I generally enjoy cooking for friends, although it’s always a challenge trying to do four things at once. As a visiting chef, I need to keep up my end of the conversation while drinking the cheap red wine I brought while investigating a strange kitchen for the necessary utensils, spices, et cetera. And, of course, I need to cook.

And so it was that I found myself talking with Muriel about recent developments in the Cambodian rice industry, quaffing a quart of wine, waiting for the water to boil, and looking for oil. And that’s when I spotted the bottle of “Live Oil.”

I found the idea of cooking with live oil quite unnerving. To be completely honest, I’ve never thought twice about splashing oil into a pan to prepare a hot bath for smelly garlic. But tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to pour live oil into a red-hot iron skillet.

When I told Muriel about my moral dilemma, what did she do? She laughed; that’s what she did.

“You’re such a silly idiot, David,” she said. “It’s just a cheap bottle of olive oil. Are you too drunk to read?”

I should have known. I should have known, but I never do.

Later, after we each inhaled a large burrito, I returned to the laboratory.

I couldn’t tell by the tone of his letter whether his question was philosophical, or physiological, or both, or neither.

“Sir,” I replied, “there are some things in this lovely world of ours that are beyond appreciation or even comprehension. I hope that you’ll respect my conviction that exhaling a burrito is one of them.”

I don’t get it. First, why would anyone climb Mount Everest? It’s almost impossible to do without servants and oxygen tanks, and what’s the fun of being in the mountains with servants and crates of accoutrements? And second, why would anyone go to all the trouble of climbing to the top of Mount Everest without the possibility of perusing the periphery?

Beats me. But, then again, most things do.

“It must have been a pretty awful painting for someone to have gone to all the trouble of stealing it,” I hypothesized.

“It must have been a pretty good painting for someone to have gone to all the trouble of stealing it,” Jerrod opined.

Jerrod’s an optimist; I am not.

Is the gallery half empty or half full? Jerrod and I agreed to disagree.

The beverage did, in fact, smell like wine. Carolyn and I agreed that truth in advertising is always a pleasant surprise.

Patty told me that I should sell tickets to my brain.

We spent much of the evening complimenting each other.

Life can be very nice, sometimes.