Mastering the Art of Book Titles

JULIA CHILD'S LETTER TO EDITOR, JUDITH JONES

Do you remember way back in the beginnings of this blog, we read Julia Child's gorgeous memoir, My Life in France?  (Follow the link to relive it.)  

Well, I stumbled upon a lovely thing today:  Julia Child's typewritten letter to her editor, Judith Jones. 

This relic of  her life takes place just before Mastering the Art of French Cooking was published.  You can see Julia's vision for the title and a list of her suggestions, the last and not least of which is winning title, just pencilled in at the last minute!  

Bon appétite! 

Source: www.slate.com/blogs/the_vault

Toujours Julia

I read the final chapter and Epilogue of Julia Child's My Life in France to Dad as he finished up some work in the garage a couple of days ago, and when I finished, we lapsed into a silence, so full of joy of her final memories, and then heavy grief.  Moments later, we were both crying and shuddering and mourning miserably.  That was perhaps three days back, and thinking about it now, I feel a heaviness in my chest of missing.  Missing Julia.  I could cry again. 

The snippet I am about to share is the last paragraphs of the book.  (Epilogue, My Life in France, first published 2006.)  It reminds us of the sole meuniere she ate at La Couronne in France, which I shared with you.  You might want to re-read the excerpts so as to appreciate the significance of her final words.  

1.  Fish Taken Seriously

2.  A New Kind of Appreciation


Now, are you ready?  Don't cry, or you'll set me off again. 


If one doesn't use the freshest ingredients or read the whole recipe before starting, and if one rushes through the cooking, the result will be an inferior taste and texture - a gummy beef Wellington, say.  But a careful approach will result in a magnificent burst of flavor, a thoroughly satisfying meal, perhaps even a life-changing experience. 

Such was the cose with the sole meuniere I ate at La Couronne on my first day in France, in November 1948.  It was an epiphany. 

In all the years since that succulent meal, I have yet to lose the feelings of wonder and excitement that it inspired in me.  I can still almost taste it.  And thinking back on it now reminds me that the pleasures of the table, and of life, are infinite - toujours bon appetit!  [toujours bon appetit - always enjoy your meal].

 

I know this moment is not even a fraction as significant for you as it is for me, but I loved every second that I was with her.  What was she like?  She was beautiful, honest, courageous, determined, perservering, funny as anything, loud and lovely, bursting at the seams with delight and warmth.  Her words were full of truthfulness and life - I don't mean vivacity though she was vibrant, but life, as in she gave all the little beauties and all the troubles and then smiled at the end of all to show us it was good. 

"That's all in a book!  You don't know her!" people might say, thinking themselves perfectly intelligent and supieror. 

To which I can only shake my head and roll my eyes.  In my head I'm thinking: "You poopoo-heads.  I knew her in the book.  That is the life that I spent with her.  I know her.  I was there."

And so I was.  One of the only books in which I feel in love. 





Honest to Goodness

One midmorning, we climbed into our little French rental car - Paul behind the wheel, Jim seated Buddha-like next to him (still in kimono), and me accordioned into the backseat.  Then we bumped down our old rutted driveway - the kind of road known as "a jeepable track" during the war - around the corner and up the hill to Placassier. 

Chapter 9, Part 1: Ma Cherie, My Life in France. 

Her use of words - words that aren't special or particularly elegant or anything like that, but just say what she means - makes me feel like I'm sitting beside her.  I am better friends with her than with many, many writers.  She's more honest, more human.  I was reading this to my dad yesterday afternoon, and putting on a voice that was big and expressive and warm to get us more into it.  Anyway, I reached this point, got to about "accordioned" and then we burst out laughing and laughed like naughty kids for five minutes.  It got to him, too.  He gets that she is honest, and I think that there is something about just knowing this that makes us more open to her.  We're in love.

The Language of Loonies

Mastering the Art of French Cooking continued to sell.  With our first royaly check, we bought a book on how not to let plants die (for me), a dry-mount press (for Paul), and the latest edition of Webster's dictionary (for both of us), which led us to scream at each other about the proper use of language.  He was a language-by-use type, while I was an against-the-prostitution-of-language type.  We also bought our first television set, a smallish square plastic-and-metal box that was so ugly we hid it in an unused fireplace.

Chapter 6, Part 3: I've Been Reading, My Life in France. 

