at least for 6 consecutive tuesday nights, your man found his calling: cooking!
one night last winter, colleen and i were sitting around, hungry and disappointed with our pitiful cooking skills. we simply had few skills to speak of in the kitchen, a confusing and foreign place. finally, we got some ambition and decided to do something about it, to finally fend for ourselves.
we ordered a pizza.
some time later, we had the random idea to join a cooking class.
before you think this was an especially virtuous thing to do, let me assure you that "common folk" cooking class is nowhere near as strenuous or demanding as a professional culinary school, or so i've been led to believe. i mean, you spend the whole time eating stuff, opening bottles of wine, and slapping people with kitchen towels.
at the end of each night, there is a great big family dinner, during which everyone gives polite, effusive praise about eachother's meals. (this wasn't clear until after the first lesson, where my strategy to position myself as the merciless, high-society food curmudgeon quickly precipitated the permanent departure of two students. what can i say; if you can't do your pasta better than 'mule feed quality', then perhaps a recreational cooking class is not for you.)
in the end, i learned many things, but the most important was this: though there's no 'i' in 'team', there *is* an 'i' in 'cooking', and it means i run this kitchen: KEEP OUT. armed with all my new culinary expertise, i shall never be a pleasant kitchen helper again.