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[1] A few days before Julia Child died, we sat together in her compact, fragrant garden in Montecito, Calif., talking about her life. She was about to turn 92. Although she was thin and pale, she seemed stronger and more acute that day than she had been in weeks. She had always loved to work, and, as usual, she corrected my French accent and added little soupçons of information to the book we were writing together, a series of reminiscences from the years 1948 to 1954, when she and her husband Paul, my great-uncle, lived in France. Julia sometimes had difficulty remembering a conversation from the day before, but she could recall events from 50 years ago with surprising clarity.
[2] She had arrived in France in November 1948 not speaking the language or knowing how to cook. "I had never even heard of a shallot," she said. "I was there as Paul's extra baggage." Ten years older than Julia, he ran the visual presentation department at the United States Information Service. By the time they left for other postings six years later, Julia was fluent in French, ran a cooking school and was co-authoring a comprehensive cookbook that would later make her famous.
[3] She learned many things in Paris, she said, one of the most important of which was how to shop like a Parisian. "It was life-changing," she said, "because shopping in France taught me about human relations." Through daily excursions to the outdoor market on the Rue de Bourgogne, or into the organized chaos of Les Halles, she learned that the French are highly attuned to social nuance. If a tourist enters a food stall thinking she will be cheated, the salesman will happily oblige, Julia explained. But if he senses that his customer took a genuine interest in his produce, then he will just "open up like a flower."
[4] With a smile, she added: "I quickly learned how to communicate. If I wasn't willing to spend time to get to know the sellers and what they were selling, then I wouldn't go home with the freshest head of lettuce or best bit of steak in my basket. They really made me work for my supper. But what a supper -- yum! And it was such fun."
[5] It was this spirit, her vigorous curiosity and joie de vivre, that made Julia so appealing to so many people. And it is one of the things that sets her apart from many of today's celebrity chefs and lifestyle entrepreneurs. While the sale of her books -- starting in 1961, with "Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Vol. I" -- provided her with a very good living, she was never in it for the money. She refused to endorse products or restaurants, and turned down many lucrative commercial television projects in favor of public television. She was motivated by a deep enjoyment of food and its preparation, and would happily spend hours tinkering in the kitchen by herself or, preferably, with others.
[6] In her garden that day the flinty side of Julia was also on display. This is an aspect of her personality that people tend to overlook or ignore, but it was just as much a part of her as the fun-loving "ham" and "hayseed" that was her television persona. She was not simply a funny tall lady who dropped food on the floor and appeared to swig wine intemperately. (In fact, she was privately irritated by such caricatures.) She was a driven and rigorous technician, a well-trained and hard-working cook who loved French cuisine in part because it had what she called "rules."
[7] One didn't simply whip up a homemade baguette or champignons à la grecque any old way; one must make them the "right" way. Julia's method was to spend hours on "scientific" research, learning how master chefs approached a recipe. When she found an approach she liked, she'd "submit it to the empirical test." By this, Julia meant: "Find out if a recipe is any good by doing it. If the mayonnaise doesn't 'catch' properly, then try it again until you get it all right -- the temperature of the bowl, the type of oil, the vinegar, the speed at which you whisk it all together. A little extra effort shows your guests that you care about the food. It's always worth it."
[8] If a dish goes horribly wrong, like a "vile" eggs Florentine she once made for a friend, Julia instructed, "Never apologize." She considered it unseemly for a cook to twist herself into knots of excuses and explanations. Such admissions "only make a bad situation worse," she said, by drawing attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings) and prompting your guest to think: Yes, you're right, this really is an awful meal. "The cook must simply grin and bear it," Julia said firmly.
[9] Our conversation drifted to the Cordon Bleu, France's famous cooking school. In 1950 she was the lone woman in a class of 11 American G.I.'s learning to cook there under the G.I. Bill. Always considerate of "the boys" in person, Julia confided to her sister-in-law that the G.I.'s weren't serious enough: "there isn't an artist in the bunch," she coolly observed. And when I asked about Madame Brassard, the school's formidable proprietor, Julia, who rarely spoke ill of anyone, snapped: "She was a horrid woman. She hardly knew how to cook and was mostly interested in making money. Besides, she wasn't even French -- she was Belgian."
[10] When I asked her about the recent tension between France and the United States, Julia said she'd found it disappointing but not surprising. "It was the same in 1949," she recalled. That year, an old American friend in Paris had blurted out that she considered the French mean, grasping, chiseling and unfriendly in every way. The friend, Alice, couldn't wait to leave France and said she would never return. "Her words were still ringing in my ears the next morning, when I had a flat tire, broke a milk bottle and forgot to bring a basket for strawberries," Julia recalled. "Yet every person I met that day was helpful and sweet, and one of them even gave me a fish head for our cat! Alice had been a good friend, but I just didn't understand her anymore."
