When I heard that Meryl Streep had been cast as Julia Child in Nora Ephron’s new biopic, Julie & Julia, I put my grouchy pants on. Fine-featured, delicate Streep as Amazonian, earthy Julia? Sacre bleu!

Well, score one for Meryl.

Streep is absolutely winning in this part, which chronicles Julia’s move to France in 1949 and her two greatest love affairs: with French cuisine and with her loyal, doting husband Paul (Stanley Tucci, who after The Devil Wears Prada is becoming Streep’s true partner in charm.) She gets the trilling voice right, the towering stature, and the sensual pleasure Julia took in food. What’s more, she captures the great chef’s joie de vivre. There’s a buoyancy to Streep’s performance that is completely irresistible.

That’s the Julia part of our story. The Julie part focuses on a modern-day low-level bureaucrat (Amy Adams), who is feeling unfulfilled in her life. She and her very own doting husband (Chris Messina) cook up a madcap idea: She will recreate every recipe in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking and blog about it.

Through Julia’s cookbook—and the spirit of Julia herself—she will find herself.

Adams is also quite great as the mousy woman who discovers a passion for writing and food, but we are inevitably more drawn to the Julia Child half of the story. (“Based on two true stories” read the tagline from the film. “But only one that you really care about,” it could continue.)

Still, the film is never less than charming. You have certain expectations coming in and I think Ephron fulfills them all: You expect to be craving boeuf Bourguignon as you leave the theater, you expect to learn more about the fabulous life of an American culinary icon, and you expect to laugh a lot. (Indeed, watching Child bulldoze her way through the snoots at Le Cordon Bleu is a hoot).

The one thing you may hope for and not receive: A meeting between our eponymous heroines. Not only did the two women never meet (or even correspond), Julia Child was said to have been put off by Julie Powell’s gutsy endeavor. (Maybe she didn’t grasp the level of hero worship it involved.) A shame. And one that leaves a slightly bitter taste in what is otherwise a thoroughly delightful confection.

To read my complete review of Julie & Julia, check out the September issue of Baltimore.