Monique and I finally caught up with Julie and Julia last night. As expected, it was a very fun movie featuring acres and acres of lovely food. For those who don't know, the movie features two stories, the story of Julia Child (Meryl Streep) learning to cook French food and then writing The Art of French Cooking, and the story of a woman named Julie (Amy Adams) who sets out to cook every recipe in the book in the year, while blogging about it.
Let's face it, you can't watch a movie that features two hours of delicious French cooking without breaking out a bit more butter the next time you cook. And maybe a little cream. And possibly some extra cheese.
And so it was that tonight when I had some chorizo and huevos rancheros burritos in mind -- yeah, that's not French, but butter is universal -- I decided to adapt a wee scrambled egg recipe shown in one of the bonus features on the Blu-Ray disc. It's pretty simple: you melt some butter in a frying pan, toss in a few eggs, scramble, stir in some 1/2 and 1/2, and then grate in a bit of cheese at the end. Well, in a burst of Julia-Child-inspired enthusiasm I melted a lot of butter, stirred in a lot of 1/2 and 1/2, and grated in a lot of our favorite sharp Irish cheddar.
It was entirely delicious, and the eggs plus some chorizo and some fried onion and green pepper made for a delightful burrito.
However, in retrospect I can see that the book The Art of French Cooking is a subversive tome every bit as dangerous as The Anarchist's Cookbook. Our house looks like a casualty ward right now. Monique is slumped in a butter-induced coma on the couch, too logy to press the buttons on the TV remote. Katie the Beagle enjoyed just a smidgeon of the leftovers, but is now curled on her perch as her snores make her now-bulbous beagle belly rise and fall.
And I, your humble correspondent, am sitting here, my pores literally oozing butter and cream ... and chorizo. That Julia Child was one dangerous, dangerous lady.
IMDB: Julie and Julia.
Netflix: Julie and Julia.