PBS was not a mainstay in my home when I was growing up. Our reception was always scratchy, so unless the show was something special (“I, Claudius,” “Elizabeth R”), I didn’t watch it. As a result, I essentially missed the age of the great chefs on TV, including Julia Child and Jacques Pépin, separate and together. I don’t know if I would have watched them anyway, as I wasn’t interested in cooking as a child. Eating, yes. Cooking, no.

I was a little skeptical when a member of my book club chose Pépin’s “The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen” as our reading selection. This isn’t a foodie book group, though we did read Robb Walsh’s “Sex, Death & Oysters” last year, a choice that has had me hankering for those blessed little bivalves ever since. And I wasn’t familiar with his approach to food.

But once I cracked the spine, I was sorry for all I had missed. I couldn’t get enough of the book, which was originally released in 2003.

In the beginning, I savored most every sentence, slowly digesting the choice morsels Pépin served up of his early years. There were stories of extreme hardship because of the war, yet his mother managed to open a restaurant and make a go of it. There were stories of how hard it was to be separated from his family during the summers when children of his generation went off to work on farms. There were stories of working his way up through various kitchens until he became chef for Charles de Gaulle.

Some of the Gallic flavor in these pages was reminiscent of Ludwig Bemelmans’ charming memoirs, including “Hotel Bemelmans.” No matter the difficulty, Pépin seemed to move through each phase with a healthy attitude of accepting what life had to offer. He wasn’t happy about going into the military, for example, but he did, and he became a better chef for it.

I raced through the American half of the book, not because the anecdotes were any less interesting. There’s the story of how he had to chose between being chef for the Kennedys in the White House or working for Howard Johnson’s, and he opted for the latter. But this portion of the book fascinated me because I discovered that Pépin had lived for a number of years in the same county that I did in upstate New York, although not at the same time.

Greene County, just south of Albany, is home to two famous ski resorts, Hunter Mountain and Windham, and Pépin made great use of both during his residence there. I was more of an après-ski person myself and focused on warm toddies by a roaring fire, but I learned what he did: This corner of the world, lush and green in the summer, offered great produce, both wild and cultivated. If you know the area, you can just picture him and neighboring chefs, including Pierre Franey, cooking up some memorable dinners with what they could round up. A scene in which he buys rabbit is hilarious and shows the difference between the European and the American approach to food. (Though the restaurant scene in the county was meager, another famed chef, Thomas Keller of the French Laundry, got his big break there when he served as chef of a French restaurant called La Rive.)

By the time I finished the book, I didn’t want to let it go. So, I started making a couple of the recipes that Pépin features at the end of each chapter. they show his love of simple fare made with the best ingredients. The first was Les Oeufs Jeanette, a stuffed egg recipe that his mother developed and that has been a staple his entire life. I’ve made them twice now and will certainly serve them again.

“The Apprentice” made be seven years ago, which is a lifetime in the publishing business. Yet it has received some national attention in recent weeks when Saveur magazine included it on its annual 100 list. Here’s what reader Charlotte Belair of Vancouver, British Columbia had to say about the book:

“At the public library where I used to work, a lot of books crossed my desk, but something about ‘The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen,’ a memoir by the French chef Jacques Pepin, immediately spoke to me. I took it home, and by the next day, I was telling my co-workers that I thought I might be in love. Whether describing his training in the great restaurants of France or his career in the United States as a chef, television personality, author and teacher, Pepin has an engaging, low-key way of talking about his many accomplishments. His warmth, honesty and joie de vivre always shine through. Each chapter is punctuated with recipes that vividly evoke the period he’s recalling: his mother’s apple tart, with its unfailingly light and tender crust; the braised striped bass he prepared at the New York City restaurant Le Pavillon; the chicken salad he learned to make from the actor Danny Kaye, whose poaching technique he admired. Along the way, Pepin provides the kind of ingenious cooking tips that viewers of his television programs have always treasured. But it’s the example of the man himself, his obvious passion and his dedication to his craft, that I found the most inspiring of all.”

His title, “The Apprentice,” says it all. After more than 70 years, Pépin is still learning, and it is an inspiration for the rest of us to keep at it, too.

For cookbook fanatics, Judith Jones needs no introduction. She is the editor who shaped the writing of some of our favorite cookbook authors, including Julia Child and James Beard. She also co-authored three books with husband Evan Jones, including “The Book of Bread: Knead It, Punch It, Bake It!”

But when Evan died in 1996, she found herself in a void when it came to cooking. Food had, for a while, lost its flavor for her because there was no one to share a meal with day in and day out. “I was not sure that I would ever enjoy preparing a meal for myself and eating alone,” she writes. “I was wrong, and I soon realized that the pleasure that we shared together was something to honor. I found myself at the end of the day looking forward to cooking, making recipes that work for one, and then sitting down and savoring a good meal.”

So, Jones set out to create “The Pleasures of Cooking for One” (Alfred A. Knopf, $27.95). Her audience for this book extends beyond the recently widowed like herself. More than half the population of New York lives alone, Jones writes. The rest of the country is not entirely different. There are students, young professionals starting out and even some married folk who prepare meals regularly only for themselves. Then there are those of us, myself included, who enjoy living alone. We are all potentially part of Jones’ target circle.

