Last Thursday evening I had mouths to feed, but I was floundering way beyond a deadline, and just in front of a flight out of town early the next morning. It also happened to be the very week that Michael Ruhlman called bullshit on the claim that we—as a society—don’t have time to cook, so I was feeling a bit guilty about what was about to happen. But it had to happen. There was just no other way we were going to eat well that night.

Around 6 PM, as promised, the doorbell rang and I was greeted by David Bryson, aka Johnny Casserole, bearing a tightly wrapped, oven-ready Pyrex dish containing enough chicken potpie to feed us three times over, plus a Red Hen baguette.