Olivia: Jackson, you get five words to review Julia Child's My Life in France. Go. Jackson: Butter, passion, grit, wine, joy. Olivia: Nice. Mine are: A love affair with France. Jackson: Okay, I see we're on the same delicious page. This isn't just a book about food, is it? Olivia: Not at all. Today we’re diving into My Life in France by Julia Child, co-written with her great-nephew Alex Prud'homme. And what makes it so special is its origin story. The idea actually came from her husband, Paul, who suggested they create a book from the hundreds of letters they wrote home from France. Jackson: Wow, so it’s built on real-time memories. That’s incredible. Olivia: Exactly. Paul passed away before they could do it, and Julia worked on it with her nephew at the very end of her life. It was published after she died. So there's this beautiful, poignant layer to it—it’s a tribute, a memoir, and a love letter all at once. Jackson: That completely changes how I see it. It’s not just a celebrity memoir; it’s a legacy project. Olivia: It is. And that love affair with France didn't start in some glamorous Parisian kitchen. It started with a single, perfect meal that changed everything.

Jackson: I’m glad you said that, because the image we have of Julia Child is this master of the kitchen. But she didn't start out that way, did she? I've heard stories she was actually a terrible cook. Olivia: Terrible might be an understatement. She was a tall, vivacious, 36-year-old Californian who had grown up with hired cooks. When she married Paul, she decided she ought to learn. One of her first attempts to impress him was a dish of brains simmered in red wine. Jackson: Hold on. Brains? As a newlywed, you go for brains? That’s a bold, and frankly, terrifying choice. How did that go? Olivia: It was a complete disaster. She described it as a messy, unappetizing catastrophe. But Paul, bless him, just laughed it off. Julia, however, was furious with herself. That failure lit a fire in her. She was determined to figure it out. Jackson: That determination seems to be a running theme. So what was the turning point? How do you go from disastrous brains to becoming a culinary icon? Olivia: It happens in November 1948. She and Paul have just arrived in France for his job with the US Information Service. Remember, this is post-war France. It’s not the romantic, foodie paradise we see in movies. It's gray, recovering, and a bit gritty. They're driving from the port of Le Havre to Paris and stop for lunch in the town of Rouen, at a restaurant called La Couronne. Jackson: And this is where the magic happens? Olivia: This is the culinary epiphany. She orders sole meunière. And the way she describes it… it’s life-altering. She talks about the perfectly browned, buttery fish, so fresh it had a slight resistance to the fork. It was served with a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé, and she said it was the most exciting meal of her life. It was a revelation. Jackson: What a moment. It sounds like it was about more than just the taste of the fish. Olivia: Absolutely. She wrote, "I had only been in Paris for a few hours but already considered myself a native." That meal was an awakening of the senses. It was the moment she understood that in France, food wasn't just fuel; it was a serious art form, a national sport. It was the first step in falling in love not just with cooking, but with an entire way of life. Jackson: And her husband Paul was a huge part of that, right? He wasn't just along for the ride. Olivia: He was her guide. Paul was a cultured, artistic man who already loved France and its food. He was the one who ordered the wine, who could speak the language, who could explain the nuances of the culture. He opened the door for her. Julia herself said, "I would never have had my career without Paul Child." He was her biggest champion, from the first failed dish to her final success. Jackson: So it’s a love story on multiple levels—with Paul, with food, and with France itself. But falling in love is one thing; becoming a master is another. That's where the real work begins, right? At Le Cordon Bleu.

