THE CAMBRIDGE CIRCLE.

For the second year, before the Child family holiday in Maine, Julia and Paul went to Bread Loaf, this time for the full term of the writers' conference, from August 14 through August 29 (the third in her pilot series aired while she was in Vermont). The day after her arrival they celebrated her fiftieth birthday. For the fun of being with Avis and sitting in on the lectures and readings, Julia worked as "a.s.sistant deputy typist" to Mary Moore Molony, managing editor of The American Scholar The American Scholar and secretary in the summers at Bread Loaf (it was she who typed the Houghton Mifflin draft of Julia and Simca's first, rejected version of the cookbook). Paul was official photographer, "the Photographic Consort," as a.s.sistant director Paul Cubeta called him, the man who captured Robert Frost against the clear Vermont sky. "Julia is an absolute dreamboat," he added in a letter that year. In recompense for their work they paid no room and board. Julia loved the cla.s.ses: "I learn so much from the lectures, even the poets," she told James Beard without apparent irony. and secretary in the summers at Bread Loaf (it was she who typed the Houghton Mifflin draft of Julia and Simca's first, rejected version of the cookbook). Paul was official photographer, "the Photographic Consort," as a.s.sistant director Paul Cubeta called him, the man who captured Robert Frost against the clear Vermont sky. "Julia is an absolute dreamboat," he added in a letter that year. In recompense for their work they paid no room and board. Julia loved the cla.s.ses: "I learn so much from the lectures, even the poets," she told James Beard without apparent irony.

The Bread Loaf environment was both intellectually heady and physically relaxing. The writers' conference, founded in 1926 and directed by John Farrar (then at Doubleday), was a summer camp for professors and writers, with the lure of drinking and fishing. Even the waiters were writers, unpublished but "highly promising." Isolated and peaceful on acres of tranquil green gra.s.s, Bread Loaf offered only intellectual stimulation, and that was dulled nightly by alcohol. In truth, it had the reputation for alcoholic and s.e.xual stimulation, earning the name Bed Loaf among insiders. The summer literary colony was also, at that time, "exclusively New England," says Peter Davison. Julia and Paul became friends of poets Richard Yates, David McCord, John and Judith Ciardi, John Nims, Robert Frost, who lived just down the road, and Carlos Baker (Hemingway's future biographer). They all gathered in the soft evening air, laughter emanating through the bushes of Treman House, which Avis oversaw. Here was the scene of the late afternoon alcoholic socials, much like Bernard DeVoto's Sunday evening "hours" in Cambridge. Indeed, many of the people at Bread Loaf were connected to Cambridge circles.

Ciardi was the director, though Paul Cubeta made all the arrangements. The great poet was called "Big Daddy" behind his back, and his national reputation and hauteur kept him from being questioned about any decision. Frost, who was considered the unofficial poet laureate of the country, especially since his reading at the Kennedy inauguration the year before, was always the guiding light of the writers' conference. Katherine Anne Porter, Eudora Welty, Carson McCullers, and Louis Untermeyer attended in past years, as did Wallace Stegner (Stegner and DeVoto had been boys together in Utah). Bernard DeVoto taught at Bread Loaf for decades before his death, after which Houghton Mifflin endowed a fellowship in his name. DeVoto insisted on teaching fiction, though David H. Bain, whose history of Bread Loaf is called Whose Woods These Are Whose Woods These Are, claims rightly that DeVoto was a terrible novelist but a brilliant historian. Avis continued to work after her husband's death and was paid a modest salary to put some order in the Bread Loaf house party.

"Treman House, a cream-colored cottage at the edge of the writers' conference area, was dedicated to the generous drinking habits (b.l.o.o.d.y Marys before lunch, c.o.c.ktails before dinner, other drinks or beer after the evening lecture or reading). Treman was open to leaders, fellows, and visitors like me," says poet Peter Davison, but "it was off limits to ordinary students." There was a large veranda under two of the upstairs rooms. Davison remembers that the summer before, when the sun was setting on the downhill side of the mountain at the c.o.c.ktail hour, Avis introduced him to Fletcher Pratt, William Sloane, and Julia ("a tall woman, robust, genial and smiling, with a remarkable voice"). Julia reminisced: We went because of Avis, who was in charge of the bar. I went to a lot of the lectures and learned about writing and how vivid it should be. Our house had a lot of fun, and Treman was where everyone drank a lot, screaming and yelling. Once when I went back to our house, I could hear the screaming from there. Ran into my old friend Joe Sloane who had lived in Pasadena, and we made many longtime friends.

Though Julia and Paul lived in Maple House this and later summers, they worked and hung out at Treman Cottage, which Avis ran "on a strict system, like a military social club where, before equality came in, they welcomed only the anointed few," according to a later a.s.sistant director. Edward (Sandy) Martin, professor of English at Middlebury, said, "It was a social center of the colony and only the staff were welcome for drinks. They drank until just before dinner and then walked into dinner almost late and all sat at the 'high table,' a long table at the rear near the window where it was cooler. Since they were not paid well, Ciardi felt they should have privileges."

"The social tides of Cambridge washed us up on the same beaches as the Childs quite frequently," said Peter Davison, then a thirty-one-year-old editor at the Atlantic Monthly Press. After meeting Julia and Paul the previous summer at Bread Loaf, he and his wife, Jane Truslow Davison (a distinguished writer in her own right), dined with the Childs at the home of Theodore and Kay Morrison-he taught at Harvard and was longtime director of Bread Loaf before Ciardi took over. At Avis's book party for Julia, the Childs met two other Atlantic Monthly Press colleagues, including Wendy Morison Beck and her husband, H. Brooks Beck of Hill & Barlow, who eventually became the Childs' first lawyer. Julia was partial to Jane Davison because she was witty and literate, a Smith sister (housemate and graduate with Sylvia Plath in 1955), and unafraid to invite the Childs for dinner. These were what Davison calls "the days of ambitious dinner parties given by underemployed literary housewives."

Through the late Davis Pratt, Paul's former student and prodigy at Avon Old Farms School and a curator of photography, they met Davis's twin brother, Herb, and his wife, Pat, lifelong residents of Cambridge. The Herb Pratts became very close to the Childs, traveling back to Europe in coming years, and Pat would become one of a host of volunteers on Julia's television shows.

