As we settle into the half-moon-shaped, packed auditorium, anticipation crackles through the air.
Our stretched-craning necks move like bobbleheads as we eagerly shift our gaze between Julia Child
and Jacques Pépin. To the left, we catch glimpses of Julia, and to the right, Jacques, as they share
the cooking area, demonstrating their sought-after French recipes. Jacques Pépin with his
seductive French accent captivates the women like rock stars. I watch them wink at each other with
Cheshire-like smiles and breathless sighs when they hear Jacques speak. Who cares if we don’t
understand every word?
The differences between Julia and Jacques were as stark as their physical stature. Julia at 6’2”, a
culinary force from Pasadena commanded attention. At a height of 5’8”, Jacques radiated a mellowness
and charm, a characteristic of France. Their chemistry was as evident as boiling water despite their
differences.
My mind wandered as Jacque’s accent and the tantalizing aromas emanating from his and Julia’s
culinary creations envelop me like a warm embrace.
I close my eyes and am transported to the heart of Paris for a romantic interlude with my
husband and can almost taste the warm baguette, escargots, and a glass of Champagne in my
hand.
Weeks earlier, I met the Editor of Food and Wine Magazine at a cocktail party, who told me about
their upcoming event in Aspen, Colorado. She lived in Scottsdale, my hometown, and learned I loved fine
dining and excellent wine. My overflowing collection of food magazines and cookbooks squeezed into
my kitchen cabinets were a testament to my love of food with rich gravies.
“Do you like Julia Child?” she asked.
Answering with an animated voice of admiration, I replied. “Of course. What respectful cook who
loves sauces, flambés, and desserts, doesn’t love Julia Child?
I quickly made plane reservations and secured tickets for the event, as she told me the event usually
sold out. No one wants to be in Arizona’s July sizzling. temperatures, anyway.
My husband was excited for me. He had a discriminate taste for wine and was hoping I could
bring back a few suggestions from the Aspen Food and Wine event. A steak and potatoes man, he
humored me when I cooked my fancy dishes. I was a novice who sipped wine with the curiosity of a
new student. I hadn’t learned the swirl of the glass stem or the nose of wine yet. My head would
pound like reverberating drums when I forgot to sip slowly and gulp down the wine like a tasty soft
drink. I couldn’t wait to see Julia and Jacque in person.
Thoughts of new French recipes and the newly rated 90+ wines made my head swirl. I
was ready to pack.
Suddenly, gasps with open mouths of disbelief moved through the room like a wave,
gaining momentum at a football game. The smell of the Parisienne food being cooked by our famous
chefs wafted into the audience and put us in an aphrodisiac spell. Until. A woman in the audience shouted
to Julia after she asked if we had questions.
“Do we have to use butter?” the woman in the audience inquired. The once muted, lively chatter
stopped on a dime.
Julia lifted her head sharply with a cocked brow and an irritated look, searching for the person who
dared to question her recipe.
She stopped stirring the ingredients for her classic Roast Chicken, wiped her hands on her apron and
looked into the audience, asking,
“Who asked that question?”
“I did,” said the excited woman, ecstatic that Julia would speak to her.
With her renowned squeaky voice, Julia remarked, “You don’t eat this dish every day.”
She reprimanded with an exasperating voice. “Of course, you use butter. The butter makes it taste good.”
We felt embarrassed for the woman who, undoubtedly, didn’t know about Julia and her cooking
techniques. Her face flushed, with color rising like a thermometer showing increasing temperatures.
Julia turned to Jacques and shook her head in disbelief, then continued our lesson on French sauces made
with two sticks of butter and heavy cream.
My notebook was full of recipes, and I was ready for the Wine part of the Food and Wine exhibition.
Despite the bustling crowd of wine enthusiasts in the Exhibition Hall, I secured an empty
seat at a lengthy table flanked by metal chairs. Plastic clusters of grapes adorned oak barrels,
lent an air of vineyard authenticity to the ambiance. Promotional posters showcasing the
Napa Valley’s finest wines decorated the walls, spreading enthusiasm in the room. I was ready to
immerse myself in the experience.
Placed before me was an assortment of wine glasses. I was a novice and had never been to a wine-
tasting before. I was on a voyage into uncharted territory.
Okay. Now what? A man in his 40s, chubby, his face adorned with a constellation of blood vessels,
revealed a life deeply intertwined with the vine. Methodically, he traversed the rows, pouring from left to
right into our awaiting glasses.
I recalled the price I paid for the ticket to enter this wine part of the exhibition. The amount of the
wine in the glass did not impress me.
Gulp. Umm. That wasn’t bad. Next. Another small pour in my glass. Gulp. The wine moved through
my mouth and throat like a fast shot of tequila. I looked to my right, and a man was swishing the
wine in his mouth like mouthwash. Then, to my surprise, he spit it out in a metal cistern. How rude,
I thought. What the heck? This guy certainly lacks manners. Truly disgusting. Another pour in my glass,
and I was done. Gulp. Two glasses of wine were my limit, and I was feeling a wee bit light-headed. I went
back to my hotel room to lie down before dinner.
A nice dinner should make me feel better and absorb the wine.
The following day, I felt awful. A pounding headache and aches all over. Someone suggested I
see a doctor, thinking I had the flu. The doctor said it was possible and gave me medication.
My body still felt achy after a day in bed, so I decided to go home early. I would miss visiting
Aspen’s rustic village with its occasional sightings of celebrities.
I took a last look at the scenery that left me breathless with its sweeping views of valleys and
sky-high mountains. As I boarded the plane, I vowed to return.
I didn’t feel better until I returned to my 1000-foot elevated Sonoran Desert in Arizona. My friends
who are avid skiers told me,
“Joanne, you probably had altitude sickness with Aspen’s mountains soaring to 8000 feet. Next time
drink lots of water and–very little wine.
I will visit Colorado many times in the future. The beauty of the Colorado Rocky Mountains beckons
me. Restaurants with Bison Burgers, their famous green chili, and the Rocky Mountain Oysters, I have
yet to taste, lure me to their tables.
I now sip wine, not gulp, and drink large amounts of water. I place my hand on the stem of the glass,
slowly swirling to reveal the aromas of the wine. Occasionally, discretely, I will nose the wine to smell
the bouquet. Not put my whole nose in the glass, like the sommeliers. Honestly, I would feel
ridiculous. My love of food and wine still sends me to special events. Julia Child and Jacques Pepin’s
recipes continue to fill my cabinets. Today, I will serve dinner with a good Pinot Noir and Julia Childs’s
recipe for Boeuf Bourguignon with fresh biscuits slathered in butter.
EK, with love 