Julia and Me (Part1) (Copy)

Like other chefs who lived in the Boston area, I have precious memories of the times and meals I shared with Julia Child, but unlike anyone else, our closeness was inspired by our mutual passion for Chinese food. It was Julia herself, who with her advice sent me packing off to Asia at the tender age of nineteen.

Like many others of my era, I was infatuated with Julia after watching her early “ French Chef” shows on WGBH. Julia didn’t simply entertain the audience as she demonstrated so many classic French dishes, she would also share their history, provenance, and cultural context, because that’s what fascinated her. For me, she was much more than just a chef or a TV celebrity: She was an educator for all things relating to food.

Which is precisely why, in 1971, I wrote to her. Out of the blue. I had just completed a disappointing year of classes at the University of Wisconsin at Madison and I was bored. College had not been the soul changing experience that my parents had described. I was desperate to find a real adventure that would be stimulating, fun, and unlike anything I had so far done in my short, sheltered life. Which was exactly why Julia came to mind. I knew I had a talent for cooking and also for languages, so why not, I thought, drop out of school, go to Paris, and study French cooking, language, and culture? After all, isn’t that what my hero, Julia, had done? (Big deal if she had first graduated from college. A minor point, or so I thought.)

So with the naïve optimism of a 19-year-old, I summoned my courage and sent a handwritten letter to her home in Cambridge, asking her advice. (Incredibly to me, her address and phone number were in the phone book, but I lacked the nerve to call her.) A month or two passed. I had almost given up when a crisp envelope arrived in the mail with the return address of L’Ecole des Gourmands, Irving Street, Cambridge.

“It was Julia Child, herself, who with her advice sent me packing off to Asia solo at the tender age of nineteen.”

First of all, Julia chastised me for not typing the letter. (I had quit my high-school typing class despite being told I was foolish to underestimate the importance of typing in the working world.) Because, she said, I had not written my return address on the actual body of the letter, it had taken her some time to figure out where to send a response. The bad news was that Julia claimed there was no professional cooking school in Paris. In other words, in an obvious subtext, she was saying screw the Cordon Bleu. If I was really serious about cooking professionally, she recommended I apply to L’Ecole Hotelière in Lausanne, Switzerland.

To say I was mildly disappointed would be a huge understatement. I felt lost. I had been counting on Julia to lead the way, especially after I dropped the quitting-college bombshell on my parents. I had hoped to reassure them by saying that Julia Child had personally advised me to go to Paris to study.

I had to rethink everything. I had half-heartedly studied Mandarin in high school and for a semester at college, but had been overwhelmed by the complexity of the language. But then, I thought, there’s Chinese cuisine! Suddenly the idea of actually going to China to study both the Mandarin language and classic Chinese cooking took hold. My mind was made up. It was not to be Paris, but Asia.

Once again I wrote to Julia and told her of my new plan, which had been altered slightly because I soon discovered that China was closed due to the Cultural Revolution. Instead, I had decided to travel to Taipei, Taiwan, and study the food, language, and culture of China. She immediately, bless her, wrote back and applauded my unusual decision. She said to stay in touch as she and her husband, Paul, had lived in China during their Foreign Service days and, while there, had developed a fascination for all things Chinese. Also, she said, they continued to crave good, authentic Chinese food. And so, to my parents’ shock, I took off for the Far East.

Julia and Me (Part1) (Copy)

Guidance, Friendship, and Fun