Marlene by Marlene Dietrich

Author:Marlene Dietrich [Dietrich, Marlene]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4532-7469-9
Publisher: Open Road

STILL ANOTHER GENIUS: JEAN GABIN

I got to know Jean Gabin when he came to Hollywood. He had fled from occupied France. As always in such cases, I was asked to help him get used to his new life. My task was to speak French, translate, and to hunt around for some French coffee and French bread. I had done all this for Rene Clair as well. But Gabin was supposed to perform in English. And he wanted to accept the challenge. So I taught him English.

He would hide in the underbrush of the garden that surrounded his home in Brentwood to escape his teacher—me.

He was shooting an idiotic film, the title of which I’ve forgotten, but he spoke correct English—I personally saw to that! I would cook native French dishes for the many French friends he had brought with him. One of them was Jean Renoir. Renoir loved stuffed cabbage, had an enormous appetite, and left almost immediately after the meal. At that time I was known in Hollywood for not taking offense at such behavior: You could come dine with me and leave when you pleased. No fuss, no fawning, Renoir greatly appreciated that. He was a frequent guest, and I made stuffed cabbage for him each time.

For me it was a lot of fun to cook for all these uprooted Frenchmen. I had been “bent over a kitchen stove” ever since we—my daughter, her governess, my dressing room assistant, and I—found ourselves in an unknown land. During the first months of our stay in the United States, we took our meals in drugstores. At the thought of having to eat surrounded by such unsuitable articles as sanitary napkins, deodorants, and other items, I had to force myself to overcome an involuntary aversion. I always ordered hamburgers, since you didn’t have to wait too long for them, but, my God, how bad and tasteless they were! I had the impression that other customers around us were gulping down the same stuff, following which, they poured down countless cups of coffee. My daughter, on the other hand, was so fascinated by the lively doings in the drugstore she even forgot the dreadful taste of the hamburger served in a rubbery roll—at that time I knew nothing of the delicious Italian bread that could be bought in some specialty shops in Hollywood.

Since German cooking is not famous, I asked my mother-in-law to send me a book with Austrian recipes, and I tried my luck. I was immediately enthused over my new occupation. It was a kind of therapy for me and filled out the many idle hours in my California paradise. Sometimes I made only one film a year, and at that time shooting schedules were shorter than today. I learned everything, even baking, from this cookbook, and soon—also with the help of French cookbooks—my reputation as an excellent cook spread in Hollywood. I think I was prouder of this fame than of the “legendary image” so zealously created by the studio.

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