But Jones doesn’t want all of us. She is only interested in the serious home cook. “It isn’t a cookbook for what Julia Child used to call ‘the flimsies’ – that is, people who aren’t genuinely interested in cooking and want fast and easy recipes and shortcuts at the expense of taste. This book is for those of who want to roll up your sleeves and enjoy, from day to day, one of the great satisfactions of life.”

So, be prepared, single foodies, to make a Small Meatloaf With a  French Accent, Fillet of Fish in Parchment, Osso Buco With Gremolata, or Steamed Mussels.  Dessert lovers will flip for the Individual Apple Tart, Pear Crisp or Summer Pudding.

If you don’t want to tackle a new dish every day, Jones offers a series of recipes where you cook a large cut of meat one day and either reheat the remainder or use  it in different ways until it’s gone. So, imagine stewing Boeuf Bourguignon for one, then incorporating the leftovers in a Beef and Kidney Pie or a meaty pasta sauce. It’s a technique that reminded me of Robert Farrar Capon’s “The Supper of the Lamb” from the 1960s, and it still works today.

The book is sprinkled liberally with cooking tips and hints on topics such as “Ways of Using Up Milk” or “Duxelles: A Way of Preserving Your Mushrooms.”

Here’s her advice on cleanup: “One of the complaints I hear about home cooking is that it’s so messy and time-consuming, particularly all that washing up. And just for one? Most recipes call for more bowls than you may have on your shelf. I find that if you line things up on a work surface close to your stove, you don’t need all those bowls. And in making recipes for breads, pastries and the like, wax paper comes in very handy. You can toss the dry ingredients together on a large piece of wax paper, then pick it up carefully, and funnel the dry ingredients into the bowl of your mixer while it is running.”

What I’m most grateful for in this book may come as a surprise. It’s Jones’ recipe for mayonnaise, which uses a food processor. I was once told not to use this method because the motor overheats the mixture and it never sets up. Yet her version works, and you don’t have a great deal left over, so there’s no waste involved.

No matter how many people you’re feeding – and Jones’ recipes can be easily doubled or tripled–“The Pleasures of Cooking for One” proves to be pure pleasure for mind and for palate.

As I watched Lidia Bastianich masterfully present a series of dishes here Sunday night,  lecturing and entertaining all the while, I reflected upon her stature as national treasure.

The late Julia Child was, of course, our national treasure. Though her spirit lives on, she is gone, and it could be we feel we need another master chef to take her place. Someone to lead us gently but firmly through the basics of a venerable cuisine, instructing us to master what is difficult and instilling in us respect for the simple.  We need someone who imparts not only lessons in preparing food well, but in eating with joy and thoughtfulness.

I believe Lidia is such a one. We don’t see her flouncing around on the Food Network, brandishing her knife in those silly commercials or showing us how difficult she can be to work with in a kitchen.  As did Julia, she does what she does with steadiness and grace, without gimmickry, but in singular style.  If she is motherly, that is because she raised a family. If she can be stern and exacting, doesn’t that fit with our fond stereotype of the Italian matriarch gathering her extended family around her table?

Of course it does. During her presentation on Sunday, as she prepared fresh broccoli raab for a pasta dish with Italian sausage, she looked up from her work to tell the audience to pipe down.

“OK,”  she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “You are talking. And you and I can’t talk at the same time.”  Those who were listening laughed. Those who were talking stopped.

This is what we need. I won’t tout Lidia as the next president of the United States. But when a wise and knowledgeable person talks, on whatever the subject, wouldn’t it be good if we could all be quiet and listen; that rude people might pay attention instead of interrupting?

Bastianich was asked, during the question and answer session, about her relationship with Child. It was a friendship as well as a professional collaboration. “Julia always was very curious about Italian food,” Bastianich said.  But the two personalities met on another level as well.  They recognized that, in addition to providing nourishment, one of the messages that comes from food is “the social element, the sharing of ideas, sharing a meal,” said Bastianich.

Sharing a meal? How much do we do that anymore? Some have said that the recession might be bringing families together around the dinner table. I don’t have any figures to back this up, but I’d like to think that it was true. And if it is true, who better to guide us back with some very, very good food reasonably easy to prepare at home than Bastianich?

Child presented Americans with culinary lessons that would raise our level of  sophistication, make us aware of what a classic cuisine was all about and how introduce its lessons into our lifestyle. I might not make boeuf  à la bourguignonne once a month, but I can tell you that when I want to brown cubes of beef, I pat them dry before introducing them to the properly heated oil in the pan. When I use wine in a recipe I don’t use wine I wouldn’t drink, and I have no fear of butter.

I like the idea of Bastianich as our new, most respected chef. But  she will never be the “new” Julia, nor would we want her to be.  She would remain completely what she is and has always been —a wonderful personality, expert cook and teacher.

The following are links to recipes for the dishes Bastianich presented at the KLRN Chef Series Sunday, Nov. 1, at the St. Anthony Hotel in San Antonio.  The Italian-American chef’s  Public Television series, “Lidia’s Italy”, airs locally on KLRN, several days during the week. Her book is “Cooking From The Heart of Italy,” which she wrote with her daughter, Tanya Bastianich Manuali (Knopf, $35).

