Last summer I made a goal. After seeing the movie “Julie & Julia,” I told myself I was going to cook my way through an entire section of a cookbook. The book I chose was the “Avoca Café Cookbook,” a treasured volume I had picked up in Ireland a few years ago, and the section was on soup. (Click here.)

It took several months and not a lot of discipline on my part, but I’m happy to report that the last new soup has been made and consumed – and it was as good as the best of the lot.

I learned as much about making soup as I learned about one kitchen’s approach to this labor of love. Quite a few of the recipes begin with softening an onion in olive oil, which provides a natural sweetness. A good vegetarian stock is added later and magically, the flavors blend together, changing with each ingredient.

But most of all, the recipes were simple and straightforward, not fussy yet full of flavor. If this is what Ireland treasures, then it shares something wonderful in common with that other “I” country in Europe: Italy. The emphasis is on layering a few fresh ingredients in a manner in which they all complement each other, so you can enjoy the best that nature has to offer.

It could be something as comforting as cauliflower and cheddar or something as offbeat as parsnip, rosemary and olives.

Along the way, I revisited some old favorites, such as Courgette and Almond, just to make sure they were as good as I remembered. I also was forced to revisit a few vegetables, such as turnips, that I didn’t care for as a child and have largely avoided as an adult. (I still don’t care for them, but soft baby turnips have a more pleasant flavor than their rock-hard adult cousins.)

Some of the journey was frustrating. I had had a stand of lemongrass in the backyard, but the ugliest of winter freezes took care of that. So I had to buy fresh lemongrass from the market for the Sweet Potato and Lemongrass soup. (I also didn’t have time to visit an Asian market, so I probably paid twice the price for the stalks I needed.)

Most of the recipes were vegetarian, a few were even vegan. The lone exception was a Tuscan Bean Soup that required bacon in it. And what an impact that bacon had on the final product! After the first taste of the meat boiled into the broth, I could understand why a few – not all, mind you – of my vegan friends will have the occasional piece of pork. I will remember the richness and depth of flavor it brought to the soup and use that in other ways.

I made the most of these soups during the worst of the winter, when I had a seasonal job. To save money, I would bring a jar of soup each day and pop it in the microwave. The aroma of Potato and Fennel Soup or Aztec Corn would fill the break room and often drew questions from co-workers who wanted to know where I’d bought it.

The last recipe in the section was Mixed Mushroom, which I made with button caps, brown mushrooms and portobellos. Rich and creamy, it was a fine end to a most tasty experiment.

Another goal I wrote about recently was planting a garden so I could enjoy some freshness from my own backyard.

I’m happy to report that the radishes, lettuces and arugula I planted survived the snow/sleet/slush that fell several days after planting. It’s almost time to thin some of the sprouts, which will make a great addition to a salad.

In the meantime, the potted tomatoes are thriving. I know some friends who have planted theirs in the ground already. I’m not quite ready to do that, but I do have them clustered in near the backdoor so they can get some light.

I also planted a pair of olive trees I picked up at Sandy Oaks Olive Orchard. I planted the arbequina, which should survive our freak freezes and bear fruit in a few years. I would appreciate that. The loquat tree I planted eight years ago is only now ready to bear fruit, and I fear I lost some of this year’s potential harvest to the cold.

But that’s the nature of gardening, isn’t it? We never know what nature has in store for us, no matter the goals we set.

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

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 )