This has been on my TBR shelf for an embarrassingly long time. Elder Brother bought it as a gift for me several years back. It sounded like such a great idea-- to work your way, recipe by recipe, through a classic cookbook. But somehow, I never picked it up to read.
Then, a few weeks back, a second copy tumbled into my hands. Now I had a copy to BookCross! But I buckled down and read it first, thoroughly enjoying the process. Julie Powell has a lusty sense of humor, just enough askew to be really enjoyable for me. The book reads more like a novel than a memoir, very bloggy, which is probably because she did blog her project. Particularly enjoyable were Powell's fantasy journeys into the life of Paul and Julia Childs. I have My life in France also on my shelf, and am eager to hear for the lady herself.
One passage that did manage to get marked so that I record it was just under midway, when Julie and Eric have just hosted a very successful dinner party in (as she says) a badly lit, crappy Long Island City apartment, sitting around on ottomans and packing boxe. "I felt like a Jane Austen heroine all of a sudden (except, of course, that Jane Austen heroines never cook), confusedly looking on at all the people she loves , their myriad unpredictable couplings and uncouplings. There would be no marriages at the end of this Austen novel, though, no happy endings, no endings at all. Just jokes and friendships and romances and delicious declarations of independence. And I realized that, for this night at least, I didn't much care if anyone was the marrying kind or not -- not even me. Who could tell> Wen none of us new for sure what kind we were exactly, but as long as we were the kind that could sit around eating together and having a lovely time, that was enough.
One more thing. Julie is unabashed about telling her failures and foibles as well as her successes. But she still hasn't convinced me to take up French cooking.