Original subtitles

Paul, darling, please refrain

from drowning our guests in vino,

and come here a moment.

Now, how did that get so empty so fast?

I'll be right back.

That looks good enough to eat.

Yes, I could say the same about you.

Mm.

Oh. Voilà.

Ah, it's perfect.

Now, stop stalling and get out there and read it to them.

Really, Paul.

It seems braggy.

I tell one person at the embassy,

and it spreads like gonorrhea.

We're celebrating you tonight, my darling.

That's why they're all here.

Yes, I know.

But still, we don't need to make a meal out of it.

That fish looks wonderful.

Bon appétit.

Love the capers.

So, when are we going to hear this famous letter?

Paul can't stop talking about it.

I know he's your boss, Heidi, but you must take

everything he says with a grain of fleur de sel.

Oh, this gravlax is better than my mormor's,

and if she wasn't already dead,

she would die if she knew it was made by an American.

From Pasadena, no less.

Please, Julia, read it to us.

We're all so proud of you.

Yes.

Yes, alright.

More Riesling, Anders?

I know, it's a little fruitier than I expected,

but it's still got balls, and it's wonderful with the fish.

That's perfect.

"Dear Mrs. Child..."

"We have spent months looking over your superb

French cookbook -- studying it, cooking from it --

and we have come to the conclusion that it is a..."

"...a unique book that we would..."

drumroll please...

"...be very proud to have on the Knopf" --

Is it K-nopf or Nopf?

No one k-nows.

Yes, it turns out my time in France was put to good use.

Paul worked like a dog spreading American goodwill across Europe

whilst I ate.

Ha!

I'll get it. Keep reading.

So proud of you, kitten.

Oh.

"I have been authorized..."

Hello?

"We consider it the best

and only working French cookbook to date..."

"...which will do for French cooking here in America

what Rombauer's 'The Joy of Cooking'

once did for standard cooking..."

"...and we will sell it that way."

When do we get it in Norway?

"It is certainly a beautifully organized,

clearly written, wonderfully instructive manuscript.

You have already revolutionized my --"

Is everything alright, my love?

That was D.C., summoning me back for a meeting.

Oh, do you think -- Oh, Paul, does that mean...?

We could be back in Paris in a month.

We will miss you.

Back to Paris!

Hoorah!

Ah, Paris!

Good morning.

Oh, fudge.

Little devil.

Mmm! Coffee's wonderful.

Thank you, dear.

You look lovely this morning.

I'm not camera ready, as they say.

Nonsense.

Mmm.

I guess the book. That's why I'm there, isn't it?

To promote the book...

before everyone forgets about it completely.

Such an old gasbag, that man.

WGBH is a fine institution.

It's still television.

It's television.

Avis loves her TV.

She needs company.

Maybe I tell the sole meunière story

and really milk the part when I cried

from its sheer deliciousness

and you didn't know what was wrong.

Don't besmirch it.

I've told that tale a thousand times.

It's sort of become my signature.

It's almost like you took my virginity twice.

First by fucking me and then by feeding me.

It's mildly depressing, taking something so seminal to you,

to us, and turning it into a television anecdote

for Prince Albert and his ghastly show.

But you'll watch?

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

That was delicious, darling.

Now, wish me luck.

An empty canvas awaits on the slow train towards death

that is forced retirement.

Yes, you and me both.

Has it really only been a year?

Ooh.

Hello. I'm Julia Child.

Yes, Mrs. Child.

If you head down the hallway, you'll find the green room.

Thank you.

Oh, that's awfully kind of you. How lovely.

I've made a dozen or so of your recipes so far.

Never been to France, but now my husband says we don't have to.

Tell your husband that Julia Child

says he must take you to France.

Yes, and that's an order.

Come in, come in.

Mrs. Child?

I just wanted to come by and say hello.

Ooh.

It was my small idea to have you on the show.

Ooh, how lovely.

And your name, dear?

I'm Alice Naman, associate producer.

If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know.

It's funny you should say that.

You wouldn't happen to have a hot plate, would you?

Do we have a hot plate?

Julia Child is asking for a hot plate.

Of course she is.

The BBC is making docs about prize-winning scientists

while we're peddling cookbooks.

So, we don't have a hot plate?

I have a hot plate.

I use it to boil water for my tea.

Right.

- Okay. - ...camera two.

Your usual comb.

And we're live in five, four, three...

Hello. And welcome to "I've Been Reading."

Class is now in session.

I'm Albert Duhamel, of course,

associate arts professor at Boston College,

and today, we're going to do something

a little bit different.

Instead of, say, Steinbeck, Capote, Heller,

or even Rand,

my guest this afternoon writes cookbooks.