[11] Julia, meanwhile, had decided that "I must really be French -- only no one had ever informed me of this fact. I loved the people, the food, the lay of the land, the civilized atmosphere and the generous pace of life there. I saw no reason to leave, ever."
[12] Julia led a charmed life, but it wasn't perfect. In France she and Paul had half-heartedly tried to conceive, but, "it didn't take," she said with a shrug. Resolutely unsentimental, Julia did not dwell on this. Instead, she directed her enormous energy into "cookery." Paul, who was quiet but strong-willed, was fully supportive of her decision. "If we'd had children, I never would have had the career I did," she said. "I don't regret it."
[13] As Julia grew sleepy, and her black-and-white cat Minou chased butterflies around our feet like a mischievous sprite, my wife Sarah asked her: "What was your favorite thing you've ever done?"
[14] Julia paused a beat, and with eyes suddenly bright, answered: "Cooking with other chefs!"
[15] That deceptively simple phrase was quintessential Julia: clear, modest, committed, eager to participate, and happiest when she was sharing delicious food with others.
[16] "It's been a very nice life," she said. And then she lay down to rest.
compact /kəmˈpækt/ adj 紧凑的
consisting of parts that are positioned together closely or in a tidy way, using very little space
fragrant /ˈfreɪ.gr ə nt/ adj with a pleasant smell 芬芳的
acute /əˈkjuːt/ adj 敏锐的
(of the senses, intelligence, etc.) very good, accurate and able to notice very small differences
acute eyesight/hearing
an acute sense of smell
a woman of acute intelligence/judgment
soupçon /ˈsuːp.sɒ͂/ /noun [ S ] mainly humorous a very small amount
reminiscences 回忆录
Your reminiscences are the experiences you remember from the past, often written in a book
The novel contains endless reminiscences of/about the author's youth.
shallot /ʃəˈlɒt/ noun [ C or U ] 青葱
posting /ˈpəʊ.stɪŋ/ noun [ C ] 任命，派驻
UK ( US and Australian usually post ) a job, often within the same organization that you are working for, which involves going to a different country or town
comprehensive /ˌkɒm.prɪˈhen t .sɪv/ adj
complete and including everything that is necessary
We offer you a comprehensive training in all aspects of the business.
Is this list comprehensive or are there some names missing?
He has written a fully comprehensive guide to Rome.
excursion /ɪkˈskɜː.ʃ ə n/ noun [ C ]
a short journey usually made for pleasure, often by a group of people
chaos /ˈkeɪ.ɒs/ noun [ U ]
a state of total confusion with no order
attuned to /əˈtjuːnd/ adjective [ after verb ]
able to understand, or being very familiar with
nuance /ˈn j uː.ɑːn t s/ noun [ C ]
a very slight difference in appearance, meaning, sound, etc
The painter has managed to capture every nuance of the woman's expression.
Linguists explore the nuances of language.
oblige /əˈblaɪdʒ/ verb
[ I or T ] to please or help someone, especially by doing something they have asked you to do
We needed a guide and he was only too happy to oblige.
joie de vivre /ˌʒwɑː.dəˈviː.vr ə / noun [ U ] formal
a feeling of great happiness and enjoyment of life
appealing /əˈpiː.lɪŋ/ adj
attractive or interesting
The idea of not having to get up early every morning is rather appealing ( to me).
He had a nice smile and an appealing personality.
set sth/sb apart phrasal verb
If a quality or characteristic sets someone/something apart, it shows them to be different from, and usually better than, others of the same type
What set her apart from the other candidates for the job was that she had a lot of original ideas.
entrepreneur /ˌɒn.trə.prəˈnɜː r / noun [ C ] 企业家
endorse /ɪnˈdɔːs/ /-ˈdɔːrs/ verb [ T ] 代言
to appear in an advertisement, saying that you use and like a particular product
lucrative /ˈluː.krə.tɪv/ /-t ̬ɪv/ adj 获利丰厚的
(especially of a business, job or activity) producing a lot of money
tinker /ˈtɪŋ.kə r / verb [ I usually + adv/prep ]
to make small changes to something, especially in an attempt to repair or improve it
He spends every weekend tinkering (about) with his car.
I wish the government would stop tinkering with the health service.
flinty /ˈflɪn.ti/ adj severe and determined
overlook /ˌəʊ.vəˈlʊk/verb [ T ]
to fail to notice or consider something
I think there is one key fact that you have overlooked.
