Julie And Julia Page #11

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You begin with a calf's foot,

which I am in possession of

thanks to my sainted husband,

and you boil it until

your kitchen smells like a tannery.

And then it gels in the refrigerator

and you flip it onto a plate.

Which, according to Julia Child,

is supposed to be easy.

And all I can say about that,

no offense intended, Julia, is

the b*tch lied.

Sh*t.

- Sh*t!

- How many more aspics are there?

Seven.

No one will know if you don't do them.

It's not like there's, like,

the Aspic Police or something.

You could lie.

I can't. I just can't.

Julia will know. It's like she's watching me.

I'm under her influence.

I'm becoming a much better person

because of her.

Yuck! The sink! Look at this!

I hate it here!

Did you put something down the sink?

You hate it here?

How am I supposed to cook anything

in this kitchen?

It's no wonder that my mold fell apart.

I don't suppose we have any Drano.

Not unless you bought it.

I do all of this

and I'm supposed to buy Drano, too?

Right now, you are so

not under the influence of Julia Child.

What if I don't make my deadline, Eric?

I'll have wasted a whole year of my life.

I used to be thin and now I'm getting fat.

- Fat?

- On top of which,

I have to bone a whole duck.

- When?

- At some point.

- Can you even conceive of boning a duck?

- No, I can't.

Of course you can't.

I'm sure you all remember,

because it was only a few days ago,

that I had a meltdown over my aspic

and vowed to transform myself

into a better human being.

And then I was trussing

the poulet rti la normande,

which is roast chicken stuffed with

chicken livers and cream cheese,

and it fell on the floor and the stuffing

fell out into a big gooey mess.

So, long story short, another meltdown.

This is crazy.

Worse than the last.

I can't even truss.

And I cried like a small,

emotionally disturbed child.

I'm a mess.

I got it. I got it.

Hello?

Yeah, who's this?

Can you hold on just one second?

I'm not sure if she's here.

She might've stepped out. Hold on.

Hey, it's a reporter from

The Christian Science Monitor.

He wants to write about you.

He does?

I should tell him to call back, right?

No, no, I'll take it.

Hello?

Yes?

You want to bring who to dinner?

No, of course, I know who that is.

I know exactly who that is.

Who? Who, who, who, who?

That would be great,

that would be completely amazing.

Goodbye.

- Who?

- Guess who's coming to dinner?

Oh, my God.

To Les Trois Gourmandes.

One for all and all for one.

Yes!

All right. I had such a horrible time

converting these recipes

from the metric system.

- Measurements do not matter.

- Oh, but they do!

They absolutely do.

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