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Film review: Julie & Julia a delicious morsel of a film

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By Stacy Kess

♦♦♦ out of ♦♦♦♦♦

Food maintains life. Good food enhances living. And both Julie and Julia understand that in the movie of their namesakes.

Julie & Julia follows the story of Julie, a failed writer in Queens, on a quest to make every recipe in Julia Child’s cookbook, “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” over 365 days. To be precise, that’s 524 recipes.

The film is based on the memoirs of Julie Powell (“Julie & Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously”) and Julia Child (“My Life in France”). It was adapted into the screenplay by Nora Ephron.

The film switches between Julia’s life in France and around Europe, and Julie’s modern life in Queens. The switches, however, are fluid, as the two lives are portrayed as parallel. This is often pointed out by Julie as she cooks her way through Child’s cookbook, making one tasty morsel after another.

But don’t be fooled: this isn’t a cooking show. This is a memoir, which includes all the ups and downs of real life, if not a little more dramatic. Julie risks her career and marriage to finish the year-long challenge, which Julia faces adversarial French cooks. Yet, Ephron, as both writer and director, maintains the mood as comical and fun, avoiding the heavy-handed drama so often characteristic of even the most fun memoir films.

Furthermore, this film does not leave viewers empty-handed. The movie is inspiring, as well as entertaining. If Julie can cook her way to an empowered self-concept, well, any woman can complete the half-finished project she started long ago. If Julie can be a strong woman by conquering the kitchen, well, so can women with and without culinary prowess.

Julie & Julia is a great Sunday afternoon film, and a fun time as well. And, if nothing else, the film will leave your stomach growling and your mouth watering.

Stacy Kess is a registered nurse and a former newspaper reporter.

Filed under: Film

Column: Gardening like my grandfather

This review is available for reprinting with credit by contacting Feature Freelance at featurefreelance@gmail.com. Please specify the author in the e-mail subject.

By Stacy Kess

My estranged father once told me that my grandfather would garden in his military uniform.

My grandfather, he said, never talked about The War. He wished to forget his memories, using all his relics for a new, lesser purpose. Grandpa’s medals were playthings for my father, which, he admitted, were lost among the games. Grandpa’s uniform became his gardening clothes, as if they were best buried in the dirt.

As I zipped up my gardening pants today, it occurred to me the original use for this pair of thick canvas, waterproof pants. I wore them when I covered the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina as a newspaper reporter.

Between vaccines and planning for the trip, I had stopped at Cabela’s in Dundee, Mich. I carefully picked a pair of pants that would hold up against whatever I would face.

It’s what I faced in these pants that I try to forget. To this day, the memories of Pass Christian, Miss., force a lump into my throat. There was the 3-year-old child that stopped speaking after the hurricane and the barbed wire fence around the town.

Even in the small town that fared considerably well, the destruction was terrible. Military-like barracks were built for residents to replace the destroyed homes.

The areas and people from outside Pass Christian made an equal imprint. People from outside the town traveled many miles to the food tent because to evade hunger.

These memories haunt me in my dreams. When the memorial news stories are played each August, I change the radio station for fear I might start crying again.

When I related my experiences to another nurse recently, I stopped mid-story: I had no voice to continue.

Perhaps I co-opted my pants to try to forget. Perhaps by sullying these pants in my garden, I would blot out my memories. Perhaps the memories would wash off into the dirt and be buried there.

Perhaps I’m just gardening in the way of my grandfather.

Stacy Kess is a registered nurse in Columbus, Ohio, and is taking care of her first garden. She is a former newspaper reporter.

Filed under: Gardening, Hurricane Katrina, WWII

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