Once or twice a year I get drafted to participate in the creation of dinner. By that I mean The Wife issues a set of specific instructions that The Husband (me) is obligated to carry out, no questions asked.As a non-foodie, a man who would starve to death left on my own, I am rarely asked to perform even the most menial food preparation task. Once I smushed potatoes through a ricer and a few years back, after setting three timers and distributing a blizzard of Post-it notes, I...