Most evenings, I like to unwind with a book and a glass of wine, and last night’s book of choice was Julia Child’s very own Mastering the Art of French Cooking (for the record, the wine—a budget one—was Altos Malbec, 2009). Now, I simply ADORE reading cookbooks just as other people enjoy reading novels. Christ—I have at least 98 carefully selected titles in my library, none of which possess names such as “Gourmet Microwave Cookery” or “Cooking with Splenda.” But last night was different, as Julia’s uber-charming and enthusiastic voice was instructing me not to fear the duck, should I be preparing to bone it, which is admittedly both entertaining and unnerving due to the paranoia it evokes of undiagnosed schizophrenic tendencies. I suppose that this is the consequence of having watched her construct a soufflé on PBS.com earlier in the day.
Needless to say, having Julia Child read me my bedtime story is not at all unwelcome, provided that she opts to read an excerpt from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
P.S.—if you are really lucky, tomorrow I will tell you all about the brand new itty bitty quasi-dutch oven that I bought today.
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