If you come to my house for dinner, please enjoy the hors d’oeuvres, make yourself at home, and have a glass of wine. But if you know what’s good for you, you won’t offer to pour me one. Not if you want to enjoy dinner.

I have one hard and fast rule: The cook cannot drink until the food is on the table.

This is not because I wouldn’t enjoy a glass of wine after my labors in the kitchen. I would absolutely adore one. I can’t tell you how much I’d like to be toasting my guests with a glass of bubbly, or washing down a spicy bite of dip with a crisp sauvignon blanc.

But I just can’t. Through long and painful experience, I’ve grasped the inevitable consequences of breaking the rule.

Even just a taste of wine throws me off my stride. To start with, dinner will be late. Very, very late. And something will burn. Also, my guests may get an unpleasant surprise when I accidentally sprinkle on cayenne instead of paprika. At the end of the night, chances are I’ll look in the refrigerator and discover I forgot to serve one of the courses. For sure, I’ll open up the microwave the next day to find the bacon I intended to sprinkle on the salad.

You think drinking and driving is dangerous? Sipping and sautéing is even more perilous.

The origin of my rule was the time, after a cocktail or two, that I pulled out the chocolate ice cream and absent-mindedly perched it on top of the refrigerator while taking out ice — and then forgot to stick it back inside. It sat there for three days.

Of course it melted. But it didn’t flow forward, where I might have seen it. No, it went backwards, behind the fridge, oozing down onto the coils. I finally noticed the now completely empty carton when I was clued in by the delicious smell of chocolate emanating from my kitchen every time the motor cycled on. (Of all the ways I have found to ruin a major appliance, I think that might be the most creative.)

After that, I banned wine from my kitchen. But that hasn’t been enough to entirely prevent other cooking misadventures. In fact, last month I discovered a whole new hazard.

Haircuts.

Now, you’re asking yourself, what could possibly be dangerous about visiting a salon the day of your party? You want to look your best when guests come to dinner. A manicure might be a slight problem, because it would be so easy to chip a nail while tidying up the kitchen. But getting your hair styled? Certainly, I’ve never given it a second thought.

In fact, I was congratulating myself that day for being so organized food-wise that I had a free hour to visit the hairdresser. And I was looking great, if I do say so myself.

There I was, elegantly coiffed, standing at the stove warming the soup. One of my guests asked me if I was sure I didn’t want a glass of wine, and I shook my head to answer no.

As I did so, a small movement caught my eye. I thought it was a fly and I went to shoo it away. Then I realized with horror that it wasn’t an insect. It was bits of hair, the remnants of my haircut, drifting down into the soup. I looked into the pot and saw a collection of half-inch snippets already floating on the surface. And I had been stirring the soup. If those were on top, what was already in the pot?

Ewww. Gross.

I know nutritionists say we should be eating high fiber foods, but I suspect this is not what they meant.

What did I do? What could I do?

I broke my rule. I told my friends I had changed my mind. I accepted a great big glass of wine and happily gulped it down without any worries.

This was one dinner where I wasn’t going to mind at all that I forgot to serve one of the courses.

Walnut Tart

What, you thought I was going to give you a soup recipe? Are you nuts? I may never eat soup again. Instead I’m giving you an easy, impressive dessert you can make a day in advance. That way, no matter what kitchen disaster befalls you, you’ll be sure of having at least one course to serve.

This recipe adapted from the New York Times is basically walnuts in caramel sauce on top of a baked pastry shell — as simple as can be. The caramel is sticky, though, and likely would capture any ambient fuzz, so it would be a good idea not to have a haircut just before you make it. And I’d banish the cat, too. (Not that Eddie has any interest in sweets. But I’m always happy to have an excuse to kick him out of the house.)

Serves 8

1 unbaked pastry shell in a 9-inch pie or tart pan (make your favorite tart crust,* or use a prepared one from the supermarket)

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 Tbsp. water

1/4 pound unsalted butter

1/2 cup cream

2 1/2 cups roughly chopped walnuts

Salt

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Spread the walnuts on a baking sheet and lightly toast them in the oven for 4-5 minutes. Don’t let them burn.

Completely bake the tart shell following the instructions for an unfilled shell. You may need to weigh it down with beans or pie weights for part of the baking, in order to keep the bottom from bulging. It should be lightly golden brown.

While it cools, make the caramel. Mix the sugar with the water in a heavy 6- or 8-inch saucepan. Place over medium heat and cook until the sugar melts, shaking the pan occasionally. Once the sugar has melted, cook, stirring occasionally with a heat-proof spatula, until the mixture is a deep gold color. Watch it carefully — make sure it has picked up a nice caramel color, but don’t let it burn.

When it is the right color, turn the heat to low and add the butter and cream. (Be careful — it may bubble up.) Stir until the butter is melted and the cream and butter have been completely incorporated. Turn off the heat, add a large pinch or two of salt, and then stir in the walnuts.

Spread the walnut mixture on top of the crust. Refrigerate for about an hour. After that, you can bring it to room temperature to serve.

* If you don’t have one, email me and I’ll send you my all-time favorite crust recipe.

Betty Teller was mortified to discover that she sheds more than Eddie. Send her a good lint roller, or contact her at amuse-bouche@sbcglobal.net.