Yes, you heard that correctly. Cookbooks.

Though, to be frank, it would be rather disingenuous

for me to say it's what "I've Been Reading,"

as I have never actually read a cookbook.

Maybe for today, we'll rename our little program

"What My Wife's Been Reading."

No, but seriously, folks, please welcome my guest,

Cambridge's own, Mrs. Julia Child.

Duke, what a lovely introduction.

Yes, isn't that what your students call you at the college?

It's très charmant.

Now, not to hijack the conversation,

but would you happen to know where the outlet is?

The outlet?

Yes, to plug something in.

Well, I don't understand. To plug what in?

Well, this hot plate, Duke.

Ooh. There it is.

What is she doing?

Nothing to it but to do it.

So, I thought I'd make a classic French omelette.

Are you alright down there?

I'm not sure the cord's quite long enough.

That -- Ooh. Heavens.

Got it. There. Where were we?

Uh, omelettes?

Omelettes. Yes. Of course.

I just need this sucker nice and hot.

A sizzling hot no-stick pan is essential.

Eh, for making an omelette?

Well, yes, of course. Keep up with me, Duke.

Do you like a good omelette?

Sure. Why not?

Yes, I just love them.

Nothing more, really, than lightly coagulated eggs.

It's a perfect meal and a lovely lunch.

Why is she so out of breath?

What did you have for your lunch?

Uh, a tuna fish sandwich.

Oh, dear. Well, I've come just in time.

They're just lovely and tender and soft,

and, well, they take barely half a minute.

Oh.

For you, let's do three.

You look like a three-egg man to me.

And then some -- some salt.

Fresh-ground pepper.

Don't be shy. Give it a good whisk.

Would you like to try?

Oh, I'm going to teach you to whisk

the way I was taught at Le Cordon Bleu.

Like this?

Oh, put some elbow grease into it!

Yes. Exactly that. You're a natural.

I'm French-Canadian.

Yes, well, golly, it shows.

Oh.

Oh.

See, a great omelette needs

a great amount of butter.

I'd say a full tablespoon.

And don't be stingy, baby.

I like to use an inexpensive no-stick pan.

Don't be fooled by what I like to call status pans.

Boys! You've got to see this!

Aunt Julia's on TV!

Let the butter generously coat the entire surface.

And just before the butter begins to brown,

we add the eggs.

Fabulous.

And then just gradually jerk the pan towards you.

Et voilà!

Over she goes.

And there you have it -- an omelette baveuse.

Salivating practically, just like you are, Duke.

Shall we give it a try?

Mmm!

It's quite good.

In fact, I'm going to enjoy it, if I do say so myself.

I suggest you get cracking and do the same.

Oh! Oh, cracking.

This is Albert Duhamel.

Thank you, and good day.

Class dismissed.

And we're out.

Oh, dear, I forgot to talk about the book.

Oh, well. Que Sera, Sera.

Well, that was utterly silly.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

So, I guess no one's been reading.

To Julia.

Ooh! To me.

It was marvelous fun, really.

You could tell, honey.

You were radiant, just glowing.

Honestly, you seemed so relaxed.

Ha! I'd have been shaking in my boots.

Hell, I was, sitting in my goddamn armchair.

Good God, you were a treasured guest

in living rooms all over Boston.

Ah! I'm a little jealous to have shared you.

But I couldn't be more proud.

Here, here. That sole meunière story

gets richer and richer each time she tells it.

What are you talking about?

She didn't tell the fucking sole meunière story, Paul.

She made an omelette... with a hot plate...

on a coffee table.

I mean, if it wasn't so goddamn illuminating,

it would have been theatre of the absurd.

But the table was staggeringly low.

I -- We -- We don't have a television, Avis.

Oh.

of a burst of creativity in my studio.

No excuse. Shame on you, Paul.

Escargot, madame.

What is it, Paulski?

You've barely said two words since we left the restaurant.

Honestly, I don't care that you didn't see it.

Really. You'd know if I was upset.

I'm upset, darling. Me.

I just feel so damn guilty about it.

Missing it or lying about missing it?

Both, you devil.

Oh, forget about it, Paul. I have, long ago.

And getting a talking-to like that from Avis.

Honestly.

If we had a television, I would most definitely have watched it

and been proud, to boot.

She had no right.

Then let's just buy one.

What?

A TV, Paul.

We're not suckers, Julia, falling for the latest fad.

Well, maybe TV's not a fad.

Good lord, it has to be.

I know I'll never buy one.

Well, good night.

Kiss?

Deep breath.

I was covered in sweat again this morning. Just covered.

