Hugh Hefner's testosterone-fueled introduction establishes the book's masculine credentials:

"For those inured to the curlicue-carrot, calorie-crazed, calico-kitchencraft magazines, or to the truffle-happy, hummingbird-tongue sensibilities of those finicky-fussy food journals for dyspeptic epicures, this book may come as something of a shock -- but also, it is hoped, as a hearty change of diet. In an increasingly womanized society, the domain of the chef -- male since time immemorial -- has been invaded en masse by chintz-aproned housewives. But today's well-rounded urban male, safe in his bachelor bastion with THE PLAYBOY GOURMET in hand, can still wield the spatula and twirl the swizzle stick with style and dash."

Hef's purple prose inspired me to dub my house "Bachelor Bastion."

Perhaps the best example of the "bachelor bastion" ethos outlined above is the "kitchenless kitchen" found on page 248.

"A fabulous food bar for informal dining," it's a self-contained unit resembling a storage chest or hi-fi cabinet when closed.

Open, ammenities include a sink with built-in garbage disposal, mini fridge, wide array of electric skillets, grills and toaster ovens, espresso machine, electric chafing dish, and so on. This 7-foot long "peninsula" is meant to dispense with a conventional kitchen altogether.