Book #2, Blog #4

I don't like clichés, but isn't it a convenient one for a woman to blame emotions on hormones? That having been said, I've just completed My Life in France by Julia Child and am fighting back tears. I think it has more to do with her epilogue feeling like the end of her extraordinary life more than just the end of a great read, but Child's book really did hit home with me.
I adored her stories and even found myself smiling as if talking with an old friend when she would begin a paragraph sharing a story about something and would finish it rather abruptly. I suppose I kept expecting major plot points when she would start out with, "one evening..." and only later realize she was just telling about one evening. Her voice is clear throughout this piece and I even heard echos of her as I read passages...well, I believe it was a cross between her real voice and Dan Akroyd's SNL impersonation. Either way, it was the heart of Julia speaking to her reader. The element that holds this book together is the photographs. Not only are the beautiful and help tell the story, but they are (mostly) the work of her beloved husband, Paul - a talented artist in his own right.
I wont dare to undertake a feat such as cooking my way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking any time soon...if ever. But I do hope to do a little more cooking a la Julia. As my dear friend Leigh said when recommending this read, "read it! You'll immediately want to bake French bread!" I might have to try it someday...
One quote that I absolutely love from this book and will hold on to in my own heart is when Julia says of herself, "I was thirty seven years old and still discovering who I was." May we all live each day as a new discovery.
This book is much like a fine French meal: it has all of the elements, lots of flavor, the heart of the chef in each moment and complete with the perfect presentation (down to the personal photos). Well, one can't end a blog about Julia Child without her famous last words:
"Bon appétit!"