I watched episode one (“The Potato Show”) of Julia Child’s first cooking show, The French Chef, last night. I Netflixed the whole series. It was originally taped in black and white (such a poor medium for a food show!).

It was so incredibly charming. There were numerous technical issues — the show was filmed “live” with no breaks — but Julia had such a wonderful attitude and seemed so real in front of the camera, even if she did take a few dead-air pauses to gather herself or get cues from an unseen director. So the tv part seemed amateur, but not the cooking part. Also I loved how she said “butter”, which she added to almost every dish.

She was being herself, and herself happened to be everything a woman on television was not supposed to be: over six feet tall, well-educated, more handsome than beautiful, almost 50 years old, and with a funny way of talking. But the show was for other women, and they must have loved seeing someone not perfect for tv in the conventional way, showing them that cooking was not drudgery or difficult.

A couple of times Julia would grab a towel or her apron and mop her forehead and face with it. She would say each time that her stove was making it so hot in there. At the time that must have been so unexpected, a flash of what it’s really like to be in the kitchen cooking — such a change from the housewives of the 50s on TV, shown smiling through perfect makeup and hair and pearls as they “cooked” by throwing a frozen slab of dinner into the oven. Julia must have gained a thousand fans with every dab of her brow.