The True Greats

Last week, I was doing my usual copy editing when a high-priority story came across. It took a second for it to sink in that the words I was reading were telling me that Julia Child, the woman who made French cooking safe for Americans to navigate, had died. It hit like a hammer.

When I was a child back in the early '70s, I remember Julia being everywhere on TV ... like Regis Philbin with a saucepan. Besides her own show, she was forever popping up on news and variety programs. This continued until fairly recently.

She seemed ageless. Certainly her voice still danced in my ear as she steered some ham-handed TV host through a crepe or explained the mysteries of duck confit to a talking head. She was endlessly patient, and her true love for both French cuisine and her largely American audience came through clear as a bell.

I don't think it's a stretch at all to say that, had Julia not made cooking on TV entertaining and educational, Food Network would still be but a gleam in some cable maven's eye. Julia showed us, and the TV overlords, that cooking was fun; and that we needn't be intimidated by exotic-sounding ingredients or imposing recipe names.

One of the modern masters, Alton Brown, whose show on Food Network demystifies food and cooking very much as Julia did, posted the following on his site after hearing of her death:

Sad though I am at the passing of the best food teacher who ever lived, you have to envy Julia for how she lived and ultimately how she passed. She was a fine example of a person who lived life absolutely to the fullest and yet always gave back. She gave birth to the modern American cook, to TV cooks, and one might argue, American food in general. She was and always will be our Queen Mother and our den mother, a perfect blend of fun, passion, style and knowledge all wrapped up in a willing self-deprecation that made us all feel a little better about dropping that chicken on the floor.

Our Queen Mother indeed.

Julia joins other stars in the firmament of culinary legends who have passed beyond the veil. Perhaps dearest to my own heart was Justin Wilson, whose "I guar-on-tee!" put a finishing stamp on more fine Cajun, Creole and southern recipes than you could shake a gravy ladle at. I remember almost every show ended with him settling down at a homey-looking table with a glass of wine and a plate full of whatever he'd been creating that day. He always looked as if he was REALLY looking forward to tucking into his vittles, just as soon as he'd had a final word with us, his friends.

Then there's Jeff Smith, known to millions of fans as the Frugal Gourmet. From humble public-television beginnings, he built a following that made him, for a time, one of the leading lights in TV food. He was perhaps one of the first "foodie" icons. Those of us with cross-indexed spice cabinets quickly took Jeff into our hearts; and were utterly devastated when some highly questionable harassment claims ended up cutting short his career.

Jeff had high standards, and was a bit less approachable than Julia, but the joy he took in what he created and the impeccable results spoke for themselves. This was a man having FUN cooking, and if you were willing to learn something new now and again, he'd take you along for a great ride.

One of my personal favorites, but one whose presence in this august group might create some discord, was Jennifer Paterson. As half of the BBC-based "Two Fat Ladies" cooking show, she, along with Clarissa Dickson Wright, took us on a tour of the British countryside and showed that British food, while it'll rarely make anyone's list of the most slimming cuisines, can still be darned tasty and worth the effort to create.

She was unabashed in her love for all things rich and fatty. I will never forget her consternation at discovering that the comely young lass working in a bacon sandwich stand was a vegetarian. She proselytized to the girl concerning the wonders of pork fat with an eloquence any minister with a balky flock might well envy.

And the stories she and Clarissa told as they cooked were themselves worth the half-hour spent viewing. During one episode, Clarissa made a sandwich named after the lover of a British nobleman of years past, and told of how his wife honored the man's dying wish, allowing the lover to prepare and serve him the sandwich.

Yes, I'll freely admit the Fats (as we fans call them) didn't exactly blaze any trails, but for sheer enjoyment I've rarely found a match for the show. I've heard tales that when Jennifer was in hospital, her friends smuggled her in cigars and red meat. That's the sort of friends I hope to have someday!

And, finally, this list would not be complete without James Beard, the Father of American Cuisine, whose name adorns the highest award any American chef or food writer can claim. He was one of the first to cook on TV, showing that the then-new medium could be used for such "mundane" pursuits. He began the process of defining what American cuisine was ... of giving it an identity it was sorely lacking. Before Beard, the very notion of the United States having its own unique cuisine, as opposed to one composed solely of imports from other countries, was openly laughed at.

He made things like wild game cookery and outdoor cooking the subjects of cookbooks, and fostered the idea that high-class grub could come from charcoal grills. He made hors d'ouevres a high art, and made culinary education a cornerstone of his career for over three decades. His impact on the American palate and menu could never truly be quantified.

Got a question? Complaint? Topic you'd like to see covered? Let me know. As ever, pledges of undying love and large cash grants are eagerly accepted.