The Recipe Julia Child Didn’t Want to Discuss

Julia Child (1912–2004) is one of the towering figures of twentieth-century cuisine — and by “towering,” we mean that quite literally. At 6’2”, she could look down on most countertops and a fair number of admirers. She popularized French cooking in the United States with Mastering the Art of French Cooking and later conquered public television with The French Chef. Butter sales have not fully recovered.

Millions attempted her recipes. Some even succeeded. Yet there was one concoction she never demonstrated on camera, never served to friends, and never paired with wine. This particular recipe was created during World War II while she worked for America’s most secretive intelligence agency. It was not meant to delight diners. It was meant to repel sharks.

Too Tall to Enlist, Just Right to Spy

Born in Pasadena, California, in 1912, Julia McWilliams graduated from Smith College in 1935 with a degree in history. Her first ambition was to become a novelist. History, as it often does, intervened with artillery.

When World War II broke out, Julia attempted to join the Women’s Army Corps and the Navy’s WAVES. The military examined her height — 6’2” — and decided that she was simply too tall. Somewhere in an alternate universe, there exists a battalion composed entirely of extraordinarily tall women who were rejected for being vertically excessive. In this universe, however, Julia was redirected.

She accepted a position with the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the forerunner of the CIA, working under its colorful director, William J. Donovan.

She hoped to become a spy. Fellow future author Roald Dahl was a spy, but its unlikely that she had any idea. Regardless, she became a file secretary and research assistant, typing what she later described as “over 10,000 little white cards.” Her personnel file (accessible here) reveals some clues about her impatience in this role. Page 78 of the file quotes Julia: “Am supposed to get a promotion to typing bigger cards, but nothing has happened.”

The Emergency Sea Rescue Equipment Section

Julia steadily advanced, eventually becoming executive assistant to zoologist Harold Jefferson Coolidge, Jr., and anthropologist Henry Field. Together, they were assigned to a project with a name that sounds like it was invented by a committee: the Emergency Sea Rescue Equipment Section.

The problem they were tasked to solve was not imaginary. Shark attacks were rare — fewer than twenty in the first years of the war — but fear of sharks damaged morale. Worse still, there were reports of curious sharks prematurely detonating naval explosives. Nothing says “operational setback” quite like a shark with a keen interest in experimental weaponry.

So the team set about designing a shark repellent. For a full year, they tested more than one hundred substances. Alkalis, acids, and various chemical compounds were evaluated. At one point, petrified shark flesh was considered. Culinary school this was not.

They also developed Shark Sense., a training pamphlet with cartoonish illustrations explaining how to avoid becoming a maritime snack. It turns out that even the fiercest global conflict still leaves room for government-issued comic books.

Eventually, they settled on a mixture of black dye and copper acetate. It smelled convincingly like a dead shark — a fragrance unlikely to receive a boutique candle line — and remained potent for six to seven hours. With a success rate slightly above 60%, it was the best available method for discouraging shark curiosity. It did not eliminate sharks from the sea. It merely convinced them to dine elsewhere.

From Shark Repellent to Cordon Bleu

After the shark project concluded, Julia feared a return to card-typing purgatory. Instead, she was sent overseas as a field agent, serving in Ceylon (present-day Sri Lanka) and later in China. There, amid classified cables and wartime logistics, she met fellow OSS employee Paul Cushing Child.

Paul was an artist, a poet, and a man who appreciated fine food. He introduced Julia to French cuisine. She fell in love with both the man and the menu. They married on September 1, 1946.

After the war ended and the OSS dissolved, Julia returned to civilian life. In Paris, where Paul was stationed with the United States Information Agency, Julia discovered that her true vocation was not espionage or fiction writing, but cooking. In 1951, she graduated from the famed Cordon Bleu cooking school.

Public Television’s First Culinary Star

Although she had abandoned her dream of writing novels, she had not abandoned the desire to publish. In 1961, she released Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which quickly became a sensation. That same year, she appeared on Boston’s WGBH television station to promote the book. She brought a hot plate, a giant whisk, and eggs. On live television, she made an omelet.

Most expected that to be the end of it. Viewers disagreed. The station received requests for more appearances. Three pilot shows were filmed. From that humble beginning emerged The French Chef, which premiered on February 11, 1963, and ran for a decade.

Julia’s wavering voice, fearless use of butter, generous pours of wine, and decisive knife work made her a household name. She closed each episode with the phrase “Bon appétit,” and somehow made it sound like a blessing.

The Declassified Dish

Julia Child died in 2004 at the age of 91, leaving behind a culinary legacy that reshaped American kitchens. Four years after her death, her OSS personnel file was declassified. In 2015, the recipe for her shark repellent was released to the public.

In the end, Julia Child authored many recipes that delighted generations. One of them, however, was designed not to satisfy appetites, but to save sailors. It may not have been served with parsley or paired with Burgundy, but it stands as proof that before she mastered French cooking, she had already mastered something far more surprising: the art of keeping sharks at bay.

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