It is the most peculiar feeling.

Deep breath.

And...

Oh, what the heck. We're both grownups.

I haven't been in the mood, or, you know, feeling frisky,

but I guess I can chalk that up to boredom,

retirement in Boston, Paul lying about watching me on television.

You have no idea what I'm talking about.

You're absolutely fine.

You're just going through menopause.

Night sweats, reduced sex drive --

it's all completely natural and normal.

Of course.

How embarrassing.

I have to tell you, I feel lucky to be the benefactor

of all your hard work.

My wife has your cookbook.

How wonderful.

Hello?

Darling...

I've just come from the doctor's office.

Oh, not your back again? Damn.

I really thought raising the counters in the kitchen

would make all the difference.

No, it's not my back. My back's fine.

Oh.

Then what?

Are you alright? Tell me, kitten.

I'm right here.

Nothing. It's nothing.

Silly me.

Fit as a fiddle.

Strong as an ox.

Yes, everything's all as it should be.

I just -- I actually called

because I'm off to Savenor's to pick something up for dinner.

Any requests?

I trust you.

See you later, then.

Julia!

Oh.

Dorothy.

What a delightful surprise.

I saw you the other day on "I've Been Reading."

Oh, you're kidding. You watched that?

It is sort of awful, but it coincides nicely with nap time.

You were so funny.

Plugging in that hot plate with your tush right in my face?

Hilarious.

It's nice to see you.

Oh, I made a French omelette for Norman this morning.

It came out perfect.

She's magnificent.

I could just eat her up.

Well, if you cooked her, I bet she'd be delicious.

I saw Dorothy Zinberg today

coming out of Savenor's as I was going in.

Was she with that awful baby?

Oh, Paul, she was precious.

And you'll never guess.

She saw me on TV.

Even made Norman an omelette.

That's nice.

I thought so.

"Dear Ms. Naman, this is Julia Child writing,

co-author of 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking,'

and whom you so kindly had as a guest

on 'I've Been Reading.'"

"Well, no use beating around the bush.

I've had a recurring thought

that I'd like to propose to you --

an educational cooking show hosted by myself."

Julie?

Is that you?

Yes, darling.

Oh, Paulski, it's marvelous.

And to think my pear clafoutis helped inspire you.

Get outta here.

"A cooking show that would be informal, easy, conversational,

and yet timed to the minute.

Because the French have treated cooking

as a serious profession as well as an art,

they are far more precise about their methods.

As I conceive of cooking, the whole business

comes down to a series of themes

and variations in which one learns

and then varies the technique.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours..."

Julia Child?

It feels flimsy to me. Not substantive.

This is public television, for God's sakes.

Not to sound crass, but if we were doing an educational show

involving cooking and food,

shouldn't we go with someone more relatable?

With a more camera-friendly look and a less distinctive sound.

Shorter.

I --

Well, I see that, but the truth of the matter is,

we've gotten 27 letters from hungry viewers

who want more Julia Child.

Really?

Are you sure about those numbers?

They're on my desk, Russ.

I can go get them for you right now if you want.

I'm surprised 27 people watch us.

That joke is a no-no. You know that.

27, huh?

Oh, I did the craziest thing.

I sort of sent in a proposal to WGBH

about doing a show of my own.

A cookery show.

Oh, I was hoping you'd tell me.

You get a drop of that on me, and I'll kill ya.

Oh. Well...

What were you thinking?

Well, that's just it. I wasn't.

Don't you have a cookbook to write?

Well, to be frank,

I think Simca's lost interest, like the rest of the world.

Oh.

needed a follow-up -- We're desperately behind.

And yet you're out here, washing your car.

Yes, well, it wasn't going to wash itself.

You have a living, breathing husband.

Who would turn this into the restoration

of the Sistine Chapel, and I need the car this year.

Oh! Julia!

Damn it.

Cookbooks need lots of chocolate recipes, Simca.

The moment of truth.

Superb.

Shit.

I've just taken it out of the oven, Simca.

It looks...

subpar.

I don't know what you did. Mine looks incroyable.

What I did is follow your directions

to the letter, my dear.

Your measurements have not yielded.

Miss Julia, you know this.

It's not French to be so exact, huh?

Well, I couldn't disagree with you more.

It is the exactitude

that is what makes French cuisine so elevated.

Yes, but you are are forgetting the je ne sais quoi.

I can't very well instruct our readers to have je ne sais quoi.

No?

Oh, Simca, we can't use a recipe

that I'm not utterly convinced American women can make

if they precisely follow the directions.

That's what people love about the first book --

its dependability.

Is it humid out?

No. Not a cloud in the sky.