Celery Root and Apple Salad

Dittalini with Broccoli Raab

Fillet of Grouper Matalotta Style

The recent release of the hit movie “Julie & Julia” has spawned plenty of discussion about Julia Child, her life and recipes and Julie Powell’s writings. Here is a quick roundup of the articles you’ll find on SavorSA inspired by the movie:

• A Sprinkling of Literary Liberties, Yet ‘Julie & Julia’ Still Cooks
• Julia Child’s Recipe for Boeuf Bourguignon
• Exult in the Richness of Julia Child’s Chocolate Pastry
• ‘Julie & Julia’: Like the Best Soufflé, Sheer Enjoyment
• Happy Birthday, Julia Child
• Wine review: Laetitia Sparkling Rosé
• Cecil Sez: Julia on Stage
• WalkerSpeak: My Encounters With Julia
• Joys of Cooking With Rombauer’s Classic
• ‘Avoca Café Cookbook’
• ‘Larousse Treasury of Country Cooking’
• ‘The Way to Cook’

Photo: Jonathan Wenk (Sony/Columbia Pictures)

According to Julie Powell, “The road to hell is paved with leeks and potatoes.”

In her self-described “chick lit” book, “Julie & Julia,” bad news from a doctor prompts her to create a comfort food, Potage Parmentier, emphasizing that “simple” ingredients do not equate to an “easy” dish.

That’s not how director-screenwriter Nora Ephron begins her reinvention of Julie Powell’s story in the film version. Her Julie is introduced to us as a despairing secretary, endlessly answering calls from New York’s 9/11 victims.

Two different beginnings for the introduction of Julie’s character, yet they still led to the same place: someone who finds consolation through cooking.

In linking the lives of Julie Powell and Julia Child, Ephron took a few liberties from the original stories, as do most screenwriters.  Adapting two separate works for the same screen may warrant more deviations from the source materials than is usual.  And to make things even more confusing, Powell changes things around from the original blog.  That potato soup referenced earlier?  In the blog, she made it on Friday, Aug. 30, not the day the blog was conceived which was Aug. 25.  Little details? Yes.  Does it matter? Probably not.

The bones of the stories are still there; the messages remain the same.  The goodness of Julia Child’s movie persona could make most saints pale in comparison.  Julie Powell is shown as more neurotic and less profane than she probably is in real life.  Her girlfriends are probably not as one-dimensional as they were portrayed in the lunch scene — all ordering variations on the same Cobb salad.  (Again, another scene that was not in either the book or blog.)

Ephron wants us to realize that comforting feeling that comes from the predictability of a recipe.  Life’s path may seem arbitrary, but there are always things we can control, even if it is simply what’s for dinner.

So is Leek & Potato Soup the path to hell or a diversion to salvation?  You decide.

Potage Parmentier
(Leek or Onion and Potato Soup)

Leek and potato soup smells good, tastes good, and is simplicity itself to make.  It is also versatile as a soup base; add watercress and you have a watercress soup, or stir in cream and chill it for a vichyssoise.  To change the formula a bit, add carrots, broccoli, or anything else you think would go with it, and vary the proportions as you wish.

For about 2 quarts serving 6 to 8 people.

A 3- to 4-quart saucepan or pressure cooker
3 to 4 cups or 1 pound peeled potatoes, sliced or diced
3 cups or 1 pound thinly sliced leeks including the tender green; or yellow onions
2 quarts of water
1 tablespoon salt
4 to 6 tablespoons whipping cream or 2 to 3 tablespoons butter
2 to 3 tablespoons minced parsley or chives

Either simmer the vegetables, water, and salt together, partially covered, for 40 to 50 minutes until the vegetables are tender; or cook under 15 pounds of pressure for 5 minutes, release pressure, and simmer uncovered for 15 minutes.

Mash the vegetables in the soup with a fork, or pass the soup through a food mill.  Correct seasoning.  Set aside uncovered until just before serving, then reheat to the simmer.

Take off heat and just before serving, stir in the cream or butter by spoonfuls.  Pour into a tureen or soup cups and decorate with the herbs.

Adapted from “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” by Julia Chile, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck

In the film “Julie & Julia,” the simple act of pouring chocolate filling into a tart crust is enough to elicit gasps of approval from the audience, sending viewers’ taste buds into overdrive.

If , after seeing the movie, you wanted to create your own version of this decadent looking treat, then look no further for the recipe. Below is an adaptation of the recipe featured in “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” by Julia Child, Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle.

You can choose your own version of the tart crust before topping it — that is, if you don’t eat the cream by itself.

A word of warning: The recipe is lengthy, not because it is difficult, but because Child and her co-authors go into great detail on how to make the various elements as best as can be expected. So, don’t let the length deter you. The end result is worth it.

But reading through the intense detail gives you some idea of Child’s passion as well as the scope of Julie’s Powell’s project of cooking her way through the entire cookbook.

Tartes Sucrées

French dessert tarts, like French entrée tarts and quiches, are open faced and stand supported only by their pastry shells. They should be beautiful to look at.