If Boston, with all its educational inst.i.tutions, was "an academic tribal reservation," as one of its journalists claimed, "the reservation was centered in Cambridge." In addition to their OSS colleague Cora DuBois at Harvard, Paul had a childhood friend, the distinguished composer Randall Thompson, head of the music department. Harvard was "a carbuncle of cabals and cliques," wrote novelist Wallace Stegner in his biography of Bernard DeVoto, but the Childs' faculty neighbors all became lifelong friends, especially those who were part of Bernard DeVoto's The Hour The Hour (his mock-heroic hymn to alcohol published anonymously in 1951) and whom Julia and Paul met in November 1959: Marion Schlesinger, then married to Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., and Kitty Galbraith, wife of John Kenneth. Both were off serving the Kennedy administration when Julia and Paul moved to Cambridge. Schlesinger, who like his father before him was a history professor at Harvard, was serving as special a.s.sistant to the President. Catherine (Kitty) At.w.a.ter, Julia's Smith cla.s.smate, was then living in India, where Galbraith was serving as U.S. amba.s.sador. The Galbraiths would return in 1963 to Harvard and Francis Street, behind the Child house. Kitty told Julia she gave (his mock-heroic hymn to alcohol published anonymously in 1951) and whom Julia and Paul met in November 1959: Marion Schlesinger, then married to Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., and Kitty Galbraith, wife of John Kenneth. Both were off serving the Kennedy administration when Julia and Paul moved to Cambridge. Schlesinger, who like his father before him was a history professor at Harvard, was serving as special a.s.sistant to the President. Catherine (Kitty) At.w.a.ter, Julia's Smith cla.s.smate, was then living in India, where Galbraith was serving as U.S. amba.s.sador. The Galbraiths would return in 1963 to Harvard and Francis Street, behind the Child house. Kitty told Julia she gave Mastering the Art of French Cooking Mastering the Art of French Cooking as a wedding gift in India. Galbraith admired the intelligence Julia brought to her profession and her height: "We encountered each other as people whose heads were always above the crowd." The nearly seven-foot Galbraith believed that "if she had been a foot shorter, she would have had a much more difficult time. The only form of discrimination that is still allowed in the world is in favor of tall people and it's a very subtle matter." Marion Schlesinger called Galbraith and Child the "benign storks" of her neighborhood. as a wedding gift in India. Galbraith admired the intelligence Julia brought to her profession and her height: "We encountered each other as people whose heads were always above the crowd." The nearly seven-foot Galbraith believed that "if she had been a foot shorter, she would have had a much more difficult time. The only form of discrimination that is still allowed in the world is in favor of tall people and it's a very subtle matter." Marion Schlesinger called Galbraith and Child the "benign storks" of her neighborhood.

Literary Boston of the late 1950s would be portrayed by Peter Davison in The Fading Smile The Fading Smile. The center of this literary world, and the subject of Davison's longest chapter, was Robert Lowell, whose "For the Union Dead" young Davison published in The Atlantic Monthly The Atlantic Monthly, where he was poetry editor. His literary memoir is a group portrait not only of Davison himself and Lowell but also of Robert Frost, Anne s.e.xton, Sylvia Plath, Richard Wilbur, W. S. Merwin, Donald Hall, Maxine k.u.min, Adrienne Rich, and Stanley Kunitz. Julia and Paul moved to Cambridge just as Boston was beginning to lose its attraction as the central watering hole, to use Richard Eder's image, of American poetry in this century. None in this tweedy or seersucker (depending on the season) Boston knew that the voice that would become the most famous in their city (after Kennedy) had just moved into the Josiah Royce house on Irving Street.

These overlapping circles of WGBH, Harvard, Shady Hill, and the Atlantic Monthly Press groups washed together through the years. Many of their friends became regular habitues of Lopaus Point in Maine in the summers, where they all met Walter and Helen Lippmann over c.o.c.ktails. Also on Mount Desert Island with the Charlie Childs was the summer home of the great Harvard historian Samuel Eliot Morison (Wendy Beck's father).

"We live in a lovely town because everyone is doing something," Julia was fond of saying. That they belonged in the intellectual circles of Cambridge and Boston was clear in the minds of their friends. Paul was a learned conversationalist whose interests and knowledge ranged widely. Julia had a New England dignity everyone respected and she remained clearly noncommercial, never endorsing a product. She could become a television personality without loss of stature because she was on educational television. "Julia was a scholar," said Morash, "because she eats and breathes her subject, researches every detail, can take a set of directions and understand what the result will be, is totally comfortable with her subject, and is a recognized authority."

As early as August 23, Julia informed Beard that there was a plan for a series of television cooking cla.s.ses with guest chefs such as Stockli of the Four Seasons and there was a good chance New York City's Channel 13 would buy the series. She saw the television cla.s.ses as an extension of her teaching, not as a career in itself. In her world, television occupied no major s.p.a.ce, and indeed it was suspect. They did turn it on to see Richard Nixon's farewell to the press ("I hope this is the last we shall see of him publicly," she said, having just read Teddy White's The Making of the President) The Making of the President).

She went to New York City in October and November to teach cla.s.ses at James Beard's cooking school, hoping to team up with Beard and Helen Evans Brown for joint lessons and demonstrations. Julia and James Beard were drawn to each other for many reasons. Both were Westerners (from California and Oregon), companionable, generous, and big. They loved the theater of the kitchen and hated pretension. Beard, who became her news line to the New York food world, was a jovial and natural man who folded his egg whites with his hands. They would be "brother and sister," wrote his first biographer, Evan Jones.

While Julia was in New York, Beard arranged for her to demonstrate the making of pate feuilletee pate feuilletee at the Four Seasons. ("Don't know why they want me to do them, when all those fancy types are in NY," she wrote to Dort.) She also took every opportunity to teach small groups in private homes in her neighborhood: at the Four Seasons. ("Don't know why they want me to do them, when all those fancy types are in NY," she wrote to Dort.) She also took every opportunity to teach small groups in private homes in her neighborhood: As a way to earn money and get a cla.s.s going I gave cooking lessons at a friend's house for her friends [she told food writer Barbara Sims-Bell]. I would give them a great lunch, such as poached egg on mushroom and leek salad, a little pastry thing with bearnaise sauce, and chocolate cake. I did not have to worry about buying the food or getting the friends; I only charged $50 dollars; sometimes I would buy the food and give them the bill. They provided the wine. Then I would leave them with the dishes. I would leave with $200. I would not have made money in my own home. For all that work, you should make some money.

The last months of 1962, before they left for Christmas in San Francisco with Dorothy, were devoted to preparations for the January filming of thirteen (of a projected twenty-six) half-hour programs of The French Chef The French Chef, produced by Russ Morash. a.s.sociate producer Ruth Lockwood, Paul, and Julia planned and named each segment. Life would never be the same again.

Chapter 17.

LET T THEM E EAT Q QUICHE:.

THE F FRENCH C CHEF.

(1963 1964) "I'm a teacher and I'll stay with the educators."

JULIA CHILD.

As THE CAMERA THE CAMERA moved in toward the steaming pot, Julia leaned down with her kitchen pinchers and lifted the cheesecloth cover to peer inside, then looked up into the camera and said, "What do we have here? The big, bad artichoke. Some people are afraid of the big, bad artichoke!" The music swelled and the t.i.tle moved in toward the steaming pot, Julia leaned down with her kitchen pinchers and lifted the cheesecloth cover to peer inside, then looked up into the camera and said, "What do we have here? The big, bad artichoke. Some people are afraid of the big, bad artichoke!" The music swelled and the t.i.tle The French Chef The French Chef filled the screen. "Welcome to filled the screen. "Welcome to The French Chef The French Chef I'm Julia Child." I'm Julia Child."

