Mise en place your vocabulary with these culinary gems.
Short for monosodium glutamate, the most unfairly vilified flavor enhancer in culinary history, blamed for everything from headaches to moral decay despite zero scientific evidence. This umami-bomb has been used in Asian cooking for over a century but became a scapegoat in the 1960s thanks to xenophobia masquerading as health concern. Your body literally produces glutamate naturally, but sure, panic about the dash in your fried rice.
Chocolate-covered clusters featuring nuts (usually almonds, peanuts, or cashews) and caramel, despite having absolutely nothing to do with actual monkeys. A delightfully bizarre candy name that somehow works.
A dark, low-gravity ale served at British pubs to people who think stronger beer is 'too much'—basically beer for folks who want flavor without commitment. The training-wheels beer.
A light, airy confection made by whipping air into cream, chocolate, or pureed fruit. It's what you make when you want dessert but also want to feel like you're eating a cloud.
A mixture of vegetables cut into uniform 1/4-inch cubes, often used in salads or as garnish; named after Macedonia because it's a diverse mix of ingredients getting along.
The tactile sensation and texture of food in your mouth—creamy, crunchy, smooth, grainy, etc. It's the non-flavor part of flavor that separates a good dish from an unforgettable one.
To finish a sauce by whisking in cold butter just before service, adding richness, shine, and body. It's the culinary equivalent of a power move—literally mounting the sauce with butter.
To chop food into very fine, small pieces using a knife. The precursor to dicing that's even finer and more chaotic looking than its organized cousins.
A diamond's fancy way of saying 'oval with pointy ends'—shaped like a football tilted at both ends. Also the pretentious French title for a female marquess, or that tent-like structure over fancy restaurant entrances that screams 'reservations required.'
Finely chopped into tiny, almost unrecognizable pieces—the culinary equivalent of job security through obfuscation. If no one can identify what it was, you're a genius.