The Pastry

The pastry for dessert tarts shells is molded and baked in a flan ring or a false-bottomed cake pan so that the shell may be unmolded. You may use either paté brisée sucrée, sweet short paste, which is ordinary short paste with sugar added, or paté sablée, sugar crust, which, besides flour and butter, contains eggs and usually more sugar. We give proportions for both here.

Paté Brisée Sucrée
(Sweet Short Paste)

• For an 8-to 9-inch shell, proportions for 1 1/2 cups flour
• For a 10- to 11-inch shell, proportions for 2 cups flour

Proportions for 1 cup flour:

• 2/3 cup flour (scooped and leveled)
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 5 1/2 tablespoons fat: 4 tablespoons chilled butter and 1 1/2 tablespoons chilled
• vegetable shortening
• 2 1/2 to 3 tablespoons cold water

Place the flour in the mixing bowl, mix in the sugar and salt, then proceed to make the dough and mold the shell either by hand or in the food processor.

Hand mixing: Your must train yourself to work rapidly, particularly if your kitchen is warm, so that the butter will soften as little as possible.  Use very quick, light finger movements, and do not linger on the dough at all with the warm palms of your hands.  A pastry blender may be used if you wish, but a necessary party of learning how to cook is to get the feel of the dough in your fingers.

Place flour, salt, sugar, butter, and vegetable shortening in a big mixing bowl.  Rub the flour and fat together rapidly between the tips of your fingers until the fat is broken into pieces the size of oatmeal flakes.  Do not overdo this step as the fat will be blended more thoroughly later.

Add the water and blend quickly with one hand, fingers held together and slightly cupped, as you rapidly gather the dough into a mass.  Sprinkle up to 1 tablespoon more water by droplets over any un-massed remains and add them to the main body of the dough.  Then press the dough firmly into a roughly shaped ball.  It should just hold together and be pliable, but not sticky.  Proceed to the fraisage.

In a food processor:  Measure the dry ingredients into the bowl (equipped with the steel blade).  Quarter the chilled sticks of butter lengthwise and cut crosswise into 3/8″-inch pieces; add to the flour along with the chilled shortening.  Flick the machine on and off 4 or 5 times, then measure out a scant half cup of iced water.  Turn the machine on and pour it all in at once; immediately flick the machine on and off several times, and the dough should begin to mass on the blade.  If not, dribble in a little more water and repeat, repeating again if necessary.  Dough is done when it has begun to mass; do not overmix it.  Scrape the dough out onto your work surface, and proceed to the fraisage.

The fraisage (or final blending):  Place the dough on a lightly floured pastry board.  With the heel of one hand, not the palm, which is too warm, rapidly press the pastry by two-spoonful bits down onto the board and away from you in a firm, quick smear of about 6 inches.  This constitutes the final blending of fat and flour, or fraisage.

With a scraper or spatula, gather the dough again into a mass; knead it briefly into a fairly smooth round ball.  Sprinkle it lightly with flour and wrap it in waxed paper.  Either place the dough in the freezing compartment of the refrigerator for about 1 hour until it is firm but not congealed, or refrigerate for 2 hours or overnight.

Uncooked pastry dough will keep for 2 to 3 days under refrigeration, or may be frozen for several weeks.  Always wrap it airtight in waxed paper and a plastic bag.

Rolling out the dough.  Because of its high butter content, roll out the dough as quickly as possible, so that it will not soften and become difficult to handle.

Place the dough on a lightly floured board or marble.  If the dough is hard, beat it with the rolling pin to soften it.  Then knead it briefly into a fairly flat circle.  It should be just malleable enough to roll out without cracking.

Lightly flour the top of the dough.  Place rolling pin across center and roll the pin back and forth with firm but gentle pressure to start the dough moving.  Then, with a firm, even stroke, and always rolling away from you, start just below the center of the dough and roll to within an inch of the far edge.

Lift dough and turn it at a slight angle.

Give it another roll.  Continue lifting, turning, and rolling, and, as necessary, sprinkle board and top of dough lightly with flour to prevent sticking.  Roll it into a circle 1/8 inch thick and about 2 inches larger all around than your pie pan or flan ring.  If your circle is uneven, cut off a too-large portion, moisten the edge of the too-small portion with water, press the two piece of pastry together, and smooth them with your rolling pin.

The dough should be used as soon as it has been rolled out, so that it will not soften.

Making a pastry shell.

• Flan ring
• False-bottomed cake pan

A French tart is straight sided and open faced, and stands supported only by its pastry shell.  In France the shell is molded in a bottomless metal flan ring that has been set on a baking sheet.  When the tart is done, the ring is removed and the tart is slid from the baking sheet to the rack or the serving dish.  You can achieve the same effect by molding your pastry in a false-bottomed, straight-sided, cake pan 1 to 1 1/2 inches deep.  When the shell is ready for unmolding, the pan is set over a jar and the false bottom frees  the shell from the sides of the pan.  It is then, with the aid of a long-bladed spatula, slid off its false bottom and onto a rack or the serving dish.  You can also make pastry shells using two matching pie pans; once in a while the weight of the filling will force the outward-slanting sides of the shell to collapse, so we are not recommending it.