She stood behind the counter on another day, with a large knife held high over a row of naked chickens, each resting upright on its tail, or what was traditionally called (she would later point out to a few angry viewers) the "pope's nose." As she moved from her left to her right, the smallest chicken to the largest, she tapped each chicken as if knighting them and announced dramatically, "Miss Broiler, Miss Fryer, Miss Roaster ..." The music announced The French Chef The French Chef and Julia introduced herself last. and Julia introduced herself last.

On another occasion, after making a potato pancake that did not properly brown on one side, she demonstrated how to flip it over in the pan. "You have to have the courage of your convictions," she said, giving the pan a short, fast jerk forward and back. She succeeded only partially and had to pick a piece of the potato mixture off the stovetop. "But you can always pick it up. If you are alone in the kitchen, whooooooo is going to see?" she sang with confidence.

At the end of each program, even one in which she was moist with stove heat and exhausted by chopping, she carried her dish to the demonstration "dining table," lighted the candles, poured the wine, and tasted the dish with obvious relish and triumph, almost with an air of surprise. Once again, "the forces of art and reason," as Lewis Lapham put it, had "triumphed over primeval chaos." "Bon appet.i.t!" "Bon appet.i.t!" she called out, lifting her gla.s.s of wine. Brought to you by Hills Bros. Coffee and Polaroid. she called out, lifting her gla.s.s of wine. Brought to you by Hills Bros. Coffee and Polaroid.

Theater, as Aristotle pointed out two thousand years ago, is both spectacle and a well-turned plot with beginning, middle, and end. To Ruth Lockwood's credit, Julia's half-hour programs were mini-dramas beginning with the presentation of the characters (chorus line of chickens, steaming artichokes), then the plot (the challenge of creating a dish called poulet en cocotte bonne femme) poulet en cocotte bonne femme), the rising tension (deboning, stirring, mixing), the climax (cooked chicken drawn from the oven), and the resolution (nibbles from a beautifully presented dish). Each program had about it, one critic noted, "the uncertainty of a reckless adventure." Drama and resolution.

Julia's sense of timing and her dramatic skills were an integral ingredient in the success of The French Chef The French Chef. The gangly girl who staged plays in her mother's attic with her brother John and the Hall children, who acted in plays for the Katharine Branson School, Smith College, and the Junior League, had long prepared herself for performing in front of an audience. Even when she and Simca were creating their book, she urged her partner to think in terms of an audience and "clean up" any bad habits.

Julia understood the value of the visual presentation, whether it was lining up naked chickens according to size or holding up two baguettes to the camera, watching one fall slowly and limply until it formed a circle, then tossing it over her shoulder with disdain, saying, "Terrible, terrible bread!" Or holding up two lobsters and explaining how to tell the boy lobster from the girl. Julia credits Lockwood and later Morash with some of her great openings and closings. Later she named a suckling pig John Barrymore because of his beautiful profile. "She is a natural clown," Paul pointed out to the numerous journalists who in the years to come would visit the tapings. Many reporters commented on the ease of her performance. One reporter mistakenly called it "an ad-libbed show," and a magazine termed her approach "muddleheaded nonchalance." The best dramatic talents make their work look "easy." As her friend Betty Kubler, a founder of the Longwharf Theater in New Haven, said of Julia's acting genius, "Well, she's got it! It is something you have or don't have ... a presence, timing, instinct for what's funny, the ability to carry through with a gag or prop, it's instinct." Food writer Jeffrey Steingarten adds: "It is her personality. She didn't invent herself for the show."

MAKING THE THE FRENCH FRENCH CHEF CHEF.

Behind the scenes, as few in the audience would know, were many people, hours of preparation, four to six versions of the same dish at various stages of preparation, numerous notes and lists, and-as it is in legitimate theater-a lot of mess and fakery: though she appeared alone, there were several technicians and a hardworking husband behind the camera. The "wine" in the bottle was really Gravy Master (a darkening mixture) diluted with water. One false behind-the-scenes story that took on mythical proportions had a.s.sistants crouched under the table to take away dirty bowls. That scene was staged as a skit for a WGBH fund-raiser.

The first program of The French Chef The French Chef was filmed on January 23, 1963. WGBH began with a series of thirteen episodes, then added thirteen more-never knowing there would eventually be 119 half-hour programs. Each program lasted 28 minutes and 52 seconds. Julia began with was filmed on January 23, 1963. WGBH began with a series of thirteen episodes, then added thirteen more-never knowing there would eventually be 119 half-hour programs. Each program lasted 28 minutes and 52 seconds. Julia began with boeuf bourguignon boeuf bourguignon and French onion soup, and ended with lobster and French onion soup, and ended with lobster a l'americaine a l'americaine and and crepes suzette: crepes suzette: "Ruth, Paul, and I decided to start out with a few audience catchers, dishes that were famous [Russ called them her old chestnuts], like "Ruth, Paul, and I decided to start out with a few audience catchers, dishes that were famous [Russ called them her old chestnuts], like boeuf bourguignon boeuf bourguignon, and then gradually work into the subject."

When the Boston Gas Company dismantled their original kitchen, Russ Morash found a demonstration kitchen which would accommodate his outdoor bus at the Cambridge Electric Company on Blackstone Street. It was on the second floor of "a warehousey-looking building behind the smokestacks that line the Charles River." Citizens paid their electric bills elsewhere in the building, but the kitchen, used for home economics demonstrations, "was a real Leave It to Beaver Leave It to Beaver kind of kitchen with chintz curtains looking out on a fake background with sink and countertop, refrigerator, and built-in oven. We built an island for the stove and the cutting and chopping area." Design Research again sent over the dining-room set to be used in the final scene of each program. kind of kitchen with chintz curtains looking out on a fake background with sink and countertop, refrigerator, and built-in oven. We built an island for the stove and the cutting and chopping area." Design Research again sent over the dining-room set to be used in the final scene of each program.

Paul, who arrived early and shoveled the snow off the fire escape steps above the parking lot, was porter and unpacker, even dishwasher. "Paul was the entire physical part of it," said Ruth Lockwood. "He was there from the planning to the wash-up." Julia and Ruth arranged the equipment Paul brought up the fire escape and, while Ruth called out each item on a long list, Julia said "check." Julia arranged simple idiot cards ("put b.u.t.ter here," "turn on burner #3"), and Ruth held a loose-leaf notebook and stopwatch as well as cards that said "stop gasping" and "wipe face." Marian Morash, married to Julia's producer, Russ, describes Julia as "an incredibly organized person who would come to the location with everything organized. I loved the no-nonsense care when working with food, and [her] spontaneous gaiety and sense of humor that surrounded the business at hand." They began doing four programs a week, then cut back to three, eventually two, and at the end of two years finally one. Russ Morash believes that as the idiot cards got more detailed and numerous, the program became "less spontaneous" (though more professional). "The best programs were the first ones we made, which are no longer available." Avis also thought these were "the best of the lot" because they "had a sort of purity to them." In the introduction to her next book, Julia explained why they became more structured: she had no sense of whether one or five minutes had pa.s.sed, and making onion soup one day she thought she had too many techniques to demonstrate-cutting, softening, browning the onions, crouton-making crouton-making, gratineing: I rushed through that program like a madwoman but I got everything in, only to find that when I carried the onion soup to the dining room I had gone so fast we still had 8 minutes left. Agony. I had to sit there and talk for all that time. Russ erased the tape back to about the 15-minute point, but after it happened again, Ruth devised the plan of breaking up the recipe into blocks of time. I could go as fast or slow as I wanted in the allotted time block, but I could not go into the next step until I got the signal.

