By Kristen Nevarez Schweizer

February 21, 2026

When I think of Julia Child, I hear an overly-theatrical voice, yelling joyfully about butter. 

La Jolla Playhouse’s world-premiere play The Recipe keeps that loud voice, but as the narrator of a story about a person named Julia, a lanky, flawed Pasadena girl who refuses to filter her thoughts and remains hungry for something she can’t yet name. Her story is a collision of yearning and savoring, ambition and self-doubt—and it surprised me as one of the truest love stories I’ve enjoyed in a while.

Written by Claudia Shear and directed by Lisa Peterson, The Recipe is based on Bob Spitz’s biography Dearie, but the Playhouse’s framing is less biopic, more a funny yet tender sprint through mid-century girlhood. It focuses on her pre-fame years, when the world kept telling Julia (played by Christina Kirk) to be grateful for what she had, and Julia kept clumsily and stubbornly taking more. Kirk’s flippant one-liner delivery and Lisa Peterson’s direction bring buoyancy to the conflict, without sanding down the ache.

A key ingredient of The Recipe is the chemistry between Kirk and Norbert Leo Butz as adoring husband Paul Child. Butz is such a sensational, talented actor that I (almost) forgive him for not singing in this production. He grounds the show’s believable love, playing Paul as a man who is confident enough to be delighted by Julia’s bigness.

The difficulty of writing great romance is stacking mundane moments of falling in love until a first kiss feels like plausible fireworks. Shear’s script is exceptional, with two-hander dialogue and hysterical one-liners, and Butz is the kind of big-stage actor who can handle close-ups. He acts rather than signalling emotions. His Paul is slowly captivated by Julia, and their growing affection is contagious, turning Julia’s self-focused ambition into something we root for in the second act of the show.

It’s notable that their relationship isn’t presented as a prize Julia earns after becoming exceptional; it’s woven into their becoming. Paul doesn’t save Julia, nor is he the fuel for her confidence. He simply makes room for her to be herself—loud, witty, late-blooming—and that quiet spaciousness becomes romance. It’s exactly because too many rom-coms rely on misunderstandings and plotty conflict that it’s refreshing to watch two people who actually like each other take on the world.

Around this couple, the play has the speed and sheen of a montage, hopping eras and exotic locations with a prettily-moving ensemble (nod to choreographer David Neumann) who snap into new characters like quick costume changes in a fever dream. Sometimes their accents and briskness work against the emotional beats, but The Recipe goes down so smoothly that you’ll want to order it again.

The Recipe acknowledges that privilege is privilege, yet asks what happens when the “good life” one is offered is still not the life one wants. Julia’s rebellion is human; Paul’s angst is relatable. The show insists that delight and authenticity can be holy work, and I agree.

The Recipe runs February 10 – March 29 at La Jolla Playhouse’s Potiker Theatre.