Partially baked pastry shells are used for quiches and for tarts whose filling cooks in the shell.  Fully baked shells are for tarts filled with cooked ingredients that need only a brief reheating, or for fresh fruit tarts that are served cold.

Butter the inside of the mold.  If you are using a flan mold, butter the baking sheet also.

Either reverse the dough onto the rolling pin, and unroll it over the mold; or fold the dough in half, in half again, then lay it in the mold and unfold it.

Press the dough lightly into the bottom of the cake pan, or onto the baking sheet if you are using a flan ring.  Then lift the edges of the dough and work it gently down the inside edges of mold with your fingers, taking in about 3/8 inch of dough all around the circumference.  This will make the sides of the pastry shell a little thicker and sturdier.  Trim off excess dough by rolling the pin over the top of the mold.

Then with your thumbs, push the dough 1/8 inch above the edge of the mold, to make an even, rounded rim of dough all around the inside circumference of the mold.

Press a decorative edge around the rim of the pastry with the dull edge of a knife.

Prick bottom of pastry with a fork at 1/2-inch intervals.

To keep the sides of the pastry shell from collapsing and the bottom from puffing up, either butter the bottom of another mold, weight it with a handful of dry beans, and place it inside the pastry; or line the pastry with buttered, lightweight foil, or buttered brown paper.  Press it well against the sides of the pastry, and fill it with dried beans.  The weight of the beans will fold the pastry against the mold during the baking.

Refrigerate if not baked immediately.

Bake at the middle level of a preheated 400-degree oven for 8 to 9 minutes until pastry is set.  Remove mold or foil and beans.  Prick bottom of pastry with a fork to keep it from rising.  Bake for 7 to 10 minutes more, or until the shell is very lightly browned.

Unmolding: When the shell is done, unmold it and slip it onto a rack.  Circulation of air around it while it cools will prevent it from getting soggy.

Pate Sablée
(Sugar Crust)

Sugar crusts are particularly good with fruit tarts. They are more delicate than sweet short paste shells because of their eggs and additional sugar. The more sugar you mix in, the more difficult it is to roll and mold the pastry because it is sticky and breaks easily; the larger proportion of sugar, however, makes a delicious crust, actually a cookie dough.

The following directions are for making the pastry by hand. Food processor directions are the same for regular short paste dough.

For a 9- to 10-inch shell:

• 1 1/2 cups flour (scooped and leveled)
• 3 to 7 tablespoons sugar
• 1/8 teaspoon double-action baking powder
• 7 tablespoons fat: 5 tablespoons chilled butter and 2 tablespoons chilled vegetable shortening
• A 3-quart mixing bowl
• 1 egg beaten with 1 teaspoon water
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• A pastry board
• Waxed paper

Place the flour, sugar, butter, vegetable shortening, and baking powder in the mixing bowl. Rub the fat and dry ingredients together rapidly with the tips of your fingers until the fat is broken into bits the size of small oatmeal flakes. Blend in the egg and vanilla, and knead the dough rapidly into a ball. Place on the pastry board and with the heel of your hand, not the palm, rapidly press the pastry by two-spoonful bits down on the board and away from you in a firm, quick smear of about six inches. The dough will be quite sticky if you have used the full amount of sugar. Form again into a ball, wrap in waxed paper, and chill for several hours until firm.

Mold the pastry in a flan ring or false-bottomed cake pan. Work rapidly if you have used the full amount of sugar, as the dough softens quickly.

Sugar crusts must be watched while in the oven as they burn easily if the full sugar proportions have been used.  Because the dough is collapsible until it has firmed in the oven, it is essential that the dough be held in place against the sides of the mold by lining of foil and beans or a bean0filled mold, as detailed in the directions for molding in the recipe for the previous crust.

Bake the sugar crust shell in the middle level of a preheated, 375-degree oven for 5 to 6 minutes until the dough is set.  Then remove the lining, prick the bottom of the pastry with a fork in several places, and bake for 8 to 10 minutes more.  The shell is done when it has shrunk slightly from the mold and begins to brown very lightly.  Immediately remove the mold from the shell and slip the shell onto a rack.  It will become crusty as it cools.

Note: Leftover dough, securely wrapped, will keep for several days in the refrigerator or may be frozen.

Crème Patissere
(custard filling)

This custard is also made of egg yolks, sugar and milk, but unlike crème anglaise, it contains flour so it may be brought to a boil, and is much thicker. The proportions of flour vary according to the use of the  filling; the following recipe is designed as a base for fruit tarts. With the addition of beaten egg whites it becomes a crème Saint-Honore and may be used as a filling for cream puffs, or may be mixed with fruit to make a quick dessert.

For about 2 1/2 cups.

• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 5 egg yolks
• A 3-quart mixing bowl
• A wire whip or electric beater

Gradually beat the sugar into the egg yolks and continue beating for 2 to 3 minutes until the mixture is pale yellow and forms the ribbon.

• 1/2 cup flour (scooped and leveled)

Beat in the flour.

• 2 cups boiling milk

Beating the yolk mixture, gradually pour on the boiling milk in a thin stream of droplets.