For the first series Julia spent the weekend planning and writing the program, spent Monday shopping with Paul, preparing the food and rehearsing at home. On Tuesday, they moved everything over to the studio and taped the program. On Wednesday, Julia began the process again while Morash filmed The Science Reporter The Science Reporter, and on Thursday they set up and taped another one or two programs. For the next series they taped on Wednesdays and Fridays, putting the program together live, meaning they taped without stopping the film. Julia had to come prepared with a raw goose, a partially cooked goose, the cooked goose, and a spare.

The purpose of the programs, as in all her teaching, was to present French techniques, such as wielding a knife, boning a carca.s.s, cleaning a leek, whipping or folding egg whites. "The idea was to take the bugaboo out of French cooking, to demonstrate that it is not merely good cooking but that it follows definite rules. The simplicity of a veloute sauce, for instance, is b.u.t.ter, flour, and seasoned liquid, but the rule is that the flour is cooked in the b.u.t.ter before the liquid is added. If you don't cook [in this sequence] your sauce will have the horrid pasty taste of uncooked flour." Julia the teacher spent nineteen hours preparing for each half hour each half hour of teaching: a fraction of the time taken for a recipe in their book, yet a disproportionately long amount of time for "cla.s.sroom" preparation; but her ephemeral art was being made permanent on film and her audience was a thousand times greater than an average demonstration cla.s.s. "Mrs. Child," said Lewis Lapham, "thinks of herself as a missionary instructing a n.o.ble but savage race in a civilized art." When the news went around that "commercial networks are begging her to come aboard," she informed one paper that "I'm a teacher and I'll stay with the educators." of teaching: a fraction of the time taken for a recipe in their book, yet a disproportionately long amount of time for "cla.s.sroom" preparation; but her ephemeral art was being made permanent on film and her audience was a thousand times greater than an average demonstration cla.s.s. "Mrs. Child," said Lewis Lapham, "thinks of herself as a missionary instructing a n.o.ble but savage race in a civilized art." When the news went around that "commercial networks are begging her to come aboard," she informed one paper that "I'm a teacher and I'll stay with the educators."

Russ operated on a shoestring, and he believes that his ability to keep down expenses was "one reason for the lengthy success" of the program. He called it "guerrilla television," for operating with huge machinery under an urgent sense of time was like going to war. At first the studio paid $50 per episode to Julia and Paul, who did all the shopping. By 1966 she received $200 plus expenses per program.

Educational television (now called public television) began in Boston as an outgrowth of lectures at the Lowell Inst.i.tute. It got its money from government grants and industry donations but did not operate for a profit, and was especially blessed in Boston, which granted it a low number (Channel 2). Because lower frequencies are easier to tune in, most big cities gave their lower numbers to commercial stations such as ABC, NBC, and CBS (a commercial exploitation that held back educational television a generation, says Morash). The efforts of Boston banker Ralph Lowell and the power of the city's educational and cultural inst.i.tutions-WGBH is licensed by the FCC to MIT, Boston University, Harvard, the Boston Symphony, the Boston Museum, and Boston College, among others-resulted in getting the lowest number for their educational channel. But, as Morash points out, "we did not have the money to buy a transmitter big enough to get the signal up to New Hampshire then. It was like putting the signal out with a fifty-watt bulb and a guy pedaling." Nevertheless, Julia was there at the beginning; indeed, she helped to build what would be one of the most influential educational stations in the country.

When the taping was over, the crew usually ate the edible food, though sometimes they refused to eat produce such as asparagus, which was unfamiliar. Slowly, they became more adventuresome and ate asparagus, mushrooms, and chicken livers. "The best free lunch in town," said one grip. Julia sent the raw or partially cooked version home with Russ, with detailed instructions for its cooking. Marian, his wife, prepared the dish as if she were taking at-home cla.s.ses with Julia. Her burgeoning talent for cooking eventually won out over her shyness and she came onto the set of a 1970s series as a regular a.s.sistant to Julia.

They set an incredible pace the first year of taping by working twelve-hour days and finishing thirty-four shows during the first half of the year. "I like working with men," Julia often said. "Russ," who was not yet thirty, "was the boss!" In 1994 he said, "By today's standards the schedule was heroic." "It's the hardest work I've ever done," Julia informed Helen Evans Brown, who wrote from Pasadena that she heard Julia's programs "are terrific.... It takes a certain very definite personality to come over the air and you have it. Poor Jim [Beard] doesn't, which is a pity as he is 7/8th ham!" (By October the Pasadena station was airing The French Chef.) The French Chef.) Beard, with whom Julia hoped to collaborate, invited her down whenever there was a break in her filming to teach several cla.s.ses at his cooking school. Her letters reveal that Julia intended to present other cooks, both professional and talented amateurs, on her television program, but while she was waiting until the program was professionalized enough to invite Beard to appear, she became the only performer the audience expected and wanted to see each week. Beard, with whom Julia hoped to collaborate, invited her down whenever there was a break in her filming to teach several cla.s.ses at his cooking school. Her letters reveal that Julia intended to present other cooks, both professional and talented amateurs, on her television program, but while she was waiting until the program was professionalized enough to invite Beard to appear, she became the only performer the audience expected and wanted to see each week.

In addition to this back-aching schedule, Julia managed to correct the page proofs of the British edition of Mastering Mastering, tape promotion ads for WGBH fund-raisers, teach cla.s.ses for Beard, give special demonstrations at the Women's City Club, the Boston Club, and Newburyport's Smith Club, as well as sit for interviews with the press in Boston and New York City. That summer she and Paul missed Bread Loaf, but took two and a half months in the fall to visit Norway (sailing on the Oslofjord Oslofjord for Oslo on August 22), France, and England. Julia saw for the first time France's only television cook, Raymond Oliver, who appeared every two weeks and "took five minutes to peel the peppers," she wrote Avis DeVoto. But the most important result of these weeks in the south of France was to plan with Simca for a second volume of for Oslo on August 22), France, and England. Julia saw for the first time France's only television cook, Raymond Oliver, who appeared every two weeks and "took five minutes to peel the peppers," she wrote Avis DeVoto. But the most important result of these weeks in the south of France was to plan with Simca for a second volume of Mastering Mastering. They also discussed the possibility of building a small house for Julia and Paul on Jean Fischbacher's family land in Provence.

