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Members of a 35-year-old cult gathered in Portland last week. As in all cults, its members deify and love their charismatic leader with blind devotion. Some people call them JWs. Not Jehovah's Witnesses--Julia Watchers. Kathy Schwartz, a food marketer from Arlington, Va., talks about Julia Child with reverence, love and awe. "She changed everything," Schwartz says. "She told us if you love it, it's OK to do it. She made food what it is today." Like any devotee, Schwartz has a relic of the food saint, which she bought at an earlier IACP conference and for which she has erected an altar. "It's a little cake spatula. It is tiny and beat up, but it was from Julia's drawer," Schwartz says. "I have it on display in my hutch along with her books." Julia Child is a culinary Martin Luther, bringing the liturgy that had been held by an exclusive circle of French professionals to the cul de sacs of America. The British-born Child became a food televangelist in 1963 with Boston Public Television's The French Cooking Series. She broke through the stereotypes that French cooking was stuffy and inaccessible with a direct approach and willingness to play the fool for the camera--she had a tendency to affectionately slap raw chickens as if they were a baby's bottom. She was also indulgent of American housewives' desire for speed and convenience and happily went against the canon by adjusting ancient recipes to the modern kitchen. But she emphasized the importance of fresh and local foods, and her TV crew often followed her to market so she could show the audience how to choose the best. Like most of the foodies at the IACP conference, Schwartz grew up watching Julia Child on television and came to food the way others come to Jesus--with a passion and whole-hearted devotion to the messenger. Graham Kerr, who will go down in history as the "Galloping Gourmet," thinks people are drawn to Child's purity. She does not do commercial endorsements. You will not find Julia Child cookware at K Mart. Anything she lends her name to is for charity or to advance culinary causes. "This is a very commercial business, but she never compromises," says Kerr, who has his own line of kitchen tools. "I call her the unwrapped soap tablet like they have in hotels. When you unwrap Julia it's as if you are using her for the very first time. You wouldn't want a soap that had been used up by others." During the convention, IACP members had plenty of opportunity for a brush with Julia. She was present at meals, and her spirit pervaded the conference. There were Julia Child Cookbook Awards and a Julia Child Commemorative Plate. But Tuesday night, the Child Cathedral was briefly opened to the public. Child performed in a "Culinary Concert" at Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall with a trio of TV chefs: Kerr, Portland's Caprial Pence and Chinese chef Martin Yan. She didn't do much actual cooking. Rather, she stood aside and watched the younger set cook, choosing instead to preach her doctrine. The congregation was hanging on her words: "Olive oil is not fat," she said with authority, "it's oil." Yes, they murmur. Yes. After the show, Child reigned over a reception at the Hilton. She sat patiently, signing hundreds of books and posing for photographs. When the line in front of her table finally died down, she slowly moved around the room, circling the buffet table, tasting this and that, and smiling benevolently at anyone in sight. Her attendants hovered protectively around her. Susie Swanson was beside herself to be in the same room. She and her husband, Jim, have no connection to the culinary industry, other than the stoves they sell at their Hillsboro appliance shop. But when Swanson, an amateur cook, heard that Child was coming to town, she hinted broadly enough that her husband paid the $128 for the two of them to go. At the reception after the show, Swanson eagerly chatted with IACP attendees, soaking up her brief access to their world. She says she watches Child's show every Saturday and desperately wanted to get an autograph on the cookbook she clutched. She loves Child because of her quick wit and friendly nature, and has a special affinity for her because her husband's grandmother shares a birthday with the chef. "Imagine!" she said. "I could meet Julia Child in person!" Later that evening, Swanson boldly walked up to Child and put her arm protectively around the chef's stooped shoulders while Jim snapped a photograph. A photo with Julia is a prized possession. Genoa owner and chef Cathy Whims says that throughout the conference people have showed off battered photos of themselves with Julia. Some looked 20 years old. Whims understands; like most chefs of her generation, she says, she grew up watching Child on television, and that's where she developed her love for food. "She made people realize food is more than just sustenance," Whims says. "It is life and art." Given Child's advanced age--she's in her mid-80s--there is a bittersweetness to her fans' attentions. Several people commented that it might be the last time they would ever get to see her. But Julia fanaticism does not seem to be waning, even among the younger set. Monika Hortnagl, 16, of Hillsboro was at Tuesday's reception. She has dedicated her life to cooking and plans to open a restaurant after studying at either the Culinary Arts Institute in New York or Portland's Western Culinary Institute. She hopes to have her own TV show someday and follow in the footsteps of local idol Caprial Pence. But it is Child whom she loves. "She is the matriarch of chefs," Hortnagl says. "She brought cuisine to the people." |
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