Julia Child, the woman who almost single-handedly led Americans out of the hell of soggy green beans and Jello molds and into the Paradise of perfectly roasted chicken with butter-enriched pan sauce, would have been 100 today. She deserves every accolade she gets.
Without Julia Child, I might never have learned to cook. I was a Modern Young Woman, hungry to make my way in the great wide world and determined never to serve in any man’s kitchen. Cooking was the last thing I ever intended to do. But when I saw Julia make cream puffs on TV, I thought, “I love cream puffs. If it’s really that easy…” It was that easy, and they tasted like nothing I had ever imagined, tender and yeasty and totally unlike the leathery shells in the bakery window. The world of food opened up to me and Julia Child had me in the palm of her open, competent hand. Continue reading