Along the way, Powell also learned to scrape and slurp the marrow from bones, to deconstruct an entire duck, to savor the smoldering taste of liver. Like the star of an Internet reality show for foodies, she kept fans rapt with stories of marital strife brought on by carb-induced crankiness, midnight trips to the market, and a disastrous Sauce Ragout. With her husband, Eric, by her side as resident drink-mixer and dishwasher, and from within the tiny confines of her Long Island City, N.Y., kitchen - with cracked walls, cramped countertops and maggots (yes, maggots!) collecting under the drying rack - Powell stewed and sautéed, sliced and diced, every kind of fish and fowl imaginable. For 365 days, on a blog of the same name, Powell chronicled her adventures in aspic, her battles with live lobsters, and her catastrophes with crepes in a frank and fearless style that quickly earned her a following. And - damn it! - she would do it in one year.Īnd so the Julie/Julia Project was born. She would cook every one of the 524 recipes in the book. Sitting at her kitchen counter thumbing a well-worn copy of Julia Child's 1961 cookbook classic, "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," Powell had an epiphany. But while knitting or yoga might have appealed to some, Powell's tastes ran to the absurd - and perhaps the self-destructive. In 2002, on the eve of her 30th birthday, depressed and dreading another year as an office drone, Julie Powell decided she needed a hobby.
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