• A clean, heavy-bottomed 2 1/2 quart, enameled sauce-pan
• A wire whip

Pour into a saucepan and set over moderately high heat. Stir with wire whip, reaching all over bottom of pan. As sauce comes to a boil it will get lumpy, but will smooth out as you beat it. When boil is reached, beat over moderately low heat for 2 to 3 minutes to cook the flour. Be careful custard does not scorch in the bottom of pan.

• 1 tablespoon butter
• 3 ounces or squares of semisweet baking chocolate melted with 2 tablespoons rum or coffee and 2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Remove from heat and beat in the butter, then chocolate mixture. If the custard is not used immediately, clean it off the sides of the pan, and dot top of custard with softened butter to prevent a skin from forming over the surface. Crème Patissiere will keep for a week under refrigeration, or may be frozen.

John Griffin and Cecil Flengte contributed to this report.

Photo By: Jonathan Wenk (Sony/Columbia Pictures)

Cooking great Julia Child was born on Aug. 15, 1912. That means she would have been 97 this Saturday.

To celebrate her culinary genius, we’re asking you to do something in her honor and share the details in a post below. You could cook one of her recipes, watch the film “Julie & Julia” at the theaters, or dine out on a favorite dish you associate with her.

COCO Chocolate Lounge and Bistro, 18402 U.S. 281, is one place offering a dish in her memory. Boeuf bourguignon is the restaurant’s special this weekend for $19. Reservations are recommended and can be made by calling (210) 491-4480.

Whatever you do, don’t forget the butter. It was one of Julia’s favorites.

Many of the people we spoke with after preview screenings of “Julie & Julia” had one thing on their minds: boeuf bourguignon. The hearty beef stew is a centerpiece of one of the movie’s more appetizing food scenes.

Jessica Young was so inspired by the movie that she went out in search of her own copy of “Mastering the Art of French Cooking. “I’m obsessed,” she says. “Since the movie I have been lucky enough to find a 14^th printing of her first cookbook in Half Price Books (I love that it is used …) and I made beef bourguignon, which I have to say is very delicious!”

COCO Chocolate Lounge and Bistro, 18402 U.S. 281 N., Suite 114, is serving the dish tonight, Aug. 7, as a special.

But if you would rather try it at home, like Julie Powell and Jessica Young, here is Julia Child’s original recipe, lightly adapted  from “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” and complete with her comments:

Boeuf Bourguignon
Boeuf a la Bourguignonne
[Beef Stew in Red Wine, with Bacon, Onions, and Mushrooms]

As is the case with most famous dishes, there are more ways than one to arrive at a good boeuf bourguignon. Carefully done, and perfectly flavored, it is certainly one of the most delicious beef dishes concocted by man, and can well be the main course for a buffet dinner. Fortunately, you can prepare it completely ahead, even a day in advance, and it only gains in flavor when reheated.

Vegetable and wine suggestions: Boiled potatoes are traditionally served with this dish. Buttered noodles or steamed rice may be substituted. If you also wish a green vegetable, buttered peas would be your best choice. Serve with the beef a fairly full-bodied, young red wine, such as Beaujolais, Cotes du Rhone, Bordeaux-St. Émilion or Burgundy.

For 6 people.

• A 6-ounce chunk of bacon

Remove rind, and cut bacon into lardoons (sticks, ¼-inch thick and 1 1/2-inches long). Simmer rind and bacon for 10 minutes in 1 ½ quarts of water. Drain and dry.

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

• A 9- to 10-inch fireproof casserole 3 inches deep
• 1 tablespoon olive oil or cooking oil
• A slotted spoon

Sauté the bacon in the oil over moderate heat for 2 to 3 minutes to brown lightly. Remove to a side dish with a slotted spoon. Set casserole aside. Reheat until fat is almost smoking before you sauté the beef.

• 3 pounds lean stewing beef cut into 2-inch cubes

Dry the beef in paper towels; it will not brown if it is damp. Sauté it, a few pieces at a time, in the hot oil and bacon fat until nicely browned on all sides. Add it to the bacon.

• 1 sliced carrot
• 1 sliced onion

In the same fat, brown the vegetables. Pour out the sautéing fat.

• 1 teaspoon salt
• ¼ teaspoon pepper
• 2 tablespoons flour

Return the beef and bacon to the casserole and toss with the salt and pepper. Then sprinkle on the flour. Set casserole uncovered in middle position of pre-heated oven for 4 minutes. Toss the meat and return to oven for 4 minutes more. (This browns the flour and covers the meat with a light crust.) Remove casserole, and turn oven down to 325 degrees.

• 3 cups of a full-bodied young red wine, such as one of those suggested for serving, or a Chianti
• 2 to 3 cups brown beef stock or canned beef bouillon
• 1 tablespoon tomato paste
• 2 cloves mashed garlic
• ½ teaspoon thyme
• A crumbled bay leaf
• The blanched bacon rind

Stir in the wine and enough stock or bouillon so that the meat is barely covered. Add the tomato paste, garlic, herbs and bacon rind. Bring to simmer on top of the stove. Then cover the casserole and set in lower third of pre-heated oven. Regulate heat so liquid simmers very slowly for 2 ½ to 3 hours. The meat is done when a fork pierces it easily.