Well, I can relate to this... perhaps even too much.  In the first unfolding corner of the day, there was a discussion between members of the 'Middle Table' on language (merging on accent).  To my friends, it is no secret that I use long words.  Now, for once and for all, I don't try.  For Pete's sake (poor Pete - I bring him into things too often), I have read more books than is normal for someone my age to have read, and the majority of them with beautiful language. 

What I did for nearly a year was that every SINGLE TIME that I came across a word I didn't understand when I was reading, I wrote it down, looked it up, and then entered it into an index book, (which I still keep today).  Anyway, the result of this was that I have a good vocabulary, and speak... I suppose you could say, with a tad over-the-top proper...ness.  Add to this a great articulation (if I do say so myself) developed by hours and hours of reading novels aloud to Dad, and I suppose I can say that my language is good, and I enjoy using it.  There's nothing wrong with that.  In any langauge.

A Taste of the French Chef

Eh bien, ma cheri.  I bet you've been inspired to just drop everything and race to the library to grab a copy of My Life in France, or in the very least, to hire out Julie and Julia from the video library.  But I would like to give you a little taste of the real life lovely - Julia Child herself. 

If you are an older one, you would have seen this sort of thing before, but us newbies to the world, (me, at the very least), are just starting to fall in love with this big, ingenuos, enchanting woman.  This is a small taste of her to whet your appetite.  (The French Chef, a snippet from episode 28 - The Potato Show.)

I am in earnest when I say that I very much expect to bawl my eyes out when I've finished My Life in France.  In the short amount of time that I've been reading it, I have fallen so very head over heels in love with Julia and Paul.  The end is going to be the severing between close friends! 

(On a hopeful note, we're starting George Orwell's 1984 in less than a week so grab a copy!)

The Importance of People

"Remember: 'No once's more important than people'!"  In other words, friendship is the most important thing - not career or housework, or one's fatigue - and it needs to be tended and nurtured. 

Chapter 6, Part 5: La Peetch, My Life in France.

The simplest of all Julia's many messages, and needless to say, powerful.  My dears, I have just come home from performing as part of an assessment for my drama studies, and I don't think that I have ever been more in tune with how much I love my friends.  No matter what I say, or do, I am the luckiest little goose on the planet - my friends are the most beautiful people!  Your smiles, your hugs, your gritty smirks and rude giggles have made me feel so loved.  Not one of you probably realize how much I enjoy your company, but I do.  I go to bed at night and want to cry just thinking about that lovely little pat on the back M. gave me or that laugh J. had when I told her about it!  O., K., M., M., J., A., S., S., T., H., J., M., A., Y., E., and all of the rest of the alphabet, thankyou.  I feel worthwhile.  It's 90% your fault!

Paul Child's Belly Control System

"No man shall lose weight who eats paella topped with Apfell Strudel," Paul notes, after doing exactly that. 

We had been horrified to notice that baby blubber seemed to bounce on so many people in the States.  In Germany, meanwhile, a large figure denotes social status.  Our goal was to eat well, but sensibly like the French did.  This meant keeping our helpings small, eating a great variety of foods, and avoiding snacks.  But the best diet tip of all was Paul's fully patented Belly Control System: "Just don't eat so damn much!"

Chapter 5, Part 1: Situation Confused, My Life in France.

And so such is the risk one takes when one is writing a cook book!  I feel fairly like Paul at the moment!  I had a massive lunch for my Mum's birthday celebration (the birthday was not actually today), and in a truly celebratory mood, we consumed (as a family of five plus a grandmother): two breadsticks with a block of mango and melon fruit cheese; a huge bowl of salad; a caramel and macadamia tart; a pack of apple juice poppas; a thermos of tea; a packet of Malteser chocolates; and last (and definitely least) a bag of Starbursts snakes which were promising but ordinary. 

I love fruit cheese.  I so definitely have got to go to France and try the cheeses just like in the excerpt of my post, Say Cheese! where the woman selects the perfect cheese by touch.  It would be extradinary! 

I realize I haven't given you much information about the progress of Julia's "cookery-bookery", but if I did, the vital storyline would be all given away and those of you who are NOT READING ALONG will be put off from ever turning around and actually reading it, and I so want you to read it.  So Bouquets of Sharpened Pencils currently functions to whet your appetite and show you just what it is that I so love about a book!  Of course, once I have you all following along with me, we'll be able to talk more and deeper.  Anyway, at this stage, I would love to hear your thoughts and anecdotes. 

Don't forget to pick up a copy of George Orwell's 1984 sometime this week for an early next week start!

