where I realized I was really angry not at her menu planning but at her for dying and leaving me alone, for that is how I thought of being left with my well-meaning silent father. Now that I have lived past the age at which she died and have a daughter older than I was when she got sick, I can only imagine the sheer terror she must have felt at thethought of dying, and of leaving me to make my way in the world without her.
Then, in a further iteration, over the course of the long Easter afternoon while I stood in front of the stove turning and basting the beef at a slow simmer, I found myself admiring her courage. Her days were numbered and she knew it, and she was going to spend her last days at the stove making something that gave her pleasure.
What is it about beef bourguignon? Really, it’s just beef stew braised in red wine, an ancient peasant dish from Burgundy that married up. Auguste Escoffier, the father of modern French haute cuisine, described the basic recipe followed by most of us; Julia modified it; Judith Jones, Julia’s editor at Knopf, mastered it, as did my mother, as did Julie Powell, as did I. How many of us are simply home cooks, how many lost daughters? How many, like me, shove food in the oven and then run out the door and down the block, in an effort to get as far away from the kitchen as possible?
R ULE No. 4:
O BEY Y OUR W HIMS
… you’ve got to have a what-the-hell attitude.
J ULIA MAY HAVE BEEN SHELTERED AND UNSOPHISTICATED, BUT she was also observant and empathic, and when she worked at W & J Sloane in New York and was paid $18 a week, she realized how tough it would be for the average working person to make ends meet. * She wasn’t very political, but she saw that there was a lot more to the world than the country club lifestyle in Pasadena.
But for the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Julia might have remained in Pasadena for the rest of her life, golfing, drinking afternoon martinis, throwing parties, playing the role of the pampered spinster daughter of one of the richest, most unfriendly men in town. Part of Julia would have enjoyedthis. She adored Pop, rationalized his obstreperous personality as part of the “he-man” temperament, and from the time she was a child she was not against the pursuit of pleasure. But another part of her longed for hard work and a devotion to something bigger than herself.
When America entered World War II, Julia woke up. When President Roosevelt, whom Pop despised, put out the call for women to join the war effort, Julia followed her first impulse, which was to do … something. One of her abiding qualities was a belief in spontaneity, and the power of acting on a whim.
First, she signed up to volunteer for the local Aircraft Warning Service, but that didn’t quite do it. She worked for the Red Cross and then went on—what the hell—to take the civil service exam. She was determined to do something meaningful, and she applied to join both the WACS (Women Army Corps) and WAVES (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service). On her applications she shaved three inches off her height, claiming to be six feet tall, but she was still rejected due to “physical disqualification.”
That hurt. It was one thing to be overlooked for the princess roles, which included fiancée, dewy bride, young wife, and busy mother, and another to be rejected by the military, which, you would think, would welcome someone as fit and strong and, yes, tall, as Julia.
Undaunted, and unwilling to relinquish her first impulse, Julia left Pasadena for Washington, where she was eventually hired as a junior research assistant for the OSS, the precursor ofthe CIA. The OSS was itself something of a whim, an ad hoc organization tossed together in June 1942 by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who admired Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service, MI6, and felt that upon entering the war, the United States needed its own espionage agency.
Led by General William “Wild
Then, in a further iteration, over the course of the long Easter afternoon while I stood in front of the stove turning and basting the beef at a slow simmer, I found myself admiring her courage. Her days were numbered and she knew it, and she was going to spend her last days at the stove making something that gave her pleasure.
What is it about beef bourguignon? Really, it’s just beef stew braised in red wine, an ancient peasant dish from Burgundy that married up. Auguste Escoffier, the father of modern French haute cuisine, described the basic recipe followed by most of us; Julia modified it; Judith Jones, Julia’s editor at Knopf, mastered it, as did my mother, as did Julie Powell, as did I. How many of us are simply home cooks, how many lost daughters? How many, like me, shove food in the oven and then run out the door and down the block, in an effort to get as far away from the kitchen as possible?
R ULE No. 4:
O BEY Y OUR W HIMS
… you’ve got to have a what-the-hell attitude.
J ULIA MAY HAVE BEEN SHELTERED AND UNSOPHISTICATED, BUT she was also observant and empathic, and when she worked at W & J Sloane in New York and was paid $18 a week, she realized how tough it would be for the average working person to make ends meet. * She wasn’t very political, but she saw that there was a lot more to the world than the country club lifestyle in Pasadena.
But for the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Julia might have remained in Pasadena for the rest of her life, golfing, drinking afternoon martinis, throwing parties, playing the role of the pampered spinster daughter of one of the richest, most unfriendly men in town. Part of Julia would have enjoyedthis. She adored Pop, rationalized his obstreperous personality as part of the “he-man” temperament, and from the time she was a child she was not against the pursuit of pleasure. But another part of her longed for hard work and a devotion to something bigger than herself.
When America entered World War II, Julia woke up. When President Roosevelt, whom Pop despised, put out the call for women to join the war effort, Julia followed her first impulse, which was to do … something. One of her abiding qualities was a belief in spontaneity, and the power of acting on a whim.
First, she signed up to volunteer for the local Aircraft Warning Service, but that didn’t quite do it. She worked for the Red Cross and then went on—what the hell—to take the civil service exam. She was determined to do something meaningful, and she applied to join both the WACS (Women Army Corps) and WAVES (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service). On her applications she shaved three inches off her height, claiming to be six feet tall, but she was still rejected due to “physical disqualification.”
That hurt. It was one thing to be overlooked for the princess roles, which included fiancée, dewy bride, young wife, and busy mother, and another to be rejected by the military, which, you would think, would welcome someone as fit and strong and, yes, tall, as Julia.
Undaunted, and unwilling to relinquish her first impulse, Julia left Pasadena for Washington, where she was eventually hired as a junior research assistant for the OSS, the precursor ofthe CIA. The OSS was itself something of a whim, an ad hoc organization tossed together in June 1942 by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who admired Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service, MI6, and felt that upon entering the war, the United States needed its own espionage agency.
Led by General William “Wild
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