Cooking Your Heart Out
Just finished reading Julie/Julia upon the recommendation of a workmate. I was already reading two books (her Fearful Symmetry and Flood) but was so taken in by Julie Powell’s melo-hysterics which sounded vaguely familiar, I had to put the first 2 down and finish the latter. . Julie’s representation of her “project” was so accessible that you feel like you’re reading your best friend’s cooking diary (if you move in the kind of circles that has people who actually keep cooking diaries). She’s no Nigella Lawson or Barefoot Contessa and definitely no Julia Child, and that’s why I like her. You don’t start feeling inept at the mention of words like aspic or gelee, because she’d be the first to say she doesn’t have a f***** idea what those are. She gets queasy about killing lobsters, have trouble recognizing what kidneys look like, bitches at her husband, snarks at her Mum… your over-all Anti-Domestic Goddess at work. And I love her. . But in the middle of the foggy haze that is her life,