Book Review: "Julie and Julia"

Julie Powell's book, "Julie and Julia" is, for the most part, a tasty little morsel, yet with a few unsavory details. It's the story of office drone Powell - on the verge of 30 and with reproductive troubles - wanting something more in her life. Instead of packing up and traveling the world, she decides to journey to the market and try cooking all 524 recipes in Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking Vol. 1" in one year. Part of her recipe is the "Julie/Julia Project," a blog chronicling her efforts to cook recipes the average American has little to no familiarity with.

The project is essentially a gimmick. One of my favorite restaurants is a little place called French Gourmet in Ferndale, MI, and on the menu there, they warn that you're not going to get your dinner in a flash. They say food, like l'amour, should not be rushed. So Powell's project is somewhat in contrast to slow food, to rush through so many detailed recipes in so short of a time. But a challenge can be fun, and hers, especially to armchair chefs, is a heady little fantasy. I am more of a wing-it type of cook, and about as French as I've cooked is to whip up a potato-leek soup or splashing some wine into a stew. So to read about whipping up a souffle is entertaining and made me curious to try cooking French cuisine (but I admit, it hasn't happened yet!)

And it is enjoyable to read about her trying to get everything cooked, and her search for exotic ingredients such as marrowbones and brains, which you definitely don't see much of anymore. Also interesting, if a bit unsettling, is reading about killing lobsters. I have to at least give her credit for having the guts to do it (I know were I in the same boat, I'd end up having a pet lobster to admire.)

I was somewhat bothered with some details of the book, however. One, she is determined to cook every recipe in a year, but she's willing to cheat and/or substitute with some recipes, so it doesn't feel entirely honest. And sometimes it doesn't quite seem like she enjoys cooking that much. But that could be part of the rush to cook so many recipes (and they're definitely not the 5-ingredient in 15-minute deals), and that sort of challenge would get exhausting and irritating in addition to a full-time job.

Also, I did not like her griping/worrying about turning 30 in the near future. Big deal! These days, 40 is the new 30, and 50 is the new 40. Though I think in part she was fretting is because she was not happy in her life, in her career. That part is very relatable since there are many people just working to pay the bills and wondering: Is this all there is. For Powell to get the answer, no, there's so much more, is uplifting, and not just for her, but for others in the same boat. And Powell really found something more, with a book and movie deal. (And seeing the previews for the film adaptation, I can't help but think the movie will be something to savor.)

Another thing I didn't care for was that there was almost too much information. Yes, you need to open up and share details for good writing to happen, but when she writes about the flies showing up more and more in her tiny kitchen, and then one day she turns over the dish-drying rack to find maggots, well, that's not appealing in a food-related memoir. We're talking about cooking up fine cuisine, not a reality TV show grossout eating challenge. Though I did admire her honesty.

Powell shares her joy about writing about connecting with her blog readers, or 'bleaders.' I can imagine the thrill she felt that there were people out in the blogosphere who cared and commented on her adventures. Isn't that something most of us want?

And last, but certainly not least, I especially loved the mini-chapters detailing little moments of Julia Child's life. Powell did an amazing job of that, giving a fun and imaginative peek into Child's life and her larger-than-life personality. And it was especially sweet for Powell to acknowledge the new vitality she felt from cooking Child's recipes and imagining Child as some sort of kitchen companion/muse, guiding her along. Those parts were a lovely tribute, icing on the cake, as it were.