I can hear Julia Child’s breathy, sing-songy voice as I cook. I watched her cooking shows from the time she first appeared on public television to the very end, when she could little more than stand and watch others cook. Beyond her skill and expert instruction, what she transmitted was unapologetic pleasure. The made the kitchen look like the best place to be, better even than a restaurant. 

I met her once, in 2003, at a very long, dull charity event at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. She was already 90, in a wheelchair. I knelt beside her and told her what an inspiration her books and shows had been to me. 

“What part of the business are you in?” she asked me. 

“I’m not,” I said. “I just came to see you.”

She tilted her head back and smiled.