Julia also met Elizabeth David, England's doyenne of cookery writing. Their meeting was preceded by several important moves: advance buildup by DeVoto and Beard, a mailing of Mastering Mastering to David (who responded on May 10, 1963, that it was "marvelous" and "meticulous"), and the publication of the British edition of to David (who responded on May 10, 1963, that it was "marvelous" and "meticulous"), and the publication of the British edition of Mastering Mastering by Ca.s.sell, for which David wrote a review. Formerly an actress, David now shunned the public spotlight and wrote enduring culinary literature by Ca.s.sell, for which David wrote a review. Formerly an actress, David now shunned the public spotlight and wrote enduring culinary literature (French Provincial Cooking (French Provincial Cooking, her penultimate book, was published in 1960); indeed, her first books did not even list ingredients. "Her recipes were the reverse of Julia's," says Alice Waters, her most ardent American disciple, "she begins at the market and then makes the recipe." Julia, overlooking her anti-American reputation, found her "nice, quiet, shy," and when she read David's review ("the first one from a real pro") she was ecstatic: David drew a lengthy and exalted comparison of Julia with her "predecessors" Eliza Acton and Madame Saint-Ange-all three had "quiet persistence ... style ... and heart." As happy as Julia was with the review, she shuddered at the "translation" into English by someone who was not a cook.

Julia returned to Boston for immediate resumption of filming The French Chef The French Chef in the first week of December 1963. One-third of the recipes for the program came from in the first week of December 1963. One-third of the recipes for the program came from Mastering the Art of French Cooking Mastering the Art of French Cooking, but most were slightly revised because time constraints necessitated cutting a few steps. She learned to bring in one prechopped onion and one on which she would demonstrate the chopping technique before showing the viewer what the fully chopped onion was to look like. Some of the recipes would be used later in Mastering II Mastering II. "How am I going to squeeze in another book?" she wondered. "That is the big question."

One of the most imaginative aspects of the programs concerned the invention of t.i.tles. Ruth Lockwood remembers laughing uproariously at the Childs' kitchen table as they created the t.i.tles for later programs: "Waiting for Gigot," "Introducing Charlotte Malakoff," "Lest We Forget Broccoli," and "A French Cape." "We were so proud of our t.i.tles, but no one paid attention to the t.i.tles," said Mrs. Lockwood ruefully.

In 1964 she taped thirty-one more programs, filming every Wednesday and Friday for six weeks, then resuming after a month off and repeating the process in the spring (in November and December they made one program a week). They also initiated formal rehearsal time and used more unpaid a.s.sistants to help in preparation and washing up. Rosemary Manell came up from Washington, DC, to work for the spring shoot as Julia's unpaid a.s.sistant and food arranger. They had cooked together in Ma.r.s.eilles, Georgetown, and Brussels (when the Childs were in Bonn). Rehearsal time and other factors increased the cost of the production.

Julia continued to teach at Beard's cooking school and sat for an important interview with Craig Claiborne. His article featured her kitchen and batterie de cuisine batterie de cuisine on half a page of the March 5 issue of the on half a page of the March 5 issue of the New York Times New York Times. Except for sold-out demonstrations at Wellesley for the Smith alumnae scholarship fund (she raised more than $2,000), Julia had to turn down most requests for her time. She avoided public speaking, but would ad-lib through a cooking demonstration. Her first public speech (on cookbooks) was in a small library in Ma.s.sachusetts and was a ch.o.r.e, even with Paul's a.s.sistance. When the second shooting of the TV series was finished in the late spring, she spent a week in Lumberville for the publication of Charlie's book on the building of their Maine cabin, Roots in the Rock Roots in the Rock, edited for the Atlantic Monthly Press and Little, Brown by Peter Davison, who spent repeated summers on Mount Desert Island and knew it well.

THE BOSTON GLOBE BOSTON GLOBE AUDIENCE AUDIENCE.

Julia was eager to add the written word to her television teaching. Before the first television program was shown on Monday, February 11, 1963, at 8 P.M. P.M. (and rebroadcast, as always, on Wednesday at 3 (and rebroadcast, as always, on Wednesday at 3 P.M P.M.), Julia wrote an article about her first program for the Boston Globe Boston Globe. On Sunday, February 10, she was on the cover of Boston Globe TV Week Boston Globe TV Week, a pullout section of the Sunday magazine, sitting behind a large wooden bowl of almonds and holding a two-handled rocker knife. "Mrs. Child does actual cooking on camera in a delightful, easy and informal manner," the paper announced. During 1963 and 1964, Julia offered forty-five short essays and recipes to the newspaper free of charge, with the stipulation that they not be bound. "40 Cloves of Garlic May Not Be Enough" was an essay about a visit from James Beard in which they cooked together, making poulet aux quarante gousses d'ail poulet aux quarante gousses d'ail. From Gra.s.se she submitted "Caves Age Roquefort Cheese to Perfection," an essay with no recipes, but suggestions for using the cheese in dishes such as omelette au Roquefort omelette au Roquefort. In another essay, she described her visit with Elizabeth David.

This fifty-year-old housewife-the profession she then listed on her pa.s.sport-became a local celebrity. "Dear Skinny" letters came from her former Smith cla.s.smates still living in New England. She received 200 cards and letters during the first twenty days of the television program. (Ruth Lockwood served as her business manager and personal producer when they were in Europe that first fall.) Her renown grew as her program was aired elsewhere. By the fall of 1964, when The French Chef The French Chef was added by seventeen more stations, from New York City to Los Angeles, Julia would be sending recipes and photographs all over the country. Her face and voice were reviewed almost on a weekly basis. That fall she was invited to address the Newspaper Food Editors Conference at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City. As usual, she donated her $500 fee to WGBH. "As long as I can get clothes, and have a decent car, I'm not really interested in the money end of it," she said to was added by seventeen more stations, from New York City to Los Angeles, Julia would be sending recipes and photographs all over the country. Her face and voice were reviewed almost on a weekly basis. That fall she was invited to address the Newspaper Food Editors Conference at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York City. As usual, she donated her $500 fee to WGBH. "As long as I can get clothes, and have a decent car, I'm not really interested in the money end of it," she said to The Nation's Business The Nation's Business.

Even her butcher on Kirkland Street became a celebrity. Jack Savenor and his wife, Betty, became close friends and their picture appeared in the paper dining with Julia and Paul. Twenty years later, the man who would say, "h.e.l.lo, Julia, baby," when she answered his telephone calls-"h.e.l.lo, Big Jack," she always replied-testified that she taught him much about the food business. She later established a strong bond with her fishmonger, George Berkowitz of Legal Sea Foods. But it was Savenor's friendship with Julia that was the longest and strongest, and is typical of the respect she earned among her purveyors and a.s.sociates in greater Boston.