• 18 to 24 small white onions, brown-braised in stock.
• 1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/2 cup beef stock
• salt & fresh ground pepper
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 sprig thyme
• 2 sprigs parsley

• 1 pound fresh mushrooms, quartered
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 tablespoon olive oil

While the beef is cooking, prepare the onions and mushrooms.

Heat the butter and oil in a large skillet and add the onions to the skillet. Sauté over medium heat for about ten minutes, rolling the onions about so they brown as evenly as possible, without breaking apart. Pour in the stock, season to taste, add the herbs, and cover. Simmer over low heat for about 40 to 50 minutes until the onions are perfectly tender but retain their shape and the liquid has mostly evaporated. Remove the herbs and set the onions aside.

For the mushrooms, heat the butter and oil over high heat in a large skillet. As soon as the foam begins to subside add the mushrooms and toss and shake the pan for about five minutes. As soon as they have browned lightly, remove from heat. Set the mushrooms aside until needed.

When the meat is tender, pour the contents of the casserole into a sieve set over a saucepan. Wash out the casserole and return the beef and bacon to it. Distribute the cooked onions and mushrooms over the meat.

Skim the fat off the sauce. Simmer sauce for a minute or two, skimming off additional fat as it rises. You should have about 2 ½ cups of sauce thick enough to coat a spoon lightly. If too thin, boil it down rapidly. If too thick, mix in a few tablespoons of stock or canned bouillon. Taste carefully for seasoning. Pour the sauce over the meat and vegetables. (Recipe may be completed in advance to this point.)

• Parsley sprigs

For immediate serving: Cover the casserole and simmer for 2 to 3 minutes, basting the meat and vegetables with the sauce several times. Serve in its casserole, or arrange the stew on a platter surrounded with potatoes, noodles, or rice and decorated with parsley.

For later serving: When cold, cover and refrigerate. About 15 to 20 minutes before serving, bring to the simmer, cover and simmer very slowly for 10 minutes, occasionally basting the meat and vegetables with the sauce.

From knopfdoubleday.com and www.RecipeZaar.com.

We wonder if it is necessary, after all the talk leading up to “Julie & Julia,” to explain who the two women whose names are in the title are. But just in case you’ve been dozing off during food discussions lately, we’ll introduce them. They are Julia Child, the famous chef who died in 2004, and a disciple whom she never met, Julie Powell.

Child came to fame by starting at the Cordon Bleu in Paris, then slaving over a book, with Simone Beck, that would eventually be published in two volumes and become a culinary classic, “Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” Many more books and cooking classes, and eventually a television career, made Child a household name. She was truly a legend in her own time – for years – and barely had time to slow down before she died at the age of 91.

Julie Powell stepped into the limelight over a period of one year. She utilized a new-media, new-millennium approach to fame — writing a daily blog. This site would eventually attract thousands to read about what was not just a culinary journey but a personal one — a sort of cyberspace version of reality television.

So, what most of us already know about Julia Child is her love of cream and butter, her face and hair and voice, her height, her fine carriage. We remember her humor and sheer love of food. Now that she’s gone, this is ours to own, her legacy to us, along with the many books and videotapes that will keep her name alive. We might not have known that her personal life was as passionate as her cooking, with a supportive husband, Paul (Stanley Tucci of that other foodie film classic, “Big Night”) doting on his Amazon every moment of their married life.

Julie Powell is more of an unknown. She was born up the road in Austin. She and her husband had made a difficult move to Manhattan. Her job is stultifying, the apartment is small and unlovely. She’s a writer, but what has she written? Not much, she complains to her husband. Finally, to fight the despair of not doing something she honestly loves, she decides to cook her way though “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” and document the experience. She, too, is married to someone who loves her madly, though he makes it clear that he prefers sex and dinner on a regular basis to awaiting the increasingly irregular meal, not ready to eat until the wee hours of the morning.

The women’s stories offer numerous parallels, which writer-director Nora Ephron ladles out in homespun, often hilarious ways that aren’t subtle but are as comforting as a helping of boeuf bourguignon. Not only that, the movement back and forth between the two lives is masterfully done; the transitions are seamless.

This film isn’t like Ephron’s earlier marriage film with a foodie title, “Heartburn.” In fact, the domestic bliss that Julia Child lives is refreshingly free of strife and as welcome as one of the butter sauces that sends Child into a swoon.

Helping matters immeasurably is Meryl Streep’s Julia Child, who is lovely, charming, nearly indefatigable and never defeated. The snooty woman who headed the famous Cordon Bleu cooking school that Child attended in Paris never accepted the American, despite the fact that her male classmates soon grew to admire her determination. The role had to be an actor’s dream — to portray someone so many of us knew and loved, and to show us some of the things we may not have been aware of. Streep nails the accent, the much imitated, burbly tones that would become a Child trademark.

But more than that, Streep captures Child’s joie de vivre. Her larger-than-life effervescence matches Child’s 6-foot-2 height.

