If anyone in New York City, friend or stranger, would like for me to cook his or her dinner party on the night of Wednesday, Aug 4, 2004, that person should send an email to ezra @ the present domain—that is, the author of this column, that is, Ezra who will occupy that city for two nights with no observable work responsibilities. The cheffery goes to the first plausible respondent.

I will cook a dish of your choosing (I retain veto power) and a dessert of my choosing. Alternatively, you may defer to my choice for both items.

A few ground rules:

I do not cook meat.

The meal will contain the colors red, yellow, and purple.

The size of the party is limited only by your facilities. And also by the number 20. When in doubt, remember the Golden Rule: Thou shalt not invite the entirety of thy Boy Scout troup to dinner.

To ward off the possibility of any unfortunate misunderstanding, let me be clear: I am not a trained chef, nor really an untrained chef. I am not a chef at all. I am a person who enjoys cooking, strangers, oxytocin, and the challenge of unusual conditions.

Please provide two cutting boards and a sharp knife.

(For best results, include the words "nyc dinner" in the subject of your message. Do not include the words "cialis," "preteen," "mortgage" or "contumacious." Thank you.)

UPDATE: No more calls, please. The dinnees have been chosen. Thanks to all who participated.