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Cookbooks are not usually conceived of as political texts, as the demands they make upon us are not traditionally within the realm of politics. They do not declaim, as do manifestos. They do not constrict, as do laws. They do not command accord, as do arguments. Their stipulations are often vague (“until browned”) and their audiences inattentive (many cookbooks, after all, are bought for the ideals of cooking and the beauty of the photography). Indeed, even their narrative form is different from most texts: they fail to tell a story, and one dips into them depending upon one’s time, appetite, and taste.

But cookbooks do form who we are in ways large and small. “Tell me what you eat,” Anthelme Brillat-Savarin famously wrote, “and I will tell you what you are.” In this essay I follow the insights of Jacques Rancière, who attends to politics as the “distribution of the sensible”: the means and effects of what we can sense determine the boundaries of what we can do and who we are. To look at the openings and promises of sensation is to analyze political potentiality and possibility, as well as to note their limits and constraints. Such affective dynamics have material (and materialized) traces, and a cookbook provides a printed, textualized locale of taste and identity.

Arts of nationalism

“Democracy can never be identified with a juridico-political form,” argues Rancière, not because it is indifferent to such formulations, but because “the power of the people is always beneath and beyond these forms.”i Rancière privileges people over the modes of governmentality that both claim to represent those people and derive their legitimacy from such claims. In doing so, he seeks to deactivate the historically naturalized affiliation between governmental structures and humans, between the always-partially-illegitimate claim of representation and those thus represented.

The traditional and exemplary governmental structure which purports to represent the people is the state. In its most unproblematic forms, the state closely overlaps its powerful counterpart: the nation. When nations and states definitively coincide, state-identities become strongly affective, emotional, and beloved; thus the “French,” for example, begin to self-identify with a state-centric geographic identity. So the nation (France) arises from a juridico-political authority recognized by a consortium of post-nineteenth century statist entities. But how is the nation more than this? That is, short of reducing France to a singular procedural entity (a constitution, for example), how do people inside or outside of France’s political boundaries conceive of – and engage with – such an ideo-identity formation?

Benedict Anderson’s concept of the “imagined community” provides a start to answering this query; for Anderson, the emergence of a common linguistic normativity (specifically via print capitalism) initiates imaginative demands on a set of people who begin to consider themselves a citizenry.ii But Anderson’s conceptualization not only oversimplifies a confluence of currents, folding a large series of state-making practices into a single European model, but also begs the central question by presuming the very nation that it attempts to explain: what determines the specific makeup of the nation so imagined? For Anderson, the substance of the nation (France) remains less important than the mechanism. Yet without a comprehension of the meanings of “France,” one cannot properly trace what print capitalism brings into the imagination of its created citizens.

Priscilla Parkhurst Ferguson provides one intriguing interpretation of this dynamic: she argues that Paris centered the French imaginary. This is neither the political centralization of the French Government (which undergoes radical changes over the course of the nineteenth century, for example), nor even the standards and centralization of Parisian culture (which does as well). Instead, she argues, the multiple iterations and interwoven pluralities of Parisian cuisine form France.iii Ferguson places this emergence at the intersection of French cooking and the creation of the spatial locale where food would be purchased and eaten by the emergent middle classes: “The early nineteenth century conjunction of the cuisine – the culinary code – and the restaurant, henceforth the site of culinary invention, gave the social organization of the culinary production and consumption a new, identifiably modern form.”iv

This argument, while convincing in its particulars, smacks of a certain reliance on self-legitimation. As much of International Relations scholarship has pointed out, nations cannot develop outside of a transnational system. Indeed, the very idea of an isolated nation is contradictory. The concept of sovereignty emerged from entangled, mutual, self-legitimizing claims of common neutrality. Whatever the legitimacy of placing the emergence of sovereignty in the Treaty of Westphalia, the very existence of an international treaty undermines sovereignty itself. Such an idea only makes sense within an international context – the very claim to the concept presupposes a historical and continuous engagement with other nations.

Thus the concept of a nation as a self-developing universality cannot be sustained. All nations constantly engage in processes of mutual definition and intelligibility, precisely as nations. A national existence depends, in large part, on the conditions of iterability that exceed not only its boundaries but also its language. In other words, I examine not how France sees itself as a plural unity, as Ferguson does in her study of cuisine and restaurants, but how another nation (in this case, the United States) comes to see France through its own lens.