Amy Adams has the tougher role to perform, because Powell isn’t always that likable. Young, unfocused and, well, whiny, the blogger comes across as the opposite of Child. She wants to find herself — and find herself quickly, at that — yet she relies too much on others to help her. The blog idea is her husband’s, the money for the project soon comes from external sources, she lies to her boss. Yet (spoiler alert) she alone makes every recipe in Child’s book essentially on her own, right down to stuffing the live lobsters into the boiling water, with the oh-so-right Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” on the soundtrack.

Powell has been criticized by some as capitalizing on Child’s fame. But doesn’t every creative person stand on someone’s shoulders at some point in his or her career? To her credit, Powell’s homage to Child is more than evident in her words and deeds every step of the way. Child is her inspiration, her mentor, friend and teacher. The fact that it was her ticket to fame wasn’t the reason she set out to do the blog.

Most of you reading this review are probably more interested in the food than anything else the movie has to offer. Let us just say this: “Julie & Julia” will make you hunger for more than most cinema snack bars offer. The food scenes, in fact, make up for the shock therapy of “Food, Inc.” and other recent documentaries about our food supply. Linger on the images of chocolate pie filling poured slowly into a crust. Or of perfect boeuf bourguignon emerging from an oven. Amazingly enough, even the scene of trussing a boned duck, something most of us would never try, manages to coax a smile while kick-starting your taste buds.

In this area, “Julie & Julia” rises like the airiest soufflé, a dish that manages to be ethereal and joyously rich at the same time.

John Griffin contributed to this review

(Photos Jonathan Wenk / Columbia Pictures )

The air was warm and dry. I shuffled up a step and tipped forward enough to look under the edge of the open-sided tent shading me. Gorgeous mountains, brilliant sunshine, and green trees everywhere to soothe the eye. Some space in the line in front of me opened and I could almost feel the impatience from behind pushing me forward. I shuffled forward the required 14 inches.

It was Aspen, Colo., in the summer of 1990. I was attending the Aspen/Snowmass International Wine Classic, then sponsored by Food & Wine magazine. Not exactly Woodstock, but much better from my perspective. It was a four-day weekend pilgrimage by a whole lot of people who liked to drink wine and eat.

Each day started with seminars on new trends in food or “wines from this, the best place.” There were daily wine luncheons featuring a particular winery or country or importer. On Friday and Saturday you had access to the big tents with hundreds of wines in each, waiting to be poured into your etched festival wine glass. Plus, there were cooking classes with the “Chef from a famous restaurant” or the “Chef that just finished a cookbook” or the “Chef that Food & Wine magazine said to watch.” There were so many things to choose from that you had to sign up for them like registration day in college. Then there was a cooking class with Julia Child.

My wife, Pam, is a great cook and she deftly shouldered the home cooking responsibilities for our marriage for many years. She still cooks, but now it is more when the spirit moves her, because I had gotten the cooking bug in the mid-’80s and pushed her out of the kitchen. Indeed, I became really enthused about it, buying cookbooks, trying this or that, buying kitchen gadgets and watching cooking shows. I saw a few “‘Galloping Gourmet” episodes’, the occasional local chef production, PBS’s “Great Chefs” series, “Yan Can Cook,” “Madeleine Cooks” and, of course, Julia.

I had attended the Aspen/Snowmass International Wine Classic the year before, in its last year in Snowmass. So I had “been there, done that” and there are so many other festivals available, why did I return? Julia Child. There were other reasons that contributed, but Julia was presenting a cooking demonstration and there was a chance to see her live. My previously stated enthusiasm for cooking had reached such an overload that I had started teaching cooking classes about a year and a half before. So there was just the “see a star” aspect to taking a class from Julia, but there was also the “see what she is like when you can’t do another take” aspect.

So as I shuffled forward in line to have Julia sign a cookbook for me, I was reviewing the class she had presented just a few minutes before. Yes, she had a lot of assistants. That just made me jealous and she was about 77 at the time. But she really only used the assistants when they literally took things out of her hands or picked up her cutting board where she was chopping something to finish the task to one side. They were trying to save her the effort and to save time. Saving time because she was talking to us non-stop as she moved through the recipe and preparation. They were trying to keep her on schedule so she could talk to us, answer questions, and just be Julia Child. She played the role very well.

She really was just like she acted in the television series. The emotional radiation from her was “relax and enjoy.” As the assistants would swoop in and take over some small task, she looked to be somewhat amused and just moved on with whatever she was talking with us about. I guess that was the real difference, Julia talked with us, not at us. She shared her expertise and then went on to mention the American Institute of Wine & Food that she had started with Robert Mondavi. We had a good visit, like when you visit a relative you don’t know well and then find out that there is a lot in common.

The little table where Julia was signing autographs was just two people away. I heard the, “I love your books.” And the, “I watch all of your shows.” But I was just watching her, Julia. So when I was front and center, I really had no idea what I would say to her. I think it was something about how I was so happy to meet her. She watched me for a half second, probably because there were not many men in the line and most were on a leash held by the woman that wanted to be there. But then she asked me my name and signed my book. As I stepped away, I read the “To Cecil, Julia Child.” It was nice, but the big thing was I saw her perform on stage. A show I will never forget.