Not only did I purchase a copy of Julia’s fabulous cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking (and no, for the record, I haven’t made anything from it yet), but her biography, My Life in France as well. And I’m thinking that if I didn’t already own a copy of Julie & Julia (I even blogged about it a few months ago ), I’m sure I’ve would’ve picked one of those up, too.
Gotta hand it to those product placement folks, their tactics worked brilliantly on me.
In the past couple of weeks, I’ve enjoyed reading both. While I’m pretty sure I’m never going to make an aspic, (the whole jello-molded meat concept just doesn’t sound so appetizing to me…sorry, Julia) I’m excited about trying a few of her recipes in the not-so-distant future. As for her biography, it was thoroughly enjoyable with all the warmth and funny anecdotes about being an American living (and cooking) in France that you’d expect. Her writing is unfussy yet effective because I felt like I was right there with her for the journey’s duration.
Much like Julie & Julia, My Life in France also celebrates a wonderful marriage between Julia and Paul, two eccentric little oddballs who found incredible joy together (even if her parents wished for someone else for her). Since marriage gets such bad P.R. in so many books and movies, it was refreshing to read about a relationship that was really working, even fun! That’s a message that Will and I have been trying to get out for four years now, and it’s one that really resonates in the pages of My Life in France.
I especially related to what Julia wrote on page 93 when she is visiting Italy for the first time with her family and Paul couldn’t join her…”Paul and I liked to travel at the same slow pace. He always knew so much about things, discovered hidden wonders, noticed ancient walls or indigenous smells, and I missed his warm presence. Once upon a time I had been content as a single woman, but now I couldn’t stand it!
While I still love traveling, I’ve found that it’s really difficult (something I never expected, to be honest) to thoroughly enjoy being wherever I am (even NYC, L.A. or Scotland) when Will isn’t there. Simply put, it’s just not the same, and it’s good to know that I’m not the only one who has ever felt that way.