Quotes from Julia Child

the average Frenchman would shrug, as if to say: These notions of yours are all very fascinating, no doubt, but we make a decent living. Nobody has ulcers. I have time to work on my monograph about Balzac, and my foreman enjoys his espaliered pear trees. I think as a matter of fact, we do not wish to make the changes that you suggest.

I had a lack of confidence, which caused me to back down from forcefully stated positions; an i was overly emotional at the expense of careful, scientific thought. I was thirty-seven years old and still discovering who I was

If you drop the lamb, just pick it up. Who's going to know?

Was it a sign of Creeping Decrepitude?

It was fun, although we felt like pawns, or prawns, in the maelstrom.

But how nice it is that one can come to know someone just through correspondence, and become really passionate friends.

Standing up through the Citroen's open sunroof, my six-foot-three-inch, red-cheeked sister pointed a long, trembling finger at the perpetrator and with maximum indignation yelled: 'Ce merde-monsieur a justement crache dans ma derriere!' Her intended meaning is obvious, but what she said was, 'This shit-man just spat out into my butt!

I had come to the conclusion 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.

I discovered that when one follows the artist's eye one sees unexpected treasures in so many seemingly ordinary scenes.

The more I learned the more I realized how very much one has to know before one is in-the-know at all.

But my favorite remained the basic roast chicken. What a deceptively simple dish. I had come to believe that one can judge the quality of a cook by his or her roast chicken. Above all, it should taste like chicken: it should be so good that even a perfectly simple, buttery roast should be a delight.

Remember, 'No one's more important than people'!" In other words, friendship is the most important thing—not career or housework, or one's fatigue—and it needs to be tended and nurtured.

I believe in red meat. I've often said: red meat and gin.

It seemed that in Paris you could discuss classic literature or architecture or great music with everyone from the garbage collector to the mayor.

Julie's cookery is actually improving, Paul wrote Charlie [his twin]. I didn't quite believe it would, just between us, but it really is . It's simpler, more classical.... I envy her this chance. It would be such fun to be doing it at the same time with her.

To think that we might easily have gone through life not knowing each other, missing all this free flow of love and ideas and warmth and sharing...

I opened the school's booklet, found the recipes from the examination — oeufs mollets with sauce béarnaise, côtelettes de veau en surprise and crème renversée au caramel — and whipped them all up in a cold, clean fury. Then I ate them.

The German birds didn't taste as good as their French cousins, nor did the frozen Dutch chickens we bought in the local supermarkets. The American poultry industry had made it possible to grow a fine-looking fryer in record time and sell it at a reasonable price, but no one mentioned that the result usually tasted like the stuffing inside of a teddy bear.

Celebrity has its uses. I can always get a seat in any restaurant. Source: Esquire Magazine, June 2000 original edition

In France, Paul explained, good cooking was regarded as a combination of national sport and high art, and wine was always served with lunch and dinner. The trick is moderation, he said.

Our bodies hummed with contentment.

After we'd moved into 81, we had placed an order for a phone, and waited. First a man came by to see if we lived where we said we did. Then two men visited to make a study of our situation. Then another man appeared to find out if we really wanted a phone. The process was very French, and made me laugh, especially when I thought of how quickly such a transaction would have taken place in the States.

I suddenly discovered that cooking was a rich and layered and endlessly fascinating subject. The best way to describe it is to say that I fell in love with French food- the tastes, the processes, the history, the endless variations, the rigorous discipline, the creativity, the wonderful people, the equipment, the rituals.

The Parisian grocers insisted that I interact with them personally: if I wasn't willing to take the time to get to know them and their wares, then I would not go home with the freshest legumes or cuts of meat in my basket. They certainly made me work for my supper-- but, oh, what suppers!