Friday, February 27, 2009
As a birthday gift, I received from my family the duet of Julie and Julia: My Year Living Dangerously by Julie Powell and Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. The former, I think, was meant to inspire my culinary pursuits, particularly in regards Julia's cookbook, but I'm afraid it may have actually frightened me from peeling open the cover of the Fleur-de-Lis adorned book.
It looks so inviting.
But, Julie recounts so many obstacles and outright disasters in her memoir of cooking through the entire cookbook over the course of a year, that I nearly want to hide under the bed for fear of a beady-eyed lobster coming straight out of the book when I crack it open. It is causing nightmares. She tells these fantastic stories of riding the New York subway with smelly, live crustaceans or of her attempts to cut through bone marrow with a saw. I nearly cower at the thought of roasting a chicken now.
Okay. She's a great storyteller. I couldn't entertain with an exciting story to save my life. My experience is in the kitchen. Not that I could easily whip out any of Julia's recipes any given day...I'm just saying, having cracked more than two eggs open in a lifetime, I think I can handle a quiche without too much folderol.
The challenge is slowly gaining ground in my mind. Oh dear, what will I try out first?