By Moutarde Beignets Mirepoix

Mon Dieu! I am a modern father, so of course I tell my beloved daughter Brie Cassoulet, “follow your dreams!” But Brie has spent fourteen years now slogging away as a sommelier, maître-d’, or saucier in this or that maison de nourriture, and frankly, after footing the bill for Brie’s combined MBA and medical degrees at the University of Chicago, my wife and I were expecting somewhat larger dreams. 

It makes no sense. No matter whether Brie applies for a position as an orthopedic surgeon or upper management in a Fortune 500, for some unknown, mysterious reason, she always comes away with a job slinging the fromage at some bistro, boulangerie, or café. 

And yes, some of the salle à mangers where Brie has worked offer incomparable Parisienne fare, but we didn’t go into hock forking out bucks for a fancy degree just so our daughter could trot côq au vins across the stylishly tiled floors of pretentious brasseries. 

Sometimes I ask my lovely wife, Madeleine Pâté Au Gratin, could this be the family curse? Because it is true, several generations of our kin, all the way back to my great-grandfather Quenelle Pamplemousse Escargots, have labored in the French food trenches, and who can say why? But surely Brie Cassoulet’s august education should have freed her of this ancient yoke.

So please, I am begging you. Help my lovely daughter Brie Cassoulet Tartar-Champignons break out of this horrible rut of Gallic gastronomic gigs. Even if it means taking a job behind the counter of a Starbucks serving Frappuccino and café au laits, it will be a step in the right direction.

By Joe Lichtblau