I just finished reading Julia Child’s autobiography, “My Life in France” and I actually feel like I miss her! I feel like my friend that I have spent three days with just moved away. She was such a rich character and of course reading about her passion for food and anything French was a delight for me. One of the things I liked about her was her total lack of materialism. Here is how her grand-nephew and co-author of her autobiography described her:
“The day Julia gave up La Pitchoune (her home in the south of France where she and her husband spent part of every year for 20 years), she simply handed the keys over to Simca’s (her friend who had died who owned the property on which they built the house) relatives and walked away. Or so she said.
But what really happened was that Julia let her niece Phila Cousins deal with handing-over the keys. On the last day there, Phila cried at giving up the beloved Pitchoune. Julia, meanwhile, cooked a Daube and then blithely went off to play golf.
When I heard this second version of the story, I didn’t know what to make of it: did Julia really not care about La Pitchoune, one of her favorite places on earth? Or, was giving up the house, in fact, too emotional, too much for her to face, so that she avoided that moment of truth?
When I asked her about this directly, Julia said that once Paul and Simca were no longer with her, La Pitchoune had lost its raison d’etre.
And then I understood: while Julia loved certain things, like her pans and knives, or places, like her wonderful houses, what she cared most about was the people around her. Julia taught us is to take the time to appreciate the people we are with, and to really communicate with them — no matter which kitchen we happen to be in.”
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