When I turned forty, my friend Sharon told me it would be a good idea to stop acting like Chris Farley. I don’t know if those were her exact words, but I know what she meant. It was time to act less fratty, and to join a local cover band so I wouldn’t have so much time for shenanigans.

Chris Farley died when he was thirty-three, but I would like to think if he were alive today, that like me, he would be working on his mise en place, so that dinner guests wouldn’t have to watch him stumble around in tipsy confusion trying to reestablish the Sonos connection while they waited for a burned crab cake at 10:45.

Sharon’s dinner parties always begin on time, without a hint of chaos, and if they sometimes end in debauchery, I can only say I’ve seen that sort of thing happen at The French Laundry, where the food is less refined.

Sharon does not approve of this blog.