AFTER A LIFETIME of gazing into a woman’s eyes, a man ought to be able to read her mind. Though my gaze has been intense, if intermittent, for over 45 years, I still can’t divine my wife’s intentions. I ought to have spotted some malign gleam or secret strategy when she approached me recently with a culinary question.
She asks me about food from time to time — sometimes to flatter my vanity, sometimes to expose