No one will be overlooked in the selection of the team.
persona /pəˈsəʊ.nə/ noun [ C ] plural personae or personas
the particular type of character that a person seems to have, which is often different from their real or private character
swig /swɪg/ verb [ T ] -gg- informal 大口喝
to drink, especially by swallowing large amounts in a series of single actions
intemperately adv 不节制地
caricature /ˈkær.ɪ.kə.tʃʊə r / noun [ C or U ] 夸张性的描述
driven /ˈdrɪv. ə n/ adj
describes someone who is so determined to achieve something or be successful that all their behaviour is directed towards this aim
rigorous /ˈrɪg. ə r.əs/ /-ɚ-/ adjective CAREFUL
approving careful to look at or consider every part of something to make certain it is correct or safe
rigorous testing/checking/methods
whip sth up phrasal verb
informal to make food or a meal very quickly and easily
submit /səbˈmɪt/ verb -tt-
[ T ] to give or offer something for a decision to be made by others
You must submit your application before January 1st.
The developers submitted building plans to the council for approval.
empirical /ɪmˈpɪr.ɪ.k ə l/ adj 以经验为依据的
based on what is experienced or seen rather than on theory
whisk /wɪsk/ verb
[ T ] to beat eggs, cream, etc. with a special tool in order to add air and make the food light
vile /vaɪl/ adj
informal extremely unpleasant
This cheese smells vile.
He's in a vile mood/temper today.
grin and bear it
to accept something bad without complaining
I really don't want to go but I guess I'll just have to grin and bear it.
confide /kənˈfaɪd/ verb [ I or T ]
to tell something secret or personal to someone who you trust not to tell anyone else
formidable /fɔːˈmɪ.də.bl ̩/ adj 可怕的
causing you to have fear or respect for something or someone because they are large, powerful or difficult
proprietor /prəˈpraɪə.tə r / noun [ C ] 业主，老板
a person who owns a particular type of business, especially a hotel, a shop or a company that makes newspapers
speak ill of sb
formal or old-fashioned to say unkind things about someone
I realize one shouldn't speak ill of the dead.
snap /snæp/ verb -pp- 厉声说
[ I or T ] to say something suddenly in an angry way
There's no need to snap at me - it's not my fault that you lost your wallet.
[ + speech ] "Well, I hate you too!" she snapped.
horrid /ˈhɒr.ɪd/ adj old-fashioned informal 极不友好的
unpleasant or unkind
blurt sth out phrasal verb [ M ] 脱口而出
to say something suddenly and without thinking, usually because you are excited or nervous
mean /miːn/ adj unkind or unpleasant
grasping /ˈgrɑː.spɪŋ/ adj disapproving
(of people) always trying to get and keep more of something, especially money
half-heartedly adv 敷衍了事地
conceive /kənˈsiːv/ verb
[ I or T ] to become pregnant, or to cause a baby to begin to form
Do you know exactly when you conceived?
The baby was conceived in March, so will be born in December.
resolutely /ˈrez.ə.luːt.li/ adv 坚决地，毅然地
unsentimental adj 不动感情的
dwell on sth phrasal verb 不能释怀
to keep thinking or talking about something, especially something bad or unpleasant
mischievous /ˈmɪs.tʃɪ.vəs/ adj 淘气的
behaving in a way, or describing behaviour, which is slightly bad but is not intended to cause serious harm or damage
sprite /spraɪt/ noun [ C ] literary 精灵
a fairy (= small imaginary person with wings) especially one connected with water
quintessential /ˌkwɪn.tɪˈsen t .ʃ ə l/ adj formal 精髓的，精粹的
being the most typical example or most important part of something
来源:
[1] A few days before Julia Child died, we sat together in her compact, fragrant garden in Montecito, Calif., talking about her life. She was about to turn 92. Although she was thin and pale, she seemed stronger and more acute that day than she had been in weeks. She had always loved to work, and, as usual, she corrected my French accent and added little soupçons of information to the book we were writing together, a series of reminiscences from the years 1948 to 1954, when she and her husband Paul, my great-uncle, lived in France. Julia sometimes had difficulty remembering a conversation from the day before, but she could recall events from 50 years ago with surprising clarity.
[2] She had arrived in France in November 1948 not speaking the language or knowing how to cook. "I had never even heard of a shallot," she said. "I was there as Paul's extra baggage." Ten years older than Julia, he ran the visual presentation department at the United States Information Service. By the time they left for other postings six years later, Julia was fluent in French, ran a cooking school and was co-authoring a comprehensive cookbook that would later make her famous.
[3] She learned many things in Paris, she said, one of the most important of which was how to shop like a Parisian. "It was life-changing," she said, "because shopping in France taught me about human relations." Through daily excursions to the outdoor market on the Rue de Bourgogne, or into the organized chaos of Les Halles, she learned that the French are highly attuned to social nuance. If a tourist enters a food stall thinking she will be cheated, the salesman will happily oblige, Julia explained. But if he senses that his customer took a genuine interest in his produce, then he will just "open up like a flower."
