My dear husband got me The Art of French Cooking (the Julia Child cookbook) for Christmas. This was not a subtle hint, I’ve been wanting it since I saw Julie & Julia when it first came out (2009? 2010?).
I had no idea what I was getting myself into. An hour and a half over the stove, followed by 2.5 hours in the oven (while me and Baby Bear napped), ending with another hour and a half over the stove. I’m convinced Julia Child was a lunatic AND a culinary genius. What a time-consuming, inconvenient, expensive, delicious creation. To make this, you have to really love cooking…and not be 7 months pregnant. Being on my feet for that long wore me out!
And as I was scrubbing the pan this morning, I found myself daydreaming about which recipe to try next. Julia, you sneaky wino! How did that happen? How did I fantasize about quitting an hour into cooking, debate even finishing the second hour and a half, truly despise and curse Julia…yet, I’m still giddy at the thought of trying another recipe! Also, after tackling that beast, the “complicated” recipes from Pinterest seem like child’s play. Oh there are a million ingredients? Oh there are a million steps? Psssshhhhh! I defeated Boeuf Bourguignon! I can take on the world!