In many ways this project parallels those which analyze what the United States has meant elsewhere in the world. In her book International America Inderpal Grewal describes the meaning and consequences of the idea of “America” in its transnational travels.v She looks especially at the networks and varieties of the usage of the term “America,” especially among ethnic Indian communities in the United States and within the borders of India itself. Using one aspect of consumer culture as a locale of analysis, Grewal notes that the development and sale of “Barbie in a Sari” used Indian tropes to construct a new modality of youth: that of the female child as consuming “The production of state subjects, ethnic subjects, multicultural subjects, and transnational subjects,” she argues, “were processes full of conflict and contradiction, as diasporas, nationalisms, “global” feminisms, and multinational corporations” have worked with and against one another.vii

Grewal’s project is intertwined with a number of academic fields. International relations is primary for her, of course, since she argues that the concept of “America” serves alongside trade pacts, international law, rights discourse, and interactions between politicians. But it also engages with (and in turn affects) gender studies, sociological theories of race and ethnicity, anthropology and anthropological linguistics, and economic theory, among others. By investigating both the promise and the problems of “America” the idea, Grewal provides a scholarly model of the international imaginary.

This sort of project has far more potential to explain the international origins of nationalism in all its contradictions and complexities than do traditional International Relations historical approaches, which generally look strictly at “political relationships” such as treaties, changes in trade agreements, and national self-interests (however widely defined). In opposition to these approaches, I contend that the project of the national imaginary takes place both internally and externally, de- and re- inscribing the meaning of nations along multiple axes and on various registers. The following analysis – the conception of France developed by Julia Child in her famous 1961 cookbook and her subsequent television show which began in 1963 – is thus both limited and exemplary. It is limited in its range and explanatory power in that Child drew upon preexisting conceptions of Frenchness, and because her cookbook was not absolutely determinative of images of France in the mid-century United States. It is also exemplary in showing the variety of currents comprising international and intercultural affairs and in the often-unacknowledged material, gendered, and textual bases that underpin those relations. Child shows how “France” and Frenchness are controlled in part by those who are neither legally nor culturally French, as her participation in the sensate nature of the very act of cooking and eating “French” food highlights its own history and changing connotations in the United States.

Why French cooking?

A brief history of French cooking in America, first. Since the American Revolution, when France assisted the North American rebellion in various ways, France has long held a privileged place in the American imaginary. French food has been synonymous with fine cuisine for most of American history; the Executive Chef of the White House has more often than not been French-trained. Intriguingly, this includes the enslaved Americans of African ancestry who have cooked for Presidents; James Hemings was taken to France by Thomas Jefferson, where he learned the French cooking he would later serve to President Jefferson.viii Even Presidents who hated French cooking, such as James Polk, usually hired a French-trained Executive Chef for state dinners.ix

Certain changes had to be made, of course. Ingredients common to French food were lacking in the United States; other traditional foods, such as horsemeat, never gained full acceptance by American diners. French cooking also declined during certain periods in U.S. history. The difficulty of obtaining and serving alcohol during Prohibition, for example, resulted in a dramatic downturn in food designed to be served with wine (not to mention the high profit margins associated with alcohol).x

The popularity of French food thus waxed and waned through the history of the United States. Until the late 20th century, however, its appeal was to “higher” forms of taste, both culturally (that is, only the upper classes had strong interests in consuming it) and conceptually (it stood at the apex of the hierarchy of world cuisines). The domestication of French cookery held less allure than the authenticity of French cuisine: other than professional chefs and restauranteurs, few Americans wanted to learn to cook in the French style.

Many 19th century cookbooks about French food focus not on cooking instructions but about ordering and presentation. Such books’s subtitles often undermine what at first appears to be their purpose, as in 1884's popular and instructive Menus Made Easy; or, How to Order Dinner and Give the Dishes their French Names.xi This book, like many others of its period, overtly disclaims questions of preparation. Instead, it provides guidance to women with recalcitrant or unimaginative cooks, aiming “to afford some assistance to ladies in the daily difficulty of what to order for dinner, and how to describe it.”xii Rather than providing directions, it addresses pronunciation and familiarity, insisting that a list of ingredients and a brief description will suffice for one’s cook.

