My husband cooks or we eat out or order. He’s been the cook through our 16-year relationship because he was already retired when we met and I work very long hours. The grandchildren and I cooked for fun and to give him a break. We’d spend a Saturday afternoon baking and sauteeing and broiling and boiling, fearlessly trying new recipes, laughing and talking and singing old Beatles songs. Then, we’d have a wonderful dinner. Even the failures tasted pretty good. Nothing is the same anymore.