Simca, La Super-Francaise

Simca was a strong girl with a good work ethic.  I began to call her La Super-Francaise, because she so typified a dynamic, self-reliant, bullheaded kind of Frenchwoman that I admired.  Even when sick, she's equip her bed like and office, with a telephone, typewriter, piles of books, and stacks of papers.  She's sit ther like a queen, calling out to her visitors, planning meals, and correcting manuscript pages. 

Chapter 3, Part 6: Soup, My Life in France.



Julia and Simca

Simca sounds like a funny bird, does she not?  I cannot help but like her - the way Julia portrays her as such a confident woman, with a purpose and a plan - quite a model, really, in a way. 

My dears, please don't forget to suggest a book for the Top 100 Books to Read Before You Die list!  And if you would like to join me in reading 1984 in maybe... a week or so's time, I totally encourage you!  Maybe you would like to get it ready this week.  We don't have heaps left to go on My Life in France.

Simply Tuna

One evening in May, we heard a lot of excited shouting from the street below.  The fishing fleet had gotten into a big run of tuna.  Boats kept pulling up to the quay outside, and until midnight there was a continuous shouting and the wet Smack! Smack! Smack! of heavy fish being heaved off the boats onto the stones below, then reheaved into trucks packed with ice.   ...  It was a beautiful scene to look down on from our balcony at night - thousands of flashing silver tuna, all about the same size, slithering this way and that in  blood-pinkened water under the arc lights, while big bow-legged guys in sou'wester pants and bare feet lifted and pushed with a sort of primal urgency.

I couldn't resist, and bought a big slice of tuna, its flesh bright red.  The market ladies said to soak it in vinegar and water, to avoid the overly fishy taste, which I did for five hours.  The flesh turned almost white.  Then I braised it with a puree de tomates, oignons etuves a l'huile, champignons, vin blanc, and quelques herbes.  Marvelous!

Chapter 4, Part 5: Mistral, My Life in France.

Old Port, Marseille (Where Julia is Living at the Moment)

Julia has a great way of saying something.  First she tells us what it was exactly that happened.  Then she tells us what she did about it.  Finally she tells us how it all tasted when she cooked it!  She's priceless! 

What I love especially is that she uses very simple language, that is extremely powerful.  She doesn't try to flatter our intelligence with poetic long words, but tells the story just exactly how it happened, using the perfect simple words to describe it.  It's informal, like a story told straight to a friend, but honest and unpretentious.  I'm in love!

By the way, Lyn suggested yesterday that in Julia's phrase: to spit on "the old Underwood", she was refering to an Underwood Typewriter.  I think she could be onto something!  I know that such a thing exists at least.

And, of course, my dears, if you've made it this far, please suggest us a book (a novel) that you think deserves a place in the Top 100 Books to Read Before You Die. 

Bon appetit! 

Gird Your Loins

If my co-authors agreed, not one of the recipes would stand as written.  I'd turn this from a rewrite job into an entirely new book.  I girded my loins, spat on the old Underwood, and began to type up my suggestions - clickety-clack - like a determined woodpecker. 

Chapter 3, Part 7: Operational Proof, My Life in France.

And so The Book begins!  Julia Child's famous book!

For those of you just like me who do not know what 'gird your loins' and 'spit on underwood' mean, I bet you'll be interested to know.  I've looked it up just now, and am interested, but not at all surprised with my finds.

'gird your loins' - phrase meaning to prepare or draw up strength.  The literal meaning is taken from the Bible where travellers would raise their tunics and fix them to their belts so that they could have freedom of movement. 

To 'spit on the old Underwood'... that I have NOT been able to discover.  Perhaps one of you knows the answer?  There was no clear (and by clear I mean intelligible) answer when I googled it! 

Anyway, on topic, isn't this excerpt lovely?  She reminds me a lot of myself, in a way.  If I get put to a rewriting or editting task, I seem to inevitably turn it into something else, despite my intentions.  I'm either flowing, typing away furiously, "like a woodpecker", or slothfully dabbing the keys here and there when a drifting inspiration lands.  This latter image is the most often true to me.  So Julia Child is an inspiration, even if purely because she flows with ideas!  Maybe I ought to gird my loins in case inspiration is coming my way...

The Spiciest Life

'"If variety is the spice of life, then my life must be one of the spiciest you ever heard of.  A curry of a life."'

Chapter 3, Part 10: A Curry of a Life, My Life in France.