In the first decades of the twentieth century, however, French cookbooks became a noticeable presence in the United States, with at least twelve published within twenty years.xiii Many of these combine French with other forms of exotic cooking; the intriguingly titled The Swedish, French, American Cook Book, for example, was published in 1918.xiv Many were designed to simplify and clarify French cooking, frequently avoiding the French names of dishes to avoid confusion.

This popular rejection of the upscale, traditional French cooking style also extended into the restaurant market. Harvey Levenstein describes how, on the verge of the Depression, American diners increasingly demanded a simpler, less-French cooking style. The French-trained chefs resisted, feeling that (in the words of a Chicago restaurant manager) “the French way is the correct way.”xv As a result, Levenstein reports, “many French chefs were fired,” replaced by a more industrialized, simplified process of relatively unskilled grill and line cooks.xvi

Of predominant interest here, though, is the period following the end of WWII, when instructions for French cooking appeared in tandem with the emergence of American middle-class culture. One common interpretation of the time blamed this development on middle-class striving, where recently demilitarized housewives combined extensive “free” time with the desire to outclass their neighbors. An alternative explanation emphasizes the changed tastes of returning G.I.s, whose experiences in France had taught them an appreciation of French cooking techniques. (Circumstantial support for this latter explanation is provided by the 1953 cookbook entitled Oh, For a French Wife!xvii)

In the next decade, the desire to cook French food truly broke forth in the American middle class; by the late 1960s ten (or more) entirely French cookbooks were being published each year.xviii This was the era in which Julia Child emerged, serving as both the exemplary figure of, and the multimedia leader in, American French cooking. And it coincides with the creation of Europe as a serious middle-class destination for the burgeoning international travel market.

Child’s popularity and influence also depended upon the particular history of class in the United States. French cuisine was never widely embraced by the American working class ( apart from a few New Orleanians and displaced Arcadians), though it never fell out of style amongst the wealthy. The vogue for internationalism, the complexities of an impressive sauce, the comprehension of French culinary fashion: these remained à la mode at a grand dinner party. But this embrace was fundamentally dependent on educational capital, extensive resources, and an expertise in food – one needed both servants and dedicated cooks to dine in the French style. Indeed, the popularity of American cookbooks with the terms “New England” or “Boston” in their title deliberately evoked a “simple, straightforward cuisine, revolving around boiled, broiled, and roasted meats and potatoes” that could be easily prepared by one relatively untrained person.xix These foods, so instinctually different from French cuisine, continue today to underlie conceptual acceptance of what constitutes “American” cooking.

Julia and Julia’s France

A particularly appealing form of French cooking emerged in the postwar period, one to which Child was inextricably linked. Importantly, this form was simultaneously dramatic and realizable. “Dramatic” not due to presentation; Child overtly rejected the “fussy” and ostentatious aspects of 1950s American cooking, with various molded aspics containing suspended fruits, followed with lobster salad, and topped off by spectacularly high coconut cakes made from cake mixes.xx The drama of Child’s cooking emerged instead from its “authentic” French-ness: the difficulty of a well-browned sauce, for example, or the proper way to sauté a filet in the Parisian style. The very idea of pairing a wine to various kinds of food was foreign to many Americans – Child’s cookbook not only suggested suitable wines for many dishes, but explained why they would compliment the meal. Unlike French chefs in other countries (Canada’s Jehane Benoit for example), Child was not attempting to use French cooking to create a new national approach. Instead, she wanted bona fide French cooking.

This was a tricky balance. To cook French food authentically, the traditional French cookbooks would not suffice: they were filled with instructions that confused the average American cook, and were occasionally contested among chefs. Moreover, the ingredients available in a Parisian market were simply not available to the American cook, even in most large cities. Thus the recipes needed to be domesticated for an American audience, and Child spent most of her time with her coauthors analyzing and classifying every step of cooking processes to describable moments. In this she followed a tradition of domestic Taylorism, breaking down each step to its replicable constituent components, in order to increase efficiency and conformity.xxi

Conversely, Child simultaneously attempted to represent pure French cooking, uncontaminated by her (or even her coauthors’) personal tastes and approaches. Determined to avoid specificity or individuality, she would settle only for the universal, “authentic” version of each dish. Many times she chastised her coauthors for stating or even implying that one’s own personal stamp could appear on food. Writing to Simone Beck concerning clafoutis, Child reminded her that they needed to make “sure it is La Veritable Cuisine Française, and not just La Cuisine Simca/Julia.”xxii That her readers would not have access to French ingredients was less important than that they be taught the true French techniques.

