Good morning. I’ve spent the week making like Danny Meyer, the restaurateur, who many nights makes it his business to visit the dining rooms he maintains across the city, even as his Shake Shack empire expands across the nation.

Of course I don’t own any restaurants. (That would be hilarious.) But this week The Times has been playing host to “The Nights,” a series of restaurant dinners connected with this weekend’s New York Times Food Festival, and I’ve been dropping in during some of the meals, just to say hi. This is exciting and fascinating duty, to meet strangers with common interests, and to talk with them about food.

But of course I’ve been missing the kitchen, and the chance to cook big for those around me. (I’ve also been missing the eating, and the lounging around all night afterward, tying flies and watching “Workin’ Moms” on Netflix.) And this weekend, if I weren’t scheduled to be on a stage in Bryant Park watch-helping the chef Angie Mar make venison Wellington, I’d absolutely make a size-large roast pork shoulder and serve it with maduros, rice and beans, hot sauce and plenty of well-buttered toasted supermarket baguette. That’s a Saturday night meal of great distinction.

(Sometimes I yellow the rice with Sazón — the Goya seasoning of coriander, garlic, cumin, annatto, salt and a ton of MSG. I take it to 11. That is a valid option. Don’t @ me, as they say on the internet.)