A careful study of the press coverage of these first few years reveals that Julia's audience was broad, including both high and low culture, "from professors to policemen," according to TV Guide TV Guide. A group of avant-garde painters and musicians in Greenwich Village gathered every week to view her, believing initially that she was doing a parody of the traditional cooking program, but staying on as faithful watchers after learning otherwise. They especially enjoyed repeating the opening lines of the artichoke program. The San Francisco News Call Bulletin San Francisco News Call Bulletin said in 1965 that she drew "more men than women viewers" to their Channel 9. The great American fear of being outre and gauche was diminished by this patrician lady who was not afraid of mistakes and did not talk down to her audience. With the Kennedys in the White House boosting the sn.o.b appeal of French dining and a.s.sociating it with ruffles and truffles, Julia was making it accessible to everyone. Some, of course, would try to acquire culture merely by cooking a French dish, skipping the travel and study and suffering. said in 1965 that she drew "more men than women viewers" to their Channel 9. The great American fear of being outre and gauche was diminished by this patrician lady who was not afraid of mistakes and did not talk down to her audience. With the Kennedys in the White House boosting the sn.o.b appeal of French dining and a.s.sociating it with ruffles and truffles, Julia was making it accessible to everyone. Some, of course, would try to acquire culture merely by cooking a French dish, skipping the travel and study and suffering.

In later years when she was asked about her audience, Julia denied that she was talking to what people thought of as "the stupid housewife." "My audience is not la menagere la menagere, but anyone interested in cooking, no matter the s.e.x or age or profession. I want to show that there ain't no mystery. Those who mystify are aggrandizing themselves."

In a profile in The Sat.u.r.day Evening Post The Sat.u.r.day Evening Post (with the Beatles on the cover), Lewis Lapham admired the fact that she "possesses none of the pretentious mannerisms so often a.s.sociated with pract.i.tioners of (with the Beatles on the cover), Lewis Lapham admired the fact that she "possesses none of the pretentious mannerisms so often a.s.sociated with pract.i.tioners of haute cuisine." haute cuisine." Terrence O'Flaherty, in his Terrence O'Flaherty, in his San Francisco Chronicle San Francisco Chronicle column, called her "television's most reliable female discovery since La.s.sie." The column, called her "television's most reliable female discovery since La.s.sie." The Globe Globe said, "She's like a fairy G.o.dmother ... she makes me a child again." She "looks like someone's older sister-the one who teaches high school gym cla.s.s." Such warm and fuzzy familiarity was not contradicted by the numerous references to her strength (implied in the gym teacher allusion). Even her a.s.sistant producer thought "she looked like the kind of person who should be out showing dogs or racing horses, not doing French cooking." Another reviewer said she looked like she was off to play eighteen holes of golf because of that towel tucked into her belt. And the verbs used to describe her movements were strong ones, such as "crunch" and "bash." said, "She's like a fairy G.o.dmother ... she makes me a child again." She "looks like someone's older sister-the one who teaches high school gym cla.s.s." Such warm and fuzzy familiarity was not contradicted by the numerous references to her strength (implied in the gym teacher allusion). Even her a.s.sistant producer thought "she looked like the kind of person who should be out showing dogs or racing horses, not doing French cooking." Another reviewer said she looked like she was off to play eighteen holes of golf because of that towel tucked into her belt. And the verbs used to describe her movements were strong ones, such as "crunch" and "bash."

Publicity doubled, tripled, and quadrupled as new stations aired the program around the country. Newsweek Newsweek (July 15, 1963) said her program was helping "to turn Boston, the home of the bean and the cod, into the home of the (July 15, 1963) said her program was helping "to turn Boston, the home of the bean and the cod, into the home of the Brie Brie and the and the Coq Coq as well." She had to compose form letters to answer frequently repeated questions or comments. Most of the letters she received were full of praise, though some were filed in the "Julia Is Dirty" folder. The latter included complaints about her failure to wash her hands and her habit of touching food ("I just can't stand those oversanitary people," she responded). "You are quite a revolting chef the way you snap bones and play with raw meats," one viewer wrote. Another: "I have turned off your program before today, when you seem bent on wine drinking, but this is the last time." as well." She had to compose form letters to answer frequently repeated questions or comments. Most of the letters she received were full of praise, though some were filed in the "Julia Is Dirty" folder. The latter included complaints about her failure to wash her hands and her habit of touching food ("I just can't stand those oversanitary people," she responded). "You are quite a revolting chef the way you snap bones and play with raw meats," one viewer wrote. Another: "I have turned off your program before today, when you seem bent on wine drinking, but this is the last time."

The most serious criticism emerged later when a French cooking teacher moved to Ma.s.sachusetts and openly remarked that the star of The French Chef The French Chef was neither French nor a chef. Even before this, Julia realized there was a problem with the t.i.tle, but those who defended Julia pointed out that even if she was not a French chef, she was a d.a.m.n fine home cook who knew French and French cooking techniques. Apart from the t.i.tle of the program, Julia only referred to herself as a home cook. Never, even for playful skits or posing with French chefs, would she ever agree to don the traditional tall white toque. was neither French nor a chef. Even before this, Julia realized there was a problem with the t.i.tle, but those who defended Julia pointed out that even if she was not a French chef, she was a d.a.m.n fine home cook who knew French and French cooking techniques. Apart from the t.i.tle of the program, Julia only referred to herself as a home cook. Never, even for playful skits or posing with French chefs, would she ever agree to don the traditional tall white toque.

By August, less than a year since publication, Mastering the Art of French Cooking Mastering the Art of French Cooking had sold 100,000 copies at $10 each and was in its fifth printing. Growing royalty checks, together with her third of her father's $300,000 invested estate (probated in March 1964), allowed her to remain faithful to the world of public education. "Fortunately," Paul wrote Charlie, "we are in a position where we don't had sold 100,000 copies at $10 each and was in its fifth printing. Growing royalty checks, together with her third of her father's $300,000 invested estate (probated in March 1964), allowed her to remain faithful to the world of public education. "Fortunately," Paul wrote Charlie, "we are in a position where we don't have have to snap at the bait [of commercial temptations]." Now she was receiving 400 letters a week and hired temporary secretarial help to answer her mail. Ruth Lockwood took care of the requests for appearances and interviews when Julia and Paul left for two weeks in Maine and then five days at Bread Loaf in Vermont. to snap at the bait [of commercial temptations]." Now she was receiving 400 letters a week and hired temporary secretarial help to answer her mail. Ruth Lockwood took care of the requests for appearances and interviews when Julia and Paul left for two weeks in Maine and then five days at Bread Loaf in Vermont.

