Julia Child’s Kitchen at the Library

by Bill Peak

On Monday, March 3, at 6 p.m., in the Easton branch of the Talbot County Free Library, it will be my honor to interview Paula Johnson about her newest book, Julia Child’s Kitchen: The Design, Tools, Stories, and Legacy of an Iconic Space.

Full disclosure: Johnson is a lifelong friend of mine. She is also a distinguished curator at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History. Among her many curatorial triumphs, it was Paula and co-curator Rayna Green that brought Julia Child’s kitchen to the museum in 2001. Almost a quarter of a century later, it remains one of that institution’s most popular exhibits.

I was one of the lucky fellows who received a copy of Paula’s new book when it came out in October. Initially, truth be told, I wasn’t sure what I would think of a book about a kitchen—fool that I am. Anyone who knows Julia Child, has read her books or watched her television shows, knows that a book about Julia Child’s kitchen is a book about Julia Child. It’s been a long time since I’ve had so much fun reading a book.

And the word “fun” is apt. Again and again in the book, as people recall cooking with Julia in her kitchen or a meal they shared there, the word they use to describe both their host and the place is “fun.”

Which is not to say that serious labor did not take place in that kitchen. The book makes it clear that Julia and her husband Paul were both workhorses. In the early television shows, the sponsoring public television station, WGBH Boston, couldn’t afford retakes or editing. Julia had to begin upon a complicated recipe, carry it through, instructing all along, and arrive at a finished product that she could take a bite out of in just 28 minutes flat. The cameras shut off at 28 minutes and there was no going back.

To accomplish this feat of legerdemain, she and Paul would practice for hours at home before a show, choosing which elements of a recipe to demonstrate, deciding how to demonstrate those elements, and carefully working out the language to use in explaining them. The whole thing was choreographed from beginning to end and different stages of the cooking prepared in advance so that, “through the magic of TV,” they could be displayed at the proper time as if just pulled from the oven.

Yet somehow, Julia always came across as relaxed and enjoying herself. And it wasn’t a guise. Unsurprisingly for that time and a family of their class, the Childs had a formal dining room, but Julia’s preferred place to serve friends a meal was the kitchen.

One of the things I found most endearing about Julia Child’s Kitchen is the way sections on subjects such as the kitchen’s organizing principles inevitably end up revealing the love Paul Child felt for his wife, the care he took in setting up that kitchen and showcasing her art. In letters to his brother, Child sometimes referred to his wife as “Julie.”

Julia called her kitchen “the soul of the house,” and her nephew, Alex Prud’homme, called the table where meals were served in that kitchen “the center of the universe.” Julia’s unpretentious attitude toward entertaining (and herself) is made clear in her explanation for the placement of that kitchen table, “I want the dining table in the middle of the room because, like a sheepdog, I need to be right there in the midst of everyone.”

That statement is so characteristic of the woman we meet in Paula’s book. Julia Child never fails to charm, yet somehow she never seems to patronize or fawn.

The book itself is like a party at Julia’s house. You meet fascinating people, hear terrific stories, experience a magical place, and, at the very least, get to imagine yourself enjoying extraordinary meals.

Speaking of stories, I can tell you from long experience that the author of Julia Child’s Kitchen is a great storyteller in person as well as in her writing. And so I ask the pleasure of your company on March 3, at 6 p.m., in the Easton library, for an evening in Julia Child’s kitchen, courtesy of the Smithsonian’s Paula Johnson. Trust me, you’re in for a real treat.