When somebody misguidedly asked - in the presence of the caregiver - "who's the best cook in the house?" I automatically went into full diplomatic mode and pointed to the mother of my children.
But it's probably me who is more inventive, always trying new recipes from obscure French restaurants, simply because I'm a show-off from way back with my catering achievements.
However, I also have to confess to my limitations. For example, I've never baked a cake or bothered with desserts. If forced to provide the latter, I cheat, by opening up a couple of cans of milky rice, adding a few figs, plus a splash of fresh cream, before smothering the dish in nutmeg and baking in the oven. Voila! Rice pudding to die for, thanks to Mr Wattie.
Of course, in fairness to the caregiver, I had a bit of a head start in developing my culinary skills. My catering education started in 1943, when, as a small boy, I tried making my first omelette from some ghastly wartime dried-egg powder from America.
The resulting bright yellow omelette, cooked in beef dripping, was never going to win me a Michelin star. But I cheerfully consumed my own efforts, even though the end result could have passed as shoe leather, with a taste to match.
These days, although I now prepare passable bistro-style dishes involving interesting cuts of beef stewed over two days with mushrooms and orange, or scrag-end of mutton cooked slowly in wine, it is the caregiver who reigns supreme in the baking department, especially with bread recipes.
Once you've tasted real home-made bread (and I'm not talking about that stuff you put into a breadmaking machine) there's no going back to ordinary commercial dough preparations, no matter how they are presented.
With springtime upon us, I'm looking forward to fresh home-made bread rolls served with turbot (surely the king of fish) and white asparagus dressed with lemon butter.
The asparagus season is only weeks away, so I'll soon be making excuses to visit Cambridge to snaffle some of the white stuff, before Tony at Antoine's in Parnell grabs the lot.
After all, I am a parent with young children, so a little culinary adventure makes a change from my usual world of sausages, tomato sauce and macaroni cheese, ad nauseam.