Olivia: Exactly. Her passion was ignited, but she knew she needed technique. So, in 1949, she enrolls in the famous Le Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris. And it was not a welcoming experience at first. The director, Madame Brassart, was a formidable woman who took one look at this tall American and was deeply skeptical. She famously said, right in front of Julia, "They can't cook!" referring to Americans. Jackson: Ouch. And she was put in a class with a bunch of GIs, right? That must have been intimidating. Olivia: It was. She was the only woman in a professional course with eleven former GIs studying on the GI Bill. But this is where she met her next great teacher, Chef Max Bugnard. He was the opposite of Madame Brassart—patient, kind, and a stickler for fundamentals. He taught her that cooking wasn't about fancy tricks; it was about mastering the basics. Jackson: Can you give an example of his teaching style? How did he build that foundation? Olivia: The perfect example is the scrambled egg lesson. One morning, Julia volunteers to make them. She starts whipping the eggs and cream into a froth, ready to dump them in a hot pan—the American way. Chef Bugnard stops her, horrified. He gently explains the French method: blending the yolks and whites slowly, cooking them over very low heat, stirring constantly until they form a creamy, custardy consistency. He told her, "You never forget a beautiful thing that you have made. Even after you eat it, it stays with you—always." Jackson: That’s a beautiful philosophy. So Le Cordon Bleu wasn't just about recipes, it was like learning the fundamental grammar of cooking. And Chef Bugnard was her guide. Olivia: He was. He taught her the 'why' behind every step. And Julia took that and ran with it. She became what she called a "Mad Scientist" in her own kitchen. She would come home and practice relentlessly. She’d experiment with a recipe over and over, testing every variable, documenting every result. Jackson: This is the part that I think gets lost in the romantic image of her. It wasn't just passion; it was rigorous, almost scientific work. Olivia: Completely. There's a great story where she invites a friend for lunch and decides to make eggs Florentine. She’s feeling overconfident, doesn't measure properly, substitutes an ingredient, and the dish is, in her words, "vile." But here's the key part: she serves it anyway, and she doesn't apologize. Jackson: Wait, she served her friend a vile lunch and didn't say anything? Olivia: She said, "I don’t believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make." She believed you learn from the failure, you analyze what went wrong, but you never apologize for the effort. That resilience is what allowed her to spend nearly a decade working on Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Jackson: That makes so much sense. It connects to the criticism she sometimes faced later in her career. Some culinary purists would say she wasn't a 'real' French chef. But hearing about this process, it sounds like she was more of a culinary engineer or a translator. Her goal wasn't just to cook French food, but to make it work perfectly in an American kitchen. Olivia: That was her genius. She, along with her co-authors Simone "Simca" Beck and Louisette Bertholle, tested everything. They argued over the right kind of flour, the right temperature, the clearest way to write an instruction. There was a lot of creative friction, especially between Julia and Simca, who were both very strong-willed. But that tension is what made the book so revolutionary. It was bulletproof. Jackson: So the book that made her famous was born from this incredible mix of passion, scientific rigor, and a healthy dose of argument. Olivia: And a deep, abiding love for the process. She found her life's purpose standing over a stove in a small Parisian apartment, and she dedicated the rest of her life to sharing that joy with the world.

Jackson: When you put it all together, her story isn't just about food. It’s about how a person can completely reinvent themselves at any stage of life. Olivia: Exactly. It's a story about transformation. She found her true calling in her late thirties, in a foreign country, in a field completely dominated by men. She proves that passion isn't just a fleeting feeling; it's a discipline. It’s the willingness to test a mayonnaise recipe 200 times, as she did, until it's perfect. Jackson: And her 'no apologies' rule for a failed dish is such a great life lesson. It's not about pretending the failure didn't happen. It's about owning the effort, learning from the result, and moving forward with confidence. That applies to so much more than just a plate of bad eggs. Olivia: It really does. It’s about embracing the process, the learning, the joy of making something with your own hands. Chef Bugnard, her mentor, told her something she never forgot. He said, "You never forget a beautiful thing that you have made. Even after you eat it, it stays with you—always." Jackson: That's beautiful. It’s the memory of creation, not just consumption. That’s a powerful idea. We'd love to hear from our listeners—what's a 'beautiful thing' you've made, cooked or otherwise, that has stayed with you? Let us know. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.