As our boat glided along the Seine, the Eiffel Tower came into view, glittering against a piercing blue September sky. The captain popped a bottle of Champagne and handed me a generous pour. I leaned back against the leather seat, letting my skin drink in the sunshine before taking a sip and letting the bubbles fizz and flit across my tongue. The captain waved me toward the front of the boat, gesturing for me to pose for a photo. I raised my glass and grinned, thinking there couldn’t be a more fitting first snapshot for an American food writer visiting Paris to retrace Julia Child’s footsteps.
Much like Julia, I had some of my most formative food memories while living in Paris. We moved there when I was three, and as a kid, I remember looking forward to buying baguettes after school with my mother at a neighborhood boulangerie—sometimes, she’d let me have a pain au chocolat for my goûter. We’d always tear into the fresh baguette as soon as we stepped outside, the crust giving way with a crackly snap. We’d sneak in bites while walking the short distance back to our apartment; she favored the crusty end while I preferred the fluffy middle. Living and eating in Paris made me appreciate not just food, but how feeding ourselves and others nurtures our appetites beyond the plate. Each time my family moved, first to Scotland and then Indonesia before returning to the US, I discovered that my ticket to belonging was through tasting new dishes. However, it was writing about my memories of living in Paris that helped me discover my voice as a writer.
Julia Child’s own Paris chapter spurred her to write the timeless Mastering the Art of French Cooking and eventually even return to film The French Chef, a televised cooking show. Could Julia ever have dreamed she’d one day have a dedicated display at Shakespeare & Co., the Left Bank bookstore where she once pursued French culinary resources? Could she have predicted that she’d inspire generations of home cooks, food lovers, and writers to express themselves in their kitchens—and embark on their own food-inspired pilgrimages to the City of Light? In retracing Julia’s footsteps, alongside two fellow travelers and a charming local host, I sought not only to eat and cook like her, but to understand her enduring legacy on a deeper level.
-2.jpg)
When they first arrived in Paris 75 years ago, Julia and her husband Paul had stayed at the historic Hôtel Pont Royal in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, but I think she would approve of my fancy quarters at the nearby Hotel d’Aubusson, still within walking distance of several of her favorite haunts. On the outdoor terrace at Les Deux Magots, where Julia famously had her first breakfast in Paris, I perched on a wicker chair and sipped a café crème while watching parents usher children with overloaded backpacks to school on the first day of la rentrée. Julia’s go-to was a café complet with coffee, a viennoiserie, baguette, and butter, but I honored Julia by upgrading to The Hemingway to sample a perfectly rolled French omelet.
Café de Flore remains another stalwart of the sixth arrondissement for locals and tourists alike. Under the wide cream awning with dark green lettering, a setting that typified Parisian restaurants for Julia unfolded: small round tables crowding the terrace with just enough room for two, woven chairs, and a red-and-green-woven stool on the side where one might place extra baskets of bread or one’s purse. Inside, I sat in the company of the spirits of literary greats and intellectuals and a salade Niçoise with a side of perfectly crisp salt-and-pepper potato chips.