But not before Julia attended her thirtieth reunion in Northampton. The celebration of the Cla.s.s of '34 provided the atmosphere for which all longtime graduates long: recognition and nostalgia. Mary Chase and many of her Hubbard Hall girlfriends were there, and everyone had read or seen Julia. She presented an improvised skit at the last minute with Charlotte Snyder Turgeon, daughter of a leading meat distributor in Boston, cookbook author, editor of the English translation of Larousse Gastronomique Larousse Gastronomique, and wife of King Turgeon, chairman of the French department at Amherst College. Charlotte and Julia stirred a big pot into which they threw various objects, including an old tennis shoe, and kept up a running commentary that made everyone laugh until they cried.

TELEVISION'S ALL-STAR COOKS Julia was not the first to demonstrate her techniques on the little screen. James Beard had made his debut August 30, 1946, on network television: "Elsie presents James Beard in I Love to Eat!" I Love to Eat!" announced Elsie the Cow, Borden's promotional puppet. It was a fifteen-minute spot, expanded to thirty minutes, and canceled by his new sponsor, Birds Eye, the following spring. Beard may have begun in the theater, but he was ill at ease and awkward in front of the camera. Nevertheless, he appeared again on CBS's announced Elsie the Cow, Borden's promotional puppet. It was a fifteen-minute spot, expanded to thirty minutes, and canceled by his new sponsor, Birds Eye, the following spring. Beard may have begun in the theater, but he was ill at ease and awkward in front of the camera. Nevertheless, he appeared again on CBS's In the Kitchen In the Kitchen that fall, in that fall, in At Home with Jinx and Tex At Home with Jinx and Tex, sponsored by Swift & Co. on May 11, 1947, and, after an interim of fifteen years, in The James Beard Show, a The James Beard Show, a chatty, uninformative, and dated women's talk show filmed in 196566 in Canada. chatty, uninformative, and dated women's talk show filmed in 196566 in Canada.

But Beard was not the first television cook. In the early years of commercial television, local home economics teachers would come on in white uniforms and white shoes to ill.u.s.trate the four basic food groups, most sponsored and influenced by food companies. Commercial television stations had built-in kitchen studios because advertisers were usually food related and the stations produced the commercials. Educational television stations, including WGBH, did not have kitchens.

The first real food-centered teaching was done by Dione (p.r.o.nounced Dee-o-nee) Lucas, who cooked on local commercial channels from 1948 to 1953. Lucas was in many ways the mother of French cooking in New York City. Born in 1909 in England, she came to New York City in 1942 and ran the Egg Basket, her combination restaurant and cooking school, which failed by the mid-sixties. Her first television cooking cla.s.ses still stand up with integrity nearly fifty years later. Lucas was a crisp and neurotic woman whose apprentices thought her bossy. Others alleged that she was a veritable soap opera of eccentricities, dramatics, and migraine, exacerbated by drugs and alcohol; but she was generous and kind to Julia and Simca. After seeing one of her live demonstrations for the first time in November 1964, Julia wrote to Helen Evans Brown that "she is wonderfully expert." Paul concluded she was "marvelously deft manually" despite the confusion of having three helpers on the stage, and he left "feeling b.l.o.o.d.y good about" their own program.

Poppy Cannon, the can-opener queen, occasionally appeared nationally on CBS's Home Home show, demonstrating, for example, how to make vichyssoise with frozen mashed potatoes, one sauteed leek, and a can of Campbell's cream of chicken soup. The name of the soup and the only fresh produce in the recipe-that one leek!-seemed exotic enough for the American viewing public, most of whom had never seen a whisk before Julia Child made her televised omelet. show, demonstrating, for example, how to make vichyssoise with frozen mashed potatoes, one sauteed leek, and a can of Campbell's cream of chicken soup. The name of the soup and the only fresh produce in the recipe-that one leek!-seemed exotic enough for the American viewing public, most of whom had never seen a whisk before Julia Child made her televised omelet.

"Child's predecessors in the medium were less Dione Lucas or Poppy Cannon than Steve Allen and Ernie Kovacs," said Robert Clark, Beard's most recent biographer. Though the comparison diminishes her expert knowledge and teaching techniques-which are on a par with those of Dione Lucas-it does accurately note that she was a natural comedian belonging neither to the stern and serious Lucas approach nor to the glamour girl school demeanor of Betty Furness and Bess Myerson. She "was a droll six-footer with a Seven Sisters tone whose hearty and unself-conscious aplomb was the perfect foil to the pretensions of both fancy food and television," Clark adds. She "transformed cooking into entertainment," proclaimed Jane and Michael Stern in their Encyclopedia of Pop Culture Encyclopedia of Pop Culture (1987). (1987).

Two other factors, apart from her humor, that distinguish her from other cooks on television then and even now-though there has been a legion of imitators since-are her voice and her mistakes. The Boston Globe Boston Globe published the following query: published the following query: Q-Every time I see Julia Child, television's "French Chef," she seems to be out of breath. Does she suffer from asthma or emphysema?-H.B., Everett, Ma.s.s.A-Miss Child's response is that her lungs are healthy. The art of cooking is a labor of love and involves a lot of manual labor. Try whipping a souffle sometime.

Her shallow breathing was reflected also in the high pitch of her voice (which got more p.r.o.nounced with age), which would unexpectedly drop down, slide up, gasp, and pitch forward with a whoop-covering a full octave in the course of one recipe. Luckily, she found an audience before the television image-makers could discover that she was "all wrong" for television. Certainly today she would probably not have a chance at breaking into television. Despite the warbles, gasps, and breathlessness, she could keep talking-a considerable talent for a live demonstration-and speak in full sentences, interspersing narratives and effective references to France and to food.

Reviewers could never place her accent. The first cover story in the Boston Globe Magazine Boston Globe Magazine (there would be many) described her "charming French accent," but others described it as follows: "a flutey schoolmarm tone," "a voice that bellowed its New England regionalism," "not all that different from standard Californian," and "that preposterous Boston Brahmin accent." Many have tried to capture her unique vocal tone: "plummy," "like a great horned owl," "trills in that unmistakable falsetto with its profusion of italics," and "a voice that could make an aspic shimmy." Others used comparisons: "a combination of Andy Devine and Marjorie Main," and "two parts Broderick Crawford to one part Elizabeth II." Molly O'Neill says she "sounds like a dowager doing a burlesque routine," and Clark Wolf says "it's the voice of an English cookery lady." Collectively, the impression was that hers was a voice as recognizable as those of Eric Sevareid, Walter Cronkite, and William F. Buckley, Jr. Her husband wrote a poem to her "mouth so sweet, so made for honeyed words." (there would be many) described her "charming French accent," but others described it as follows: "a flutey schoolmarm tone," "a voice that bellowed its New England regionalism," "not all that different from standard Californian," and "that preposterous Boston Brahmin accent." Many have tried to capture her unique vocal tone: "plummy," "like a great horned owl," "trills in that unmistakable falsetto with its profusion of italics," and "a voice that could make an aspic shimmy." Others used comparisons: "a combination of Andy Devine and Marjorie Main," and "two parts Broderick Crawford to one part Elizabeth II." Molly O'Neill says she "sounds like a dowager doing a burlesque routine," and Clark Wolf says "it's the voice of an English cookery lady." Collectively, the impression was that hers was a voice as recognizable as those of Eric Sevareid, Walter Cronkite, and William F. Buckley, Jr. Her husband wrote a poem to her "mouth so sweet, so made for honeyed words."