Well, Paul, I can safely say that my life is also pretty spicy, and I have Nanny S-A to thank.  She spoke about me in her blog, today, and I am in a whirlwind of delight!  I cried and laughed hysterically when I read it!  So thankyou Nanny so much, and please, everyone who is reading this, go and read her blog and get cheered up, because she has a gorgeous sense of humour and a beautiful illustration style that makes it impossible to feel depressed. 

Nanny, I have been REALLY and sincerely enjoying your blog, so thankyou so much for spicing up my life with your post! 

Bon Appetite!

Glorious Julia!

It was such fun!  And I learned so much by teaching.  I would have gladly paid Solange for the chance to teach pate feuilletee rather than vice versa. 

Chapter 3, Part 6: Le Prince, My Life in France.

While we're here, here is a picture of Julia in her kitchen.  After reading a thing like that, I just GET why I want to be a teacher - I'm going to really enjoy doing English and Drama and I'll learn so much, about the subjects, and of course myself.  Also just that Julia felt this way makes me love her all the more - she was teachable, passionate and humble, all without loosing an inch of herself!  Glorious Julia!  Isn't she just screaming bon appetite at life?

I Talk Only to Italians

Our pupils had not had much exposure to wine, and kept making uninformed statements like "Oh, wine, I don't like it."  When Mary Ward said "I never drink red wine; I like only dry white," Paul took it as a personal insult.  "That's like saying, 'I never talk to French people; I only talk to Italians,'" he said.  Then he offered her a glass of red wine he considered quite good, a Chateau Chauvin '29, a flowery, well-rounded Bordeaux.  Mary took one sip and said, "Hey, I never realized wine could taste like that!" 

Chapter 3, Part 5: L'Ecole, My Life in  France. 

Paul's a funny thing, isn't he?  But sweet and accepting and compassionate, as you no doubt will know if you are reading along with me, as I so encourage you to do.  As a matter of fact, you would know that if you'd seen Julie and Julia, the movie by Nora Ephron.  (That is something I am definitely going to do when I finished reading.) 

This passage  is interesting and truthful.  Like so many people about so many things, there just isnt enough openness.  There is nothing I adore more than meeting someone who has seen or read the same thing as me and will discuss it, and tell me what they liked and didn't like.  What I seriously cannot stand is when we've read of seen the same thing but the second party will not take my opinion, but argues their own until I could just hit them with the book itself.  I suppose, though, that I can be like that myself, saying "I don't read modern fiction; just classics."  I guess then that I am also guilty of "only talk(ing) to Italians".  When, oh, when will someone come and show me that modern fiction isn't that dodge after all?  (I don't think anyone will.)

A New Kind of Appreciation

Ah me!  The meal was just as sublime the second time around, only now I could identify the smells in the air quicker than Paul, order my own food without help, and truly appreciate the artistry of the kitchen.  La Couronne was the same, but I had become a different person.

Chapter 3, Part 2: Home Leave, My Life in France.

I feel this way about so many things - like it's the same but I appreciate it in a different manner because I have changed myself.  I'm like that with books and music, even people, if I haven't seen them for a while.  When I was younger, I would always have in my mind a certain book I couldn't wait to read, and it was often that people would say to me: "why don't you read it now?".  My answer to them was that my 'literary maturity' was not at a suitable height.  I took it very seriously.  I wanted to be older so that I might read the book and enjoy it from a more mature and understanding perspective.  This works both ways.  I look back now and wish I'd read certain books as a child because if I go and read them now, my appreciation of them will be completely different.  Sometimes it's a great thing, like growing up.  Sometimes its a sad thing, like growing apart.

Ce Merde-Monsieur!

One day, my sister was driving through the Place de la Concorde in her Citroen when a Frenchman rammed her bumper.  It wasn't much of a bump, and the man sped off without bothering to see if he'd done any damage.  Dort was enraged by the man's callous insensitivity.  Light's flashing, horn tooting, engine revving, and tires squealing, she gave chase.  Finally, about ten blocks later, she manage to corner the man in front of a flic (a cop).  Standing up through the Citroen's open sunroof, my six-foot-three-inch, red-cheeked sister pointed a long, trembling finger at the perpetrator and with maximum indignation yelled: "ce merde-monsieur a justement crache dans ma derriere!"  Her intended meaning was obvious, but what she said was: "this sh*t man just spat up my butt!"

