Julia Child_ A Life - Laura Shapiro [22]
For each two-hour class, Julia typed up and distributed all the recipes they would be working on; and she also prepared a detailed teaching plan so that each instructor—“Prof. Julia,” “Prof. Simca,” and “Prof. Louisette”—would know exactly what she was supposed to do, and when. On March 12, 1952, for instance, the lesson for the day included blanquette de veau, or veal stew; risotto and plain rice; salade mimosa; and two tarts, banana and fruit. First came the introductory remarks by “Prof. Julia.” Then work on the blanquette began, with Prof. Julia teaching the meat, the shallots, and the parsley, and Prof. Simca working with the onions and mushrooms. (Prof. Louisette, who was caught in a terrible marriage and was trying to get out, did less teaching than the others in the early years of the school.) “During this time, Prof. Julia cleans up, puts rice water to boil,” the schedule read. Prof. Simca took charge of the crème pâtissière, or pastry cream; Prof. Julia, the salad and the velouté sauce for the veal; and Prof. Simca the final liaison of cream and egg yolks. (Apparently the lesson went very well—Julia scribbled “good menu” on the sheet.) On the day the plan featured quiche lorraine, puff pastry, steak à la bordelaise, and the meringue layer cake known as a dacquoise, Julia admitted the menu had been “too rich”; and on another occasion she decided the recipes were just too complicated for beginners. No matter what problems may have plagued the cooking, however, every class ended with a triumphant lunch for the teachers, the students, and their guests, typically a husband or two. When school was not in session, Julia and Simca got together in the kitchen to put their teaching recipes into what Julia called “scientific workability.” They had to be “painfully exact,” she told her family—“viz: exactly how much gelatine in exactly how much liquid per exactly how much mayonnaise so you can make pretty curlicues on a fish.” At her request, the family sent over a set of measuring cups and spoons, which were unknown in France.
Julia also gave solo lessons, the first to a French woman who wanted to learn puff pastry. Though Julia had made it dozens of times and thought she understood it, she gave herself a practice session before the class and analyzed every step of the teaching to make sure it would be clear and accurate. Even so, there were two mistakes in the course of the lesson. Afterward, she decided she still lacked the “divine self-confidence” that identified a fine cook. “I want every technique to be perfect,” she told the family with determination, “and if there are errors, they must be made on purpose.” More and more, she could envision teaching at her own school, which she pictured in the kitchen of their Washington house.
Many of the recipes used at L’Ecole des Trois Gourmandes originated with Simca and Louisette, who had been working for years on a French cookbook for Americans. Their idea was to produce a wide-ranging collection of recipes with sections on wines, cheeses, and regional specialties, all authentically French, but written in English and published in the United States. Louisette, who was half American and had a number of friends and contacts in the United States, had taken the manuscript with her on one of her trips to New York and offered it to Sumner Putnam, head of a publishing company called Ives Washburn. Putnam was interested, but he had no experience with cookbooks and was unsure of the market. The manuscript, moreover, was in poor shape. Simca and Louisette had written it in French, and although they had come up with a rough English translation, it needed a great deal of work. Putnam hired a translator and cookbook author, Helmut Ripperger, for the job and asked him to produce a kind of teaser for the book—a little recipe collection drawn from the manuscript and titled “What’s Cooking in France.”