Most people react positively to the news that I have started this blog. A few (including one notable co-worker) wrinkle their noses, raise their eyebrows, and make remarks such as, "Seriously? A food blog?" as if it were the most trite waste of bytes on the Internet. And it may be, but such a reaction from ordinarily positive people confused me.
Then last month, in a friendly red Netflix envelope, "Julie & Julia" arrived. I knew the premise: Julie cooks her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, something I was eager to see since my mother cooked her way through at least some of the recipes. I still have her tattered, splattered copy, the spine of which has disintegrated; the book is held closed with a rubber band. I didn't know much about the life of Julia Child before watching the movie, though I'd suspected there was something decidedly un-French about her all the times I'd seen her on public television, eating her way through piles of ingredients ready for whatever she cooked with Jacques Pepin that day. Meryl Streep was perfect in that role, and I loved the movie, even if Julie got a little whiny at times.
Of course, it turns out that Julie, whiny or not, started a food blog about her year-long project with Child's book, which I imagine spawned a hot trend of food blogs in the last few years. Now I understand that nauseated reaction from a select few; clearly my idea was far from novel and I have been living under a large rock for the past few years, which is why I hadn't seen the movie yet and didn't know that everybody and her grandmother writes one of these.
I'm not cooking my way through anything, except perhaps several bags of flour and sugar, but I am blogging about whatever I manage to accomplish, wrinkled noses be damned.