This is a book for the servantless American cook who can be unconcerned on occasion with budgets, waistlines, time schedules, children’s meals, the parent-chauffeur-den mother syndrome, or anything else which might interfere with the enjoyment of producing something wonderful to eat.

This line comes from Julia Child’s framing of her cookbook as an invitation to cook for pleasure rather than necessity. Writing for mid‑20th‑century American home cooks—many without household staff and often juggling family obligations—Child positions her book as a respite from the pressures of thrift, dieting, tight schedules, and the era’s expectations of mothers as constant managers and chauffeurs. The phrasing reflects her broader mission: to translate the techniques and spirit of French cooking for Americans, emphasizing craft, confidence, and delight at a time when convenience foods and “quick” domestic efficiency were increasingly marketed as modern ideals.

Child is defining an audience not by skill level but by attitude: the cook who is willing, at least sometimes, to set aside anxieties about cost, calories, and family logistics in order to pursue excellence and joy in the kitchen. The quote elevates cooking from routine labor to an aesthetic, even playful practice—“producing something wonderful to eat” as an end in itself. It also gently critiques the social burdens placed on American women, naming the “parent‑chauffeur‑den mother syndrome” as a distraction from creative work. The underlying claim is that serious cooking requires time, attention, and a willingness to indulge curiosity and pleasure.