Chapter 2, Part 2: Never Apologize, My Life in France. 

Something tells me that when I'm off to France myself, I'll do a lot of this sort of thing!  I love Julia Child's humour though.  The book is just full of it; it's bursting with humour and is an absolute delight to read. 

Fish Taken Seriously

Oh, those were such fine, fat, full-flavoured birds from Bresse - one taste, and I realized that I had long ago forgotten what real chicken tasted like!  But La Truite's true glory was its sole a la normande, a poem of poached and flavoured sole fillets surrounded by oysters and mussels, and napped with a wonder-sauce of wine, cream, and butter, and topped with fluted mushrooms.  "Voluptuous" was the word.  I had never imagined that fish could be taken so seriously, or taste so heavenly.

Chapter 1, Part 4: Ali-Bab

I adore that!  "Voluptuous!"  "A poem of poached and flavoured sole fillets!"  She uses just the right words to get to me - make me shiver and laugh softly and indulgently to myself as though it's an inside joke between us.  Isn't her last sentence just a dream!  Go on - read it again.  Isn't it just?

Say Cheese!

Madame was a whiz at judging the ripeness of cheese.  If you asked for a Camembert, she would cock an eyebrow and ask at what time you wished to serve it: would you be eating it for lunch today, or at dinner tonight, or would you be enjoying it a few days hence?  Once you had answered, she'd open several boxes, press each cheese intently with her thumbs, take a big sniff, and - voila! - she'd hand you just the right one.  I marveled at her ability to calibrate a cheese's readiness down to the hour, and would even order cheese when I didn't need it just to watch her in action.  I never knew her to be wrong. 

Chapter 1, Part 4: Ali-Bab.  

Isn't this a beautiful picture? 

Our Life in France Begins

Chapter 1 was full of pleasant little surprises.  I think that the movie, (Julie and Julia) is incredibly spot on, at least so far.  Julia Child has such a readable style, and such an enchanting, loveable voice.  It's early on yet to tell you much, but I could already see, within these first pages, that I was going to have a great time.  After detoxing with The Great Gatsby, how about some dessert and perhaps a glass of red in France?

Two little snippets that I think portray her beautifully are these:

I was a six-foot-two-inch, thirty-six year-old, rather loud and unserious Californian.  The sight of France in my porthole was like a giant question mark.

...I could barely say anything interesting at all to them.  I am a talker, and my ability to communicate was hugely frustrating.  When we got back to the hotel that night, I declared: "I've had it!  I'm going to learn to speak this language, come hell or high water!"... Paul who was a lover of word games, made up sentences to help my pronounciation: for the rolling French "r"s and extended "u"s, he had me repeat the phrase "Le serrurier sur la Rue de Rivoli" ("The locksmith on the Rue de Rivoli") over and over.

This snippets are from Chapter 1 and Chapter 3. 

Everything is described. Not just food, although it is described with decadant detail, but France itself, her husband, Paul, the car (The Blue Flash, which is used constantly to make little jokes such as "Back in The Flash..."), and the people.  The descriptions of the people are very beautiful, and very humble, respectful and accepting, at the same time as painting a picture of a country just full of food for thought (and taste) and stimulation for the senses.  Also, photos actually taken at the time are sown throughout the book, and are such a treat!  This one:

is from the Introduction, (which you really should read because it is just as much a part of the story as any chapter).  I'm going to try and show you as many of the photos as I possibly can.  They really do enliven the journey. 
Anyway,it all makes me want to be there.  I'm very seriously taking it into my head to learn French, too, as to live there was a dream of mine even before Julia came along with her watering can and nourished it.   Really, I don't want to deprive myself from reading any longer.  I earnestly encourage you, my dears, to join me.

"Bon appetit!"

My Life in France

Well, last night at 9:30, I finished The Great Gatsby, and I'm missing it already, to tell you the truth.  But, I'm onto another book, in true reader style.  (Please, my dears, read the book and we'll all watch the new movie when it comes out.  We'll hold a count down closer to the date.) 

The new book is Julia Child's My Life In France.  For those who have watched the charming and glorious movie, Julie and Julia, you will recognize this book as being Julia Child's side of the story.  I adored the movie, and so am reading the book.  Maybe for some of you, this will be more up your ally, so if you can, why don't you join me in reading it?  I think that it will be a heart-warming journey, if Meryl Streep was anything to judge by!  And please, my dears, don't forget to contribute to our list of 100 Books to Read Before You Die!