Though the eyes of Child, France was simultaneously demystified and exoticized. These seemingly contradictory imaginaries have long existed in the American-French relationship, but Child brought them to an American audience whose relationship to France emerged from more recent and more devastating images: the bombed-out rubble of the Second World War, the memories of the Vichy regime, the intransigence and independence of De Gaulle. What Child popularized was both more benign and more exalted: a land where produce was always fresh, where the corner markets ruled, where gastronomy was timeless, and where all women knew how to effortlessly prepare a coq-a-vin or a flan. These images pre-existed Child, but she managed simultaneously to tap into them and make them part of the American ideal.

The ability to combine these imaginaries both resulted from and underpinned her fame. Child’s remarkable personality combined with the emergence of publically-funded television to make her one of the most famous and well-regarded celebrities of the 1960s. It would be difficult to understate the renown and importance of Child for a generation of women in the United States, but Child remained relatively unknown outside the U.S. It is almost impossible to convey to those who do not know of her the level of her fame within the American milieu. Parallels to similar cooking shows in other nations necessarily fail, because Julia Child (as personality and icon) helped build the very concept of public television. Her show “The French Chef,” originally broadcast in 1963 on WBGH in Boston, not only proved an instant hit for that station but also was used to build up other, even newer stations in the nation. Within two years the show appeared on every network public television station in the United States (ninety in all), and “WGBH found it could raise money for the station every week by selling tickets to the taping sessions.”xxiii To women who aspired to master the arts of cooking, Julia Child often seemed a newfound friend who would lead them through the work (and fun) of cooking for the next forty years.

Within three years, Mastering the Art of French Cooking had sold 100,000 copies, making it the most successful cookbook in the United States.xxiv Child’s attitude toward food itself seemed liberatory to a generation of women who largely presumed that cooking was about feeding one’s family and impressing ones’ guests. This cookbook, she stated in the introduction, was inteded for “the servantless American cook who can be unconcerned on occasion with budgets, waistlines, time schedules, children’s meals, the parent-chauffeur-den-mother syndrome, or anything else which might interfere with the enjoyment of producing something wonderful to eat.”xxv Cooking, as feminist historians have shown, has long been a form of underappreciated domestic labor.xxvi For Child, however, cooking could be re-presented as an activity for the self, aimed at individual pleasure.

Doing so required distancing cooking from traditional forms of domestic femininity. Child’s emergence in the American political landscape coincided with the burgeoning feminist movement, and while Child disavowed feminism, she was often scathing in her dismissal of “the housewife.” Joanne Fallows points to Child’s continued attempt to “divorc[e] domestic practice from the singular gendered identity of the housewife.”xxvii The extent to which Child’s persona as pedagogue and model depended upon patriarchal domesticity proved uncomfortable both for Child and her audience. The Frenchness of the cooking served to heighten the cosmopolitan and international self-image of the cook, while the authenticity of the French cooking served for Child to professionalize and thus de-domesticize the nature of food preparation.

As Ashley Armes has argued, Child’s approach also fit well with the “mass consumerism of the 1960s.”xxviii Cookware, ingredients, specialized spices: each time one appeared on her television show, it would soon disappear from New England stores. The fetishization of cooking implements seems unremarkable in contemporary society, but Child participated in (even provided power for) a postwar economic transformation where technological developments and modish style transformed even simple and unchanging instruments. A cast iron skillet would no longer suffice for the burgeoning middle class; instead a range of pots, pans, spoons, and mechanized food processors became necessary if one wanted to cook à la Française.

France and US

In the buildup to the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq, George W. Bush attempted to build a “coalition of the willing,” a group of nations who would provide a (usually minimal) degree of financial and/or military support for the invasion and occupation. A number of governments, most notably that of Great Britain, agreed to this support; for some, such as the Spanish government of José Maria Aznar, this adherence likely underpinned their subsequent electoral defeats. The French national government refused to comply, publically arguing that the military action was not only ill-conceived and unnecessary but also likely illegal.

