A young cook's dinner with Julia Child

The master understood both people and flavors

By Sheryl Julian, Globe Staff  |  August 18, 2004

In the early 1970s, when I was working in Washington as the assistant to cookbook author Anne Willan, she threw a dinner party with a stunning cast. No one gave parties like Anne, who went on to open La Varenne, a bilingual cooking school in France. She and her husband, Mark Cherniavsky, weren't afraid to invite strangers for a grand meal, and this was one of those nights. I had just returned from a year abroad studying cooking. Anne asked me to help her in the kitchen. On the guest list were Julia and Paul Child, James Beard, David and Susan Brinkley, Senator Mark Hatfield and his wife (from Oregon, Beard's home state), and William Rice, food editor of the Washington Post. At the last minute, probably because there was an uneven number of guests at the table, I was invited to join the dinner. We made a menu Anne prepared often. In the living room there was a country pork pate, then individual cheese souffles with lobster as a first course (we beat the whites in two large copper bowls!). Roast leg of lamb followed, with a chocolate "snowball" dessert from the French classic "La Cuisine de Madame Saint-Ange." (Concord-based French food historian Barbara Wheaton, a longtime friend of Julia's, told me recently that "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" was based on Madame Saint-Ange's book.) The dessert is an intense, rich confection decorated with rosettes of cream and candied violets.

\When Rice, the Post editor, arrived, he brought into the kitchen a pot containing what looked like mashed potatoes. I sniffed it. It didn't smell like potatoes, but in the busy moments that always precede a dinner party, I never had a chance to ask what it was.

In the kitchen beating egg whites, I could hear the voices -- Julia's high-pitched laughter, Jim Beard's deep tones, and the familiar resonance of David Brinkley. When we opened the door to the dining room, there was Julia sitting across from Jim. The room was lit with candelabras. I thought I was on the set of a film. Julia was deeply interested in everyone, even lavishing attention on the young cook two seats away. The souffles received an ovation. After Anne and I served the main course and slipped back into our seats, I finally took a bite of the mysterious white puree. Definitely not potatoes. But what was that taste? Oh, yes, parsnip! But something else with it. I couldn't nail it. Then I heard this from that unmistakable voice: "Parsnips with celeriac," bellowed Julia. "How delightful! I've never had them together."

So the famous French chef was not just funny and enchanting. In the dimly lit room, she could detect every subtle flavor on the plate. This, of course, was her real gift. Beside the humor and the hamming and the engaging conversation, she had mastered a cuisine.