It's no secret - an inordinately high proportion of the world's best chefs are men. Joël Robuchon, Gordon Ramsay, Paul Bocuse, Tetsuya Wakuda, Alain Ducasse. Let's leave aside all questions of right, wrong, equality, yay, nay or otherwise, because that's for another time. What actually puzzles us most about the high number of haute cuisine male chefs is the lack of a corollary - if the creme de la creme is mostly male, then why are most mortal men utterly hopeless in the kitchen?
Summer is here, of sorts, and short dresses have lured the heterosexual male from the sofa to the beer garden, in pursuit of love and lust. (Yes, this is primarily directed at straight men. ManSchool's gay friends just don't need as much help in this area.) So you've met a nice lass at the pub, got her number, and are poised to call her up to ask her on a date. ManSchool suggests that you don't take her to a white tablecloth overpriced restaurant.
Cook her dinner instead.