The U.S. response to this refusal was swift and dramatic, especially in the public sphere. Self-described “patriots” publicly poured cases of French wine down sewers; editorialists, radio talk-show hosts, and political cartoonists denounce France as cowardly and ungrateful; a congresswoman introduced a bill calling for the American war dead of World War II to be disinterred and repatriated.xxix Most famously, “french fries” were officially renamed “freedom fries” in a number of venues, including the U.S. House of Representatives.

This anti-French sentiment was nothing new. It continued a two-century tradition of what Jean-Phillipe Mathy calls the “system of Francophobia.”xxx From the American suspicion of the radicalism of the French revolution to the anti-elitism of the nineteenth century to the distrust of continental philosophy at the end of the twentieth, Americans have long dismissed, criticized, and found themselves superior to the French. Prior to the Iraq invasion, the most intense of these recent periods had been during the time of Julia Child, when Charles De Gaulle was seen by many in the United States (including its political leadership) as emblematic of French anti-Americanism.

For all his status in France, as both a military hero of the resistance and as a political leader able to reenergize France after the successful Algerian revolution of 1958, his reputation amongst Americans was vexed. Indeed, the two reputations were likely linked: it was precisely De Gaulle’s course of deliberate independence from American pressures which cemented his popularity while also provoking and annoying the U.S. Having been excluded from the Yalta Conference in February 1945, he immediately snubbed Roosevelt by refusing to meet with him.xxxi De Gaulle returned to power in 1958 only on the condition that he be able rewrite the French Constitution; U.S. leaders greeted the birth of the Fifth Republic with well-justified alarm. By fanning suspicions of what he termed the “American protectorate,” De Gaulle consolidated France’s status as a Western power indebted neither to the Americans nor to the Russians. His suspicion of the United States’s dominance of NATO, for example, led to France’s withdrawal from the Mediterranean command in 1959; his resistance to North American corporate interests resulted not only in protectionist measures but also in the development of a “French model” of capitalism that international corporations were forced to follow if they wished to do business in France.xxxii

De Gaulle did mourn when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, though with his own particular spin: “At heart,” he stated, Kennedy “was a European.”xxxiii By 1965, De Gaulle was openly courting the Soviet Union, and France’s split with NATO the following year (along with the expulsion of American military bases from French soil) heightened the sense that the two cultures were in conflict. Perhaps of even greater long-term import, De Gaulle overtly attacked the American dollar as the world monetary standard, pushing for a return to gold by divesting the French government of dollarized assets.xxxiv By the mid-1960s, Americans disliked De Gaulle more than any other world leader save Brezhnev.xxxv Robert Paxton tells of dartboards manufactured with De Gaulle’s face and of De Gaulle voodoo dolls sold in American stores.xxxvi

Even Julia Child had a personal stake in this conflict. She had grown up in a traditionally Republican family, constantly hearing her father denounce socialism and the Democratic Party. Shortly before Mastering the Art of French Cooking was written, her father had embraced Joseph McCarthy, the famous anticommunist, and like McCarthy denounced “Europe” and its decadent ways for corrupting the purity of the United States.xxxvii

Thus Child’s cookbook and television show also served as a front against this system of Francophobia. Child was a Francophiliac through and through, albeit with a strong pragmatic and accommodationist streak. As an unofficial emissary of France and an evangelical of French cooking, Child reinscribed the ideal of France as one of gastronomic bounty, rural simplicity, high-class chefs, and earnest cooks.

Mastering the Art of French Cooking participates in this battle from the very beginning. It is dedicated:


La Belle France

whose peasants, fishermen, housewives, and princes – not to mention her chefs – through generations of inventive and loving concentration have created one of the world’s great arts.xxxviii

Child (and her coauthors, though this inscription is clearly Child’s) thus encouraged Americans to imagine France anew, creating tropes that today are commonplace, even banal. The land of peasants eating their daily fresh baguettes with chèvre, the neighborhood poissonnerie where fish are always fresh and the proprietor ready with a new recipe: these idealized landscapes are as present (and unrepresentative) in the contemporary American imaginary of France as they were by the late 1960s.

