Mirepoix.
I stared down at the cookbook with a scowl and reached for the laptop on the counter a few feet away. It only took a second to look up the term once I got the spelling right.
Carrots, celery, and onion.
Right.
Right.This was exactly why I didn’t cook, aside from burgers and steaks on the grill most of the time. These chefs had to use fancy words for simple things, and I was pretty sure that was by design just to make guys like me feel stupid.
I’d made the mistake of asking my sister Pam what I could make for a woman I was having over for dinner.
“Well, that depends,” Pam had said. “Do you want to impress her?”
I’d stupidly answered yes. Then I did some backpedaling, framing all of this in a hypothetical fashion, since there was no way in f**k I was going to admit to my sis