Then I don't know. Make it again.

I will make it again! I'll make it 100 times

until I get it exactly right.

It's only one recipe, ma cherie.

Oh, it's not one recipe, ma cherie!

And I am starting to lose my patience

with your unwillingness to see that.

Fuck a duck!

Oh, thank goodness you called back.

I didn't mean to hang up, Simca.

I just -- Well, I lost my cool. It happens.

I'm a healthy girl with loads of steam, and...

At this rate, I'm just deeply concerned

that we'll never finish our big little project.

Hello?

Hello? Who is this?

This is Alice Naman calling from WGBH.

Alice. It's so good to hear from you.

What gives me the pleasure?

Well, I received your letter a few days back, and --

and I was wondering if you'd be willing to come in

so we can talk face-to-face?

That sounds lovely.

Good morning.

Mrs. Child. Alice is expecting you.

She's the first door on the left.

When's your husband taking you to France?

Come in.

I have a cake. Would you mind?

Goodness.

It's called the Queen of Sheba cake.

Sounds so exotic.

Oh, it's not really. It's actually quite simple,

which is one of the reasons I adore it.

It's made primarily of lots of yummy chocolate and almonds,

and if you ask me, it's the best darn chocolate cake

you've ever tasted.

Walk with me to the kitchen.

I read it...right away,

and I could see it, but I'm the only girl here, Julia.

It's hard for me, and you have to understand,

it was a challenge just to get them to take you seriously,

which they barely did.

But we've gotten 27 letters.

Is that a lot?

Really? Sounds rather meager.

For us.

People, women especially, want to hear from you.

They do?

Oh.

I'm afraid that is the end of the good news.

Oh, I see.

They're all such snobs.

I'm sorry I dragged you down here for this.

I just...

I wanted to tell you in person.

Well, thank you.

I'm not giving up. I'm going to keep pushing.

You're onto something so big.

I'm just sorry that my colleagues

don't have the vision to see it yet.

Oh.

Where are these gentlemen?

Come.

Is that everyone?

Yes. Yes, it is.

Wonderful. Then I'll begin.

I've heard from Miss Naman.

Alice gave me the diagnosis.

Dead on arrival.

I get it. I look in the mirror every day.

But I'm not giving up so easily.

One of the advantages of looking like me

is that you learn at a young age

how not to take no for an answer.

I'm sorry?

Make a trial episode, and I'll pay for all of it --

food, equipment, the whole kit and caboodle.

Air it, and if it gets traction, well, we'll go from there.

What kind of cake is that?

Well, say yes, and not only will I tell you,

but I'll give you a most generous serving

of the most delicious gateau you've ever tasted.

And I'll even share the recipe.

You see, what makes this dessert so absolutely wicked

is its simplicity.

Your wife could whip it up, and it would turn out

just like this one on her first try.

I'm not married.

Oh, well, then I'll share the recipe with you.

A trial episode, huh?

I think it's a brilliant idea.

Oh, really?

Yes. I wish I had thought of it.

With Mrs. Child covering the cost,

we have nothing to lose.

Look, we've gotten more letters for this woman

than any other guest in the history of "I've Been Reading,"

and that includes some blue chip authors.

I just want to say, for the record, I'm against this.

No offense.

But is this really what we think

public television should be doing?

Cut me a slice.

Hallelujah!

And?

Mm-hmm.

That's my happy boy.

A funny thing happened.

You'll never guess who I got a call from.

James Beard.

Though I like the way your mind works.

And just out of the blue.

Well, who called, Jul?

WGBH.

Or rather, Alice Naman, one of the producers there.

Hmm.

it's the craziest thing.

They want me back.

On "I've Been Reading"?

To promote what?

It'll be years before you and Simca finish that damn book.

Exactly.

Always two beats ahead of me.

Apparently, they've gotten an enormous response

from my little omelette-making performance.

Enormous? How enormous?

27 letters.

They want to test giving me my own show.

Naturally, I was surprised, but it seems awfully fun,

and I did love doing it.

But, Paul,

I need you here to be my partner,

to navigate all of this for me.

So, I'm forced to retire and you go back to work?

Darling, darling.

I won't do it if you don't want me to,

but maybe, together, and if you don't like it,

even if WGBH chooses to take it forward, I won't do it.

It'll be your call.

I'm awfully proud of you.

Truly.

But as merrymaking as it sounds,

I think it's ultimately going to end up a distraction

from the serious work you are doing with Simca.

Oh.

That's God damn huge.

Maybe, when you finish --

If we finish.

You asked me to be your partner.

And as your partner, it would be shameful of me

not to tell you how I really feel.

