Yes, my wife balances the daily regiment of torture with great food. She's a rather good cook. So good, in fact, that my own once enviable culinary skill has atrophied to the size of those little fore-claws of the T-Rex dinosaur. How can anyone flip a pancake or stir a stew with arms that small? While I can't let her go to Chicago (I'd starve to death), I'm sure she'd be glad to mail you some casserole or apple dessert, but you may not be pleased with the results when it finally arrives at your door.