The language Julia used was also a part of her unique character. Her choice of words and phrases reflected in part her age and the period in which she lived (she called her menstrual period "the curse" and h.o.m.os.e.xuals "fairies"). In conversations she could swear and speak frankly about private matters to the point that one of her lawyers would blush. On television she spoke of the icebox, not the refrigerator (though in her letters she called it the "frigo"), and the "chest," not the breast, of the duck, and said "eek," "w.a.n.g," or "bang" when she lowered her rolling pin or butcher knife with a thud to the table. She got a permanent every few months, wore falsies, and always wanted to be called "Mrs. Child," yet she loved gossip, talking dirty, and a good belly laugh. Her favorite dismissive word-for abstract art, as an example-was "b.a.l.l.s."

Among her friends, her expressions are legendary. Paul called it "Julie's sleight of tongue," naming double stainless-steel sinks "stinkless stains." Or saying "blend the bladder" instead of "blend the batter" (or was it bladder blending instead of batter blending?). Of a minor mishap, she would say, "I did not have my gla.s.ses on when I was thinking." In several restaurants she was heard to say, "The wine here flows like glue." Leaving a noisy restaurant, she said, "It was so noisy I could not hear myself eat." Gourmet Gourmet magazine's reviews were "a lot of mushmouthery!" She emphasized the last syllable of "shallot," probably from the French magazine's reviews were "a lot of mushmouthery!" She emphasized the last syllable of "shallot," probably from the French e-cha-LOTE e-cha-LOTE, and told Simca that she was "trying to get back into the grindstone." When her work was interrupted, she exclaimed "Fistre, alors!" "Fistre, alors!" misspelling misspelling fichtre fichtre (screw it!) in dozens of letters to Simca. Bad news was punctuated by "Woe!" When she tapped the floured cake pan and flour fell to the floor, she quipped, "I have a self-cleaning floor." There were many letters after that incident. (screw it!) in dozens of letters to Simca. Bad news was punctuated by "Woe!" When she tapped the floured cake pan and flour fell to the floor, she quipped, "I have a self-cleaning floor." There were many letters after that incident.

She was known for delightful mistakes on her program, which became a frequent motif in news articles. The Boston Herald Boston Herald claimed she was blending olives when the top of the blender flew off, then the whole machine broke down: "Oh, well, who needs the mechanical age anyway?" she said. At first Morash could not correct minor problems because they had to keep the film running and did not have time to refilm an episode. He remembers stopping the film on only six occasions, including when the souffle fell and when the kidney flambe failed to catch fire. Soon Julia realized that her recovery from near-catastrophe was an effective teaching tool and explained this fact to inquisitive reporters. She also explained to Helen Evans Brown that "people enjoy spilled wine bottles, dropped gla.s.ses, and potato plopped onto the stove-makes it so homey, they say." Apocryphal stories have grown up around her accidents, including a story that she dropped a fish on the floor, picked it up, and continued. The only food that ever fell to the floor, according to Ruth Lockwood, was a piece of turkey wrapped in cheesecloth that rolled out from beneath a board. But the story of dropping a chicken (or fish) on the floor was continually embellished until the claimed she was blending olives when the top of the blender flew off, then the whole machine broke down: "Oh, well, who needs the mechanical age anyway?" she said. At first Morash could not correct minor problems because they had to keep the film running and did not have time to refilm an episode. He remembers stopping the film on only six occasions, including when the souffle fell and when the kidney flambe failed to catch fire. Soon Julia realized that her recovery from near-catastrophe was an effective teaching tool and explained this fact to inquisitive reporters. She also explained to Helen Evans Brown that "people enjoy spilled wine bottles, dropped gla.s.ses, and potato plopped onto the stove-makes it so homey, they say." Apocryphal stories have grown up around her accidents, including a story that she dropped a fish on the floor, picked it up, and continued. The only food that ever fell to the floor, according to Ruth Lockwood, was a piece of turkey wrapped in cheesecloth that rolled out from beneath a board. But the story of dropping a chicken (or fish) on the floor was continually embellished until the Washington Post Washington Post in 1992 had her dropping an entire side of lamb. in 1992 had her dropping an entire side of lamb.

Her ability at improvisation helped turn uncarveable suckling pig, flaming pot holders, and a melting dessert into human and humorous moments. One example of her improvisation that both Lockwood and Morash remember is the ringing of the freight elevator bell. Though they left a note downstairs saying they were taping, a loud ring sounded in the middle of a program and, without skipping a beat, Julia said, "Oh, that must be the gas man. But I am too busy and cannot answer it." (Morash remembers her saying, "That must be the plumber, about time he got here. He knows where to go.") Whatever the line, it was a great save. The melting dessert was charlotte aux pommes charlotte aux pommes, made with bread and apples, rum and apricot preserves. Because she had used Gravensteins or McIntosh instead of the firmest apples, when she lifted the mold, the cake gave a sigh and slowly began to collapse. "Oh well, I don't like these things too rigid," Ruth Lockwood remembers Julia saying, picking it up and taking it to the dining table. It "began to sag," as Julia described the incident a decade later, "and the whole dessert deflated like an old barn in a windstorm."

The other factors distinguishing Julia Child as a television cooking teacher are interrelated: she was noncommercial and she was located in Boston. Julia refused to become commercial, especially when what Paul called "the Madison Avenue hounds" began calling in 1964. Olivetti offered her $2,500 to be photographed with their typewriters, but she declined. She represented public television: she believed she could never endorse a product or accept money to represent a profit-making inst.i.tution. This stand lent credibility both to WGBH and to her own opinions. She could not be bought. In later years, her lawyer would stop anyone who tried to borrow the Child name for promotion purposes.

Her choice of Boston as her home base kept her out of the food wars and compet.i.tion of New York City, though Barbara Kafka believes that "the compet.i.tive atmosphere in New York was not that bad then." New York City thought of itself as the center of food and cooking and television. Boston was a smaller town with a greater reverence for history and tradition, if not a sense of intellectual superiority. Boston "suits her to a T," adds Kafka. Most significantly, it was the home of WGBH: "New York City could not have afforded to bring her in," Kafka remarks. "Her proximity to WGBH was critical to her career."

Boston was also the home of Fannie Farmer, the maiden aunt of home economics and "scientific cookery," as well as The Boston Cooking School Cook Book The Boston Cooking School Cook Book in the late nineteenth century. Julia Child brought a new aesthetic to food, one based on the centrality of pleasure and taste. Though Boston named some of the streets in its older neighborhoods Fish Lane, Bean Court, Corn Court, Grouse, Quail, Milk, Water, Fruit, Berry, Millet, and Russet, the food tastes of its natives were as simple as the street names suggest. Privately, Julia complained that Boston was "a