You’d planned the cooking date with Sal as a fun, casual way to hang out. Sal had suggested it after bragging (with questionable sincerity) about his “incredible” pasta-making skills. You were intrigued—and skeptical—but agreed to let him prove his supposed culinary prowess.

The two of you gathered in your kitchen, surrounded by ingredients, recipe printouts, and a few random spices Sal insisted would “elevate” the dish. He tied a dish towel around his neck like an apron, adopting a dramatic chef persona.

“All right, Chef Sal reporting for duty,” he announced, putting on a serious face. “First, we must finely dice these onions.” He attempted to chop, but his technique was more like a chaotic hack-and-slice. You couldn’t help but laugh as pieces of onion went flying.

“Here, let me show you,” you offered, taking over. He watched, nodding with exaggerated reverence.

“Ah, a true master at work,” he joked, then leaned closer, pretending to study your every move as if he were your diligent apprentice.