And how I really feel is this, darling --

I don't think it's a good idea.

Thank you, Paul.

Thank you for being honest with me.

He didn't think it was a good idea?

Apparently not.

The proposal you pitched to them?

Kick me while I'm down, why don't you?

So, you see, I'm in rather a pickle.

A Paul pickle.

It's always a Paul pickle.

Oh.

How much longer?

Well, it's another mile.

Oh!

Where'd you pick up this nasty habit?

Shanghai.

They want to shoot a trial episode, next week, no less.

Oh, shit.

And I do so want to do it.

I can hardly explain it.

When I try to put it into words, it sounds rather banal,

even to me, but there was something

about being in front of a camera like that that just felt right.

It was...

as if I came into focus.

That's fucking beautiful.

You may need to help Paul see what you've articulated

so artfully.

Don't look at me, honey.

I'm the third wheel that crashes your dinners.

Oh, nonsense. You're the one who figured out

how to get "Mastering" published.

You know what you need?

You need someone Paul really respects to rally his troops.

It's time to bring out the big guns.

Did you grow?

Oh. Oh, girl, I think you shrank.

Thank you.

Mmm. That's just lovely.

And that's the thing, Judith.

We worked on God damn Part One 10 years,

and we're already fading from the discussion.

What discussion?

The discussion of how we eat.

That's not a discussion. It's never been a discussion.

Your book made it seem like we could start

having that discussion for about five minutes.

But it's not a discussion, as yet, we have in this country.

Well, it ought to be.

Oh.

Thank you.

I'm not wearing one of those.

Oh, Judith, really.

Part of the fun.

For you, fine.

Sometimes, when I think, the choices I made

and the choices Paul made, the choices life made for us,

I fear, at the end of the day, that it's all going to add up

to nothing more than lying flat on a shelf of remainders.

Julia.

Ooh, but at this stage of my life,

I don't want to feel invisible.

I want to feel relevant.

I want to be relevant.

Well, then, you have to do it.

Mmm.

Ooh, that drawn butter is criminally good.

Why, Judith, a more liberal dipping

will really bring out the sweetness of the lobster meat.

Allow me.

Mm.

There's more flesh in there if you're willing to suck it out.

So, how can I be of service?

So, you came all the way to Boston for that?

Sometimes, it's better to have difficult conversations

face-to-face.

Egads! They were that disappointed?

They were really hoping you'd consider their offer,

especially as, as they see it, you have nothing to lose.

Dinner is served.

Ooh. Dark meat?

Mmm. Yum.

It's just one episode.

Our answer is no.

Shoot it next week, and then you can walk away.

No questions asked.

I said no.

I'm beginning to think the trip was to see us, not them.

Oh, Paul.

I have enormous respect for you, for Anne Frank alone,

but how can I be so base as to let my good wife

hock her wares like a door-to-door salesman

on television?

Bon appétit, everyone.

It's public television, Paul.

Its mandate is to educate.

As yet, it hasn't figured out how to do that

without putting people to sleep.

But this -- this amorphous thing

they're proposing could be anything.

You two can make it anything and do something

to better this still-young country while you're at it.

You were a diplomat for so many years.

Think of it as cultural diplomacy.

And Julia as our attaché.

Diplomacy?

That's what it is, isn't it?

Our time in France changed us both in such a profound way.

What we eat is so deeply connected

to how we see ourselves,

to our -- our role in our society.

Imagine...

So true.

And yet, I've never heard it articulated so beautifully.

Ow!

I can almost see it.

Earthen, yet international.

A budding rose in a forest of dandelions.

A beacon shining her light

into the darkness of the American kitchen.

It's too much, Paul.

I really think your original impulse was the right one.

Can't even fathom it at this point of our lives.

But you're a star.

So, should we say yes?

It has to be rarefied.

And Francophile.

Of course.

If she's going to do it, she needs to do it right.

Keep it smart. Keep it true.

At the same time, my love, I do think it should be a show

where any old American housewife in the country

can make whatever it is I'm making.

Brilliant. French food for everyone,

not just the White House.

And yet, at the same time, highly discerning.

Highly.

You can see it, can't you?

Nope.

Yes.

To Julia.

And her Michelin chicken.

To Julia.

To us.

We should show it to some people.

A gallery.

This is your moment, Paul.

Paul. Paul. Dear.

Hmm? Oh.

Mm. Mm. Mm.

Mm. No. No.

What?

What?

Perfect.

Hello, dear.

I'm hoping you can help me deposit this royalty check.

My cookbook. I wrote a cookbook.

Must be some book.

Hello, young man.

I'd like to buy a television.

If you'll follow me.