A Tasty Memoir

I realize that it’s no longer en vogue to be a Francophile; these days, France is more likely to be the punchline for a joke about military history or about culture snobs than it is to be the focus of an article singing her praises. I, however, will always have a big mushy spot in my heart for the French language, as well as for the food, film, art, poetry, travel…. Okay, I know; you get the point. After the intensity of The Laramie Project, I needed something sweet and light to read. Quelle bonne chance for me, I picked up My Life in France. Published in 2006, this lovely memoir was written near the end of Julia’s life, with the help of her grandnephew Alex Prud’homme (husband Paul’s twin brother was Alex’s grandfather).

Julia Child’s memoir is different from most contemporary memoirs in several ways. First of all, unlike many books published by celebrity personalities, this memoir is truly the reflecting-back-on a long, interesting and celebrated life, in sharp contrast to the narcissistic, voyeuristic “memoirs” of people in their thirties or forties which Hollywood pushes to the bestseller list now. To be honest, I could care less about Jon & Kate or Tori Spelling, and if I really need to know about their lives thus far, magazine articles in People or Entertainment Weekly usually suffice.

That criticism of Hollywood being noted, it is important to recognize it was television that brought Julia Child to America’s attention – first, with the introduction of her cooking show, “The French Chef”, in 1963; and then again, with the film, Julie & Julia, just this past August, 2009. As much as I am often leery of the way a film adaptation may ruin a great book, I’m also grateful to have wonderful books brought to national attention again by the promotion of a film version. Such is the case with Julia Child. I never saw Child on TV; my family, as far as I can remember, did not own a copy of any of her cookbooks, although my dad does have an old copy of Larousse Gastronomique floating around the house, which he occasionally gets down and looks through longingly. The re-introduction of Julia Child to my generation, especially through all the hoopla for this film, was a gift to me, since it encouraged me to pick up a memoir I might otherwise have ignored.

Another tremendous difference between Child’s memoir and so many others which regularly populate bestseller lists and book club choices is Child’s upbeat perspective. Although I really appreciate memoir, a basic fact of the genre – of solid storytelling in general – is that conflict and strife make for interesting reading. Remember that plot structure diagram from English class? Sure, that diagram was mostly to teach us about fiction, but fiction imitates life, and life is certainly full of difficulties. Memoirs don’t need to invent problems for their characters; the problems are part of these people’s true stories.

What continued to strike me as I read My Life in France is the uplifting tone: it’s not as if she and Paul didn’t have problems or stress or sadness, because they did. During their early time in France, especially, they had very little money (a middle-level diplomatic position in France in the late 1940s did NOT pay much). Their apartment had no hot water in the kitchen, no central heating, and bad wiring. Paul Child’s job was full of stressors, as he tried to organize, staff and work out of an office that had few resources, in a France trying to recover from the ravages of World War II. Nevertheless, Julia and Paul were happy, believing that “marriage and advancing age agreed” with them, affirming that they were “giddy about Paris.” Paul Child continued to credit his wife for “his new outlook on life. ‘I am less sour now than I used to be,’ he admitted. ‘It’s because of you, Julie.’” Even in her nineties, as she recalled her life to Alex Prud’homme, it is obvious that the phrase joie de vivre was invented to describe Julia Child. It is marvelous to read the thoughts of someone who loved life so much, when many memoirs are either heartbreaking or insipid.

In the land of the 5-minute lunch instead of the five-course dinner, in the time of the Blackberry instead of blackberry wine sauce, can we still enjoy “Mastering the Art of French Cooking”? Well, I haven’t had had a used copy at the bookstore, of either volume, for months, and ordering a used copy online costs just as much as a new one – if not a great deal more, especially if you want an older edition. I guess I know what to get my dad for Christmas, though; Julia Child embarked on her cookbook in order to bring French food to those who moon over Larousse Gastronomique. “Bon appétit”, America.

Pommes frites or French fries? Hobo doesn’t eat frogs, but he does appreciate his gourmet food as much as the next fat cat. He’ll have you know his book has traveled to France at least twice now! He’s not a culture snob, though; he’s just a wandering Hobo who found a home. Follow Hobo’s home and kitchen tips at his weekly blog at http://frommyshelf.blogspot.com or share yours with him at frommyshelf@epix.net.