

- What's this about, anyway?

- Louisette wouldn't tell me.

She said it was a surprise.

Maybe she's dropping out of the project.

That would be heavenly.

- Julia.

- Well, it would.

My friends, this is Irma Rombauer.

Mrs. Joy?

The first edition of the Joy of Cooking

took me a year to write.

Only a year? Including testing the recipes?

Well, I didn't really test all the recipes.

There were so many of them.

And then I found a publisher,

a small printer in St. Louis.

How much money did he pay you?

I paid him. $3,000.

- $3,000?

- A small fortune.

But I had a little life insurance money

because my husband...

- No!

- He killed himself?

Yes.

And I thought, "Well, what else am I

gonna do with the insurance money?"

And then, the book began to sell

and Bobbs-Merrill picked it up,

so now I had a real publisher.

And they gave you some money?

Absolutely not.

They swindled me. They stole my copyright,

and now there's a new edition,

and guess what?

- What?

- The index is a complete calamity.

If you're looking for City Chicken,

you're not gonna find it under "C."

Really?

It's under "Drumsticks, Mock."

No.

All she wanted to talk about

was how her publisher had cheated her

out of thousands of dollars in royalties.

It just made me realize this...

Not going to be simple,

this getting published business.

This is from Avis, for you.

Oh, my. Well.

What does she say now?

Avis loves my sauce chapter.

That's wonderful, darling.

Oh, no.

She showed it to someone.

Which I specifically asked her not to do.

She showed it to an editor

at Houghton Mifflin in Boston,

and the Boston editor showed it

to the head of publishing and...

Paul! Paul!

Yes? What, what, what? What, what?

They want to...

They want to publish our book.

That's great news!

And they want to give us an advance.

How much?

- $250!

- No.

And when the book is finished, $500 more!

I'm so proud of you.

The editor loves the book!

She just loves it.

"So with the smell of burned stew

still in the air,

"I woke up dying of stomach cramps.

"I called in sick."

And went back to bed for several hours.

Put it in. Put it in the blog in case

someone in your office reads it.

And went back to bed for several hours.

By noon, I was somehow able to

straighten myself up to a standing position.

What are you making?

Bought the ingredients for

boeuf bourguignon all over again.

Boeuf bourguignon.

Dragged myself home.

And made another boeuf bourguignon.

And for dessert, a raspberry Bavarian cream.

By the end of the day, I felt fine.

I was cooking dinner for a legend,

even though I'd never really heard of her

until a few months ago.

Maybe she'll offer you a book contract.

What if she does?

I mean, what would that mean?

That would mean I might be a writer.

How much money

do people make for books?

Like an advance? I have no idea.

- $100,000?

- Don't even say it.

Hello?

Hi.

I know. I know, I know.

It is here, too. Cats and dogs.

I know.

I know.

I know.

Well, thanks.

Bye.

So not coming.

That was the guy

from The Christian Science Monitor.

It's raining.

And we live in Long Island City

and she's, like, older.

It's mortifying.

But on the bright side, more stew for us.

Just for once, could you not

look on the bright side?

Yeah. Well, it's not the end of the world.

I thought, I really did think, I just did.

I thought "book contract."

Me, Judith Jones, happily ever after.

And then we'd have a little money

and we wouldn't live over a pizzeria

for the rest of our lives.

How am I gonna explain this?

My readers are gonna be really upset.

They were so into it.

- Your readers are gonna be really upset.

- I never should've told everyone.

They'll live.

Somehow,

your readers will live.

- Is it bland?

- Not anymore.

Thank you for telling me that.

You almost let me feed Judith Jones

bland boeuf bourguignon.

This is a nightmare.

I told everyone she was coming.

They will survive.

And when this year's over,

and I cannot wait until it is,

your readers will somehow

get on with their lives.

- And I won't, is that what you're saying?

- I don't know. I have no idea.

I mean, what's gonna happen when

you're no longer the center of the universe?

That's just great.

I am finally totally engaged in something.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little narcissistic.

A little? On a scale of 10?

Okay, a 9.3. But what do you think a blog is?

It's me, me, me day after day.

I thought it'd be fun. How stupid is that?

It just turns out to be a lot of

what you call "meltdowns,"

but they don't feel like meltdowns.

They feel like I'm living with

a totally self-absorbed person

who writes this stuff

for a bunch of complete strangers.

And it's supposed to be a big adventure,

but it's not.

It's our life. It's our marriage.

And, here, in this room, it doesn't

feel like an adventure, it feels like sh*t.

- It was your idea!

- I know, I'm so sorry.

What the hell was I thinking?

And I'll tell you something else.

I am not a saint.

- Yes, you are.

- No, I'm not!

- Yes, you are!

- No, I'm not!

And it makes me feel like an a**hole

every time you say it!

And do not write about this in your blog.

- About what?

- About this fight!

I'm outta here.

- You all right, Julia?

- Yes, fine.

I'm perfectly fine.

Dear Avis, we finished packing today,

and tomorrow we leave beloved Paris

for Marseilles.

Paul has been appointed Cultural Affairs

Commissioner for the South of France.

I'm having a hard time pretending to be

anything but devastated.

I'm going to go buy some bread.

The advantage of Marseilles is that

it won't have the distractions of Paris.

So we'll be able to finish the book.

Although not on deadline.

At least we're still in France.

Dear Avis, I don't know

what we've done to deserve it

but here we are in Germany.

Actually in a suburb of Bonn

called Plittersdorf on the Rhine,

which sounds much more picturesque

than it is.

By the way, there is no chance

we'll meet our new deadline.

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