In other words, Child soundly and decisively defeated McCarthy and other Francophobes of her time. Though the distrust of France as a nation independent of American interests has continued in the United States, sometimes subterraneously and sometimes overtly, the idealizations of France that Child helped build have proven perdurable. Sophie Body-Gendrot recently led a quantitative study of American attitudes toward the concept of France, one which examined the substance of the connotations of France for students in the United States.xxxix Overwhelmingly, the study showed France’s continuing domination in the American imagination, at least where culture – food, wine, art – are concerned. (It fares far more poorly in economics and political power.)

Yet this cultural positioning continues to be a source of delegitimization and, ironically, produces its own sort of francophobia. For in the American imaginary, superiority in food and wine makes France itself suspect. Even Body-Gendrot’s analysis of her own statistical aggregation presumes the same sort of hierarchical reading as most political science, where the cultural realm is seen as unreal and thus incorrectly influential while the juridico-political imaginary is conceived as “real” and thus improperly overlooked. “[I]t comes as a surprise that stereotypes still prevail,” Body-Gendrot writes, where “an obsolete vision of France – food, fashion, frivolity – survives.”xl Even she, in other words, buys into an analysis where the traditional conceptualizations of cultural relations remain fundamentally irrelevant while the international, political/realpolitk understanding of French identity remains superior, more true to the international arena.

In Julia Child’s case, it is the specific form that France takes in her cookbook that makes her an authoritative figure in the realm of international relations. Julia Child’s conception of France did not determine France’s future, but of course even a De Gualle cannot determine the future. Nor did her cookbook create a radical break with past theoretical accounts; she was neither interested in undermining the nation-state nor in revolutionizing its economy. What she did, above all, was give the United States a taste of France. As a foreigner, she was able to make her concept of France, in Rancière’s words, “incarnate itself, in a landscape or living scene, in order to make a concept present.”xli Her vision of France endures, in part because it is so readily at hand, and on the tongue.

All versions of an other-national character contain contradictions, and Child’s France is no exception. Renditions of Frenchness, as Eugen Weber points out, have always been particularly dramatic in this respect. Its citoyens’ intrinsic bravery (even foolhardiness) coexists in the American imagination alongside their profound caution (even cowardice).xlii Their “native nobility” walks hand-in-hand with their earthy, unwashed, Augean scent; a snooty preciousness and a rough rural honesty fill English-language novels. In a time of De Gaullean resistance to American hegemony, Julia Child arrived as an interpreter of the complexity and simplicity of French cooking. An American from France, a traditionalist on television, a woman in a man’s profession: Child taught the United States a new way to cook and therefore to taste. In doing so, she reinscribed and rewrote the French nation for a generation of Americans, declaring both its sensate replicability and its cultural superiority.

Kennan Ferguson

Kennan Ferguson teaches political theory at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee. He is the author of The Politics of Judgment (1999) William James: Politics in the Pluriverse (2008), and All in the Family: On Community and Incommensurability (forthcoming).


i. Jacques Rancière, Hatred of Democracy, trans. Steve Corcoran (London: Verso, 2006), 54.

ii. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, (London: Verso, 1983).

iii. Priscilla Parkhurst Ferguson, “Is Paris France?” The French Review V 73 N 6 (2000), 1052–1064. See also her “A Cultural Field in the Making: Gastronomy in Nineteenth-Century France,” American Journal of Sociology, V 104 N 3 (1998), 597–641.

iv. “Is Paris France?,” 1054. Ferguson also cites Jean Paul Aron, Le Mangeur du dix-neuvième siècle (Paris: Laffont, 1973).

v. Inderpal Grewal, International America: Feminisms, Diasporas, Neoliberalisms (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005).

vi. Grewal, 80–120.

vii. Grewal, 10.

viii. Hemings was brother to Jefferson’s more famous slave, Sally Hemings, with whom Jefferson fathered numerous children. Sharron E. Wilkins, “The President’s Kitchen – African American Cooks in the White House” American Visions V 10 N 1 (1995).

ix. Ibid.

x. Harvey Levenstein, Revolution at the Table: The Transformation of the American Diet (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 184.

xi. Nancy Lake, Menus Made Easy; or, How to Order Dinner and Give the Dishes their French Names 8th ed. (New York: Frederick Warne & Co, 1894).

xii. Lake, v.

xiii. Lavonne Brady Axford, English Language Cookbooks, 1600–1973 (Detroit: Gale Research, 1976), 597–598.

