content: I disagree with the reviewer who characterized the author as a poor writer. She isn't. The problem is the content. After reading the first 90 pages, I put the book down, finally admitting to myself that I really didn't care what Ms. Powell thought or opined about anything. I was finding her blog-turned-book to be just one more rant from a neurotic New Yorker, a genre for which my tolerance peaked several years ago. It was never that high to begin with.Unfortunately, a friend had given me the book, thinking I'd enjoy it because of my fondness for Julia Child. Maybe that contributed to my reaction to the author. Juxtaposing herself with Julia Child invites one to think about issues of character, style and substance. On all those measures, Ms. Powell suffers.My recommendation: see the movie, but forget the book.