I used to feel guilty when other people made me dinner, and so I’d volunteer to help out. It took me a while to realize that this only a benefit to the chef if the volunteer actually has some idea how to prepare food.

It’s not like I don’t know my way around a kitchen.  I happen to know that in most cases you can circumnavigate almost any kitchen and eventually locate a doorway that leads out to a room in which you can find the television.  I was born with these instincts; some people train their entire lives to gain such a degree of culinary skill.

Why did I try to help out in the kitchen? I’m a feminist, although it’s a male version of feminism so you know it roughly translates to “It’s bad form to put your feet up on a woman’s back and tap out your cigar ash on her head.” In any event, it was enough to make me wander into the kitchen and try to help.  For example, I always liked icing cakes as a kid.  So if I saw a stew or a casserole, the old culinary instinct would kick in and I’d slather them with frosting.  Or if I saw a soufflé that doesn’t seem perky enough, I’d jump up and down and shout “ARISE AND WAKEN, GREET THE NEW DAY.”

This all changed when I found out there’s no such thing as a “Good Samaritan” law for the kitchen. If you see a stranger in trouble and attempt to help out--for example, applying CPR--you’re protected from legal retaliation by the Good Samaritan law.  This apparently does not hold true in the kitchen. If you interfere with food in progress and the chef does not approve of your creative direction, the chef has the legal right to sue you and also brain you with a Williams-Sonoma garlic mincer.

Things are much better now.  I watch TV and then eat and the chef says “Thank you so much for helping out.  What you did made everything go so much more smoothly.” And I say “It was nothing.” To which the response is always “Exactly.  Thank you so, so much for doing absolutely nothing.  Otherwise we wouldn’t be eating.”