xvi. Mrs. Maria Mathilda [Ericsson] Hammond, The Swedish, French, American Cook Book, (New York: Self-Published, 1918).

xv. Levenstein, 192.

xvi. Levenstein, 192.

xvii. Ted Molony and Deke Coleman, Oh, For a French Wife!, (New York: Abelard, 1953).

xviii. Axford, 599.

xix. Levenstein, 83–84

xx. Child dryly reminisces about such “earnest” and “generous” presentations in her introduction to the 40th anniversary edition of Mastering. Julia Child, “Introduction to the Anniversary Edition,” in Julia Child, Louise Bertholle, and Simone Beck, Mastering the Art of French Cooking (New York: Knopf, 2001), vii–viii.

xxi. Irene Cieraad, “‘Out of my Kitchen!’ Architecture, gender and domestic efficiency,” The Journal of Architecture, V 7, N 3 (2002), 263–279. For the European experience, cf. Ákos Moravánszky, “The Reproducibility of Taste,” In The Architect, the Cook, and Good Taste, ed. Petra Hagen Hodgson and Rolf Toyka (Birkhäuser: Berlin, 2007), 72–81. Much could also be written concerning the relationship of Fannie Farmer, who developed precision in mensuration for cooking, and the emerge of Fordism and Taylorism.

xxii. Laura Shapiro, Julia Child (New York: Penguin, 2007), 67.

xxiii. Shapiro, 111.

xxiv. Julia Child and Alex Prud’homme, My Life in France (New York: Knopf, 2006), 240.

xxv. Mastering, xxiii.

xxvi. E.g., Arlene Voski Avakian, Through the Kitchen Window: Women Explore the Intimate Meanings of Food and Cooking (London: Berg, 2005); Vicki Swinbank, “The Sexual Politics of Cooking: A Feminist Analysis of Culinary Hierarchy in Western Culture” The Journal of Historical Sociology, V 15, N 4 (2002), pp. 464–494

xxvii. Joanne Hollows, “The Feminist and the Cook: Julia Child, Betty Friedan, and Domestic Feminity,” in Gender and Consumption: Domestic Cultures and the Commercialization of Everyday Life, ed. Emma Casey and Lydia Martens (Hampshire: Ashgate, 2007) 33–45. Quotation from 44.

xxviii. Ashley R. Armes, “Image of Nation, Image of Culture: France and French Cooking in the American Press 1918–1969,” MA Thesis, Texas Tech University, 2006, 129.

xxix. For these examples and an analysis of the functioning of political “gratitude” in this period, see Kennan Ferguson, “The Gift of Freedom,” Social Text, V 25 (Summer 2007), 39–52.

xxx. Jean-Phillipe Mathy, “The System of Francophobia,” French Politics, Culture, and Society V21 N2 (2003), 24–32

xxxi. Jean-Baptiste Duroselle, France and the United States: From the Beginnings to the Present, trans. Derek Coltman, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976), 169–175.

xxxii. Richard F Kuisel, “The American Economic Challenge: De Gaulle and the French, in De Gaulle and the United States: A Centennial Reappraisal, ed. Rovert O.Paxton and Nicholas Wahl (Oxford: Berg, 1994), 195–212.

xxxiii. John Newhouse, De Gaulle and the Anglo-Saxons (New York: Viking, 1970), 250.

xxxiv. Guillaume Guindey, The International Money Triangle: Myths and Realities (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1977), 85–88.

xxxv. Theodore J. Lowi and Martin A Schain, “Conditional Surrender: De Gaulle and American Opinion,” in De Gaulle and the United States, 391–411 (data on 397).

xxxvi. Robert O. Paxton, “Comment,” in De Gaulle and the United States, 418.

xxxvii. Child and Prud’homme, 200.

xxxviii. Mastering, v.

xxxix. Sophie Body-Gendrot, “If France Didn’t Exist, Americans Would Have to Invent It,” French Politics, Culture, and Society V 21 N 2 (2003), 8–23.

xl. Body-Gendrot, 17.

xli. Jacques Rancière, Short Voyages to the Land of the People, Trans. James B. Swenson (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003), 2.

xlii. Eugen Weber, “Of Stereotypes and of the French,” Journal of Contemporary History V 25 (1990), 169–203.

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