In the foreword (don't skip it, it's worth the read), we learn how the book was written during the end of Julia's life by her doting grand-nephew Paul Prud'homme. The voice in the introduction changes to Julia's and, already, it has none of the glitz and often all-too-plastic-y glamour of the food trend, but is incredibly fresh and true to the passion for food that guided Julia into the culinary world. And in the first chapter, right off the bat, we are transported back to Paris, 1948, as Julia and Paul disembark from the SS America with a few suitcases and their Buick, the Blue Flash. She had never been to Europe before, nor seen "a real frenchman."
Faith and I were both cheered by the fact that Julia didn't even start speaking French or cooking until she was in her thirties. We also loved learning about how essential Julia's friendships were to her experience with food. She didn't learn to eat and cook so brilliantly alone, it was very much driven by the friends and community that surrounded her.
What struck you about the beginning of My Life in France?