Friendship is Weird. Sometimes It's Also Delicious.

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Celebrated P.'s 57th tonight at his place at his table.

You could celebrate your birthday by pressuring folk to take you out to a fine restaurant and pressuring them into paying for you meal. But P. invites folk to his house and cooks a divine meal for them. There was a salad that was like a platoon in a WW2 movie, filled with many ingredients that in combination spell victory.

Except the ingredient from Brooklyn doesn't die.

And there was spinach wrestled to the stove and made delicious. And chicken from some special chicken farm where the chickens not only range free, they have tap classes.

A., the beloved wife, of whom it is said she can't boil liquid nitrogen -- I mean, try to *stop* it from boiling --made a lovely cake. I think it was a sponge cake. It's name was Bob. (This may be a joke. I'll look in my textbooks on the nature of humor and get back to you.)

Thus, my recommendation: A woman might not cook but you love her still. A friend? Check his spice rack.