[4] With a smile, she added: "I quickly learned how to communicate. If I wasn't willing to spend time to get to know the sellers and what they were selling, then I wouldn't go home with the freshest head of lettuce or best bit of steak in my basket. They really made me work for my supper. But what a supper -- yum! And it was such fun."
[5] It was this spirit, her vigorous curiosity and joie de vivre, that made Julia so appealing to so many people. And it is one of the things that sets her apart from many of today's celebrity chefs and lifestyle entrepreneurs. While the sale of her books -- starting in 1961, with "Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Vol. I" -- provided her with a very good living, she was never in it for the money. She refused to endorse products or restaurants, and turned down many lucrative commercial television projects in favor of public television. She was motivated by a deep enjoyment of food and its preparation, and would happily spend hours tinkering in the kitchen by herself or, preferably, with others.
[6] In her garden that day the flinty side of Julia was also on display. This is an aspect of her personality that people tend to overlook or ignore, but it was just as much a part of her as the fun-loving "ham" and "hayseed" that was her television persona. She was not simply a funny tall lady who dropped food on the floor and appeared to swig wine intemperately. (In fact, she was privately irritated by such caricatures.) She was a driven and rigorous technician, a well-trained and hard-working cook who loved French cuisine in part because it had what she called "rules."
[7] One didn't simply whip up a homemade baguette or champignons à la grecque any old way; one must make them the "right" way. Julia's method was to spend hours on "scientific" research, learning how master chefs approached a recipe. When she found an approach she liked, she'd "submit it to the empirical test." By this, Julia meant: "Find out if a recipe is any good by doing it. If the mayonnaise doesn't 'catch' properly, then try it again until you get it all right -- the temperature of the bowl, the type of oil, the vinegar, the speed at which you whisk it all together. A little extra effort shows your guests that you care about the food. It's always worth it."
[8] If a dish goes horribly wrong, like a "vile" eggs Florentine she once made for a friend, Julia instructed, "Never apologize." She considered it unseemly for a cook to twist herself into knots of excuses and explanations. Such admissions "only make a bad situation worse," she said, by drawing attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings) and prompting your guest to think: Yes, you're right, this really is an awful meal. "The cook must simply grin and bear it," Julia said firmly.
[9] Our conversation drifted to the Cordon Bleu, France's famous cooking school. In 1950 she was the lone woman in a class of 11 American G.I.'s learning to cook there under the G.I. Bill. Always considerate of "the boys" in person, Julia confided to her sister-in-law that the G.I.'s weren't serious enough: "there isn't an artist in the bunch," she coolly observed. And when I asked about Madame Brassard, the school's formidable proprietor, Julia, who rarely spoke ill of anyone, snapped: "She was a horrid woman. She hardly knew how to cook and was mostly interested in making money. Besides, she wasn't even French -- she was Belgian."
[10] When I asked her about the recent tension between France and the United States, Julia said she'd found it disappointing but not surprising. "It was the same in 1949," she recalled. That year, an old American friend in Paris had blurted out that she considered the French mean, grasping, chiseling and unfriendly in every way. The friend, Alice, couldn't wait to leave France and said she would never return. "Her words were still ringing in my ears the next morning, when I had a flat tire, broke a milk bottle and forgot to bring a basket for strawberries," Julia recalled. "Yet every person I met that day was helpful and sweet, and one of them even gave me a fish head for our cat! Alice had been a good friend, but I just didn't understand her anymore."
[11] Julia, meanwhile, had decided that "I must really be French -- only no one had ever informed me of this fact. I loved the people, the food, the lay of the land, the civilized atmosphere and the generous pace of life there. I saw no reason to leave, ever."
[12] Julia led a charmed life, but it wasn't perfect. In France she and Paul had half-heartedly tried to conceive, but, "it didn't take," she said with a shrug. Resolutely unsentimental, Julia did not dwell on this. Instead, she directed her enormous energy into "cookery." Paul, who was quiet but strong-willed, was fully supportive of her decision. "If we'd had children, I never would have had the career I did," she said. "I don't regret it."
[13] As Julia grew sleepy, and her black-and-white cat Minou chased butterflies around our feet like a mischievous sprite, my wife Sarah asked her: "What was your favorite thing you've ever done?"
[14] Julia paused a beat, and with eyes suddenly bright, answered: "Cooking with other chefs!"
[15] That deceptively simple phrase was quintessential Julia: clear, modest, committed, eager to participate, and happiest when she was sharing delicious food with others.
[16] "It's been a very nice life," she said. And then she lay down to rest.