Some of you have noted the title of my column and its cooking inference and surmised I might be a gourmet chef, or at least have a fair degree of competence in the culinary arts. Alas, that is far from reality.

In the past, I have attempted to join the ranks of the culinary elite but due to past failures, the Surgeon General has requested my kitchen display a sign usually intended for most heavy-industrial zones: a flip board with changeable numbers indicating the days elapsed since the last on-the-job accident. I have even viewed the effervescent chefs on the Food Network in an attempt to absorb a few rudimentary tips, but all in vain. It has been the equivalent of slowing down to see a gory auto accident on the Garden State Parkway: I know it is bad for me, I won’t learn anything and I can’t take steps to ease the carnage. Thus, my George Foreman grill and microwave have been the only reluctant companions on my journey towards nutrition.

One recent Wednesday at a Macy’s One-Day Sale, I naively believed I might turn the tide of food preparation ineptitude. I strode confidently into the housewares department and decided to purchase a wok: shiny, Teflon-coated like many of our recent politicians, and smartly accented with big wooden handles and metal domed lid.

“Hmm, why not invite my mother over for a home-cooked meal this evening?” I thought. “How difficult could it be to prepare stir-fry vegetables and rice?”

As the hour of reckoning neared, I came to my senses and realized that I shouldn’t attempt this escapade alone. I decided to invoke a little help from above by praying to the patron saint of cooking.

Now before I go any further, let me share with you my philosophy on patron saints. In my conversations with friends, I have come to realize that everyone approaches the well-known, popular saints for help. Worried about a hopeless situation? Pray to St. Jude. Lose something? St. Anthony is your man. Problem with a pet or wildlife and who you gonna call?  St. Francis of Assisi to the rescue.

I imagine these busy, oft-beseeched saints in heaven, scurrying around like delicatessen counter workers on a Saturday morning, frantically calling out numbers and slapping prayer orders onto wax paper while their customers impatiently mill about. Personally, for help with my own struggles I’d rather look to the lesser-known men and women of God, the ones perhaps with a little more time on their hands.

Imagine them up in heaven, singing God’s praises during choir practice, and being constantly interrupted by the incessant “When the Saints Go Marching In” ringtone trumpeting from their more popular compatriots’ cell phones. The “A-list” saints roll their eyes, pat the hidden pockets of their robes, then wearily apologize. “Sorry, I have to take this call.”

Their less popular brethren, though having attained everlasting life and adulation, feel neglected and surreptitiously check their own celestial Blackberries for messages to no avail, muttering, “Is this thing even on?”

So, in order that my prayer request not reach an overwrought heaven-dweller but instead jump to the head of the line, I tried a modern-day solution: surfing the Internet. The Catholic.org website’s “Saints and Angels” section lists hundreds of saints and blessed beings’ specialties, so I thought this would be the perfect place to find a lesser known yet still effective celestial assistant in the kitchen.

So who’s the patron saint of cooking? Okay, click on the C’s and scroll down… cab drivers, candle makers, cloth workers, ooh, comedians! (note to self: invoke St. Vitus next time I have no ideas for a column topic). Aha, here it is - the patron saint of cooking is St. Martha!

I should have known. It is the poor woman who bustled about preparing a meal for Jesus while her sister Mary lolled at his feet and half-heartedly offered to phone for take-out food. Okay, St. Martha will be tonight’s new sous-chef. I said a quick prayer to the hard-working Woman of God, invoking her help with the meal, then set out to make dinner for myself and my mom...

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