I’ve always loved making dinner. Cooking has never felt like a chore to me – it’s always been fun. When my sons were babies and I was married, I used to pretend I was doing my wife a favor by taking over dinner duty, playing the part of the thoughtful husband. But the truth is, I wanted to do it. I enjoyed it, and I knew she didn’t.

Even now, at 86 years old, I still like peeling beets, frying fish, and cutting potatoes. I even like chopping onions, and I don’t cry when I do it. The parts of cooking that many people dread, I find fun. I know not everyone feels this way, but for me, it has always been a joy.

When I became a professional cook, I discovered something unexpected: after spending all day in my bakery, Marvelous Market, I actually missed cooking dinner at night. That surprised me. I was no longer young, and I was waking up at 3:30 a.m. to shape loaves and bake. By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Yet as evening approached, I found myself daydreaming about what I would cook for dinner.

At the time, I was living alone. I sometimes ate out with friends, but restaurants had grown tiring. My hearing was beginning to fade, and straining to follow conversations over the clatter of dishes and the background music left me drained. Even when I was enjoying the company of my friends, I often looked forward to the quiet of my own kitchen, where I could cook in peace.

Of course, it hasn’t always been solitary. I’ve hosted countless dinner parties over the years, and I still enjoy them. They take discipline and effort – planning the menu, shopping for ingredients, juggling timing so that everything comes out right. Here, for example, are directions to myself for a dinner party I held not too long ago:

I dislike the cleanup as much as anyone, but I love the process of creating a meal for others. Even the logistics are fun for me: knowing when to dress the salad, when to reheat the casserole, and when (grudgingly) I’ll have to leave the table mid-conversation to sauté something that can’t be done ahead of time.

These days, I no longer run the bakery myself – our general manager, Scott Auslander, does a far better job than I ever could at this point. But my habit remains unchanged. Around 4 p.m. each day, my attention naturally drifts to dinner. I start thinking about what I’ll cook, and that small ritual makes me happy.

I can trace this habit back to the early 1980s, when I was managing a copper tubing company in Reading, Pennsylvania. It was the best job I ever had, but the weekly commute from Washington was grueling – four and a half hours on a good day. On Fridays, before heading home, I’d stop at the farmers’ markets in Reading and buy whatever was fresh and in season. During the long drive south, I’d plan a Saturday dinner party in my head, imagining what I could create from what I had bought. By the time I reached the Baltimore Beltway, I knew exactly which extra ingredients I still needed.

Often, I’d swing by the airport to pick up one of my sons, who had flown in from Boston for the weekend. Together, we’d stop at Sutton Place Gourmet, Washington’s premier food store at the time, to buy specialties like radicchio, French butter, or a veal roast. I’ll never forget one trip when Claude Mallinger, a famously refined (and famously snooty) Frenchman, was offering samples of black caviar. He handed me a spoonful, which I ate with exaggerated delight, then asked if my ten-year-old son Philippe could try some too. Claude scowled, reluctant and disdainful, before finally giving Philippe the tiniest taste.

Cooking for friends was simpler back then. I could plan a menu of pasta with eggplant and pork, followed by clams, shrimp, and leeks in a cream sauce, rounded out with a vegetable like cauliflower or eggplant. The only challenge was to make something delicious and appealing.

Now, it’s a little different. Dietary restrictions abound – someone’s allergic to shellfish, another can’t eat wheat, someone else avoids pork, and more often than not, there’s a vegan in the group. What used to be a straightforward challenge has become something of a minefield. But I don’t really mind. In fact, I enjoy the way it forces me to stretch my creativity.

This week I’m hosting a dinner party where two guests don’t eat meat, one avoids eggs, and another is vegan. It will be a puzzle, but I know I’ll figure it out. After all, the joy of cooking has often been in the challenge – and I’m still up for it.