When I was an undergraduate in architecture school, full of all the earnest stuff that undergraduates are full of (yes, and full of that, too), a middle-aged architect pierced through the self-important posturing of so many of the famous architects we admired when he advised us, “I don’t know who is going to save the world, but it’s not going to be architects.”

At the time, we thought he was just burned out and bitter, but twenty years in practice only proved to us how right he was. The idea that beauty and integrity in a building will automatically inspire beauty and integrity in its inhabitants (or for that matter, in its creator) is a pretty theory but has no foundation in practice. It certainly did not make the French aristocracy better people when they moved into Versailles, or stop terrorists from plowing into the Twin Towers with hijacked planes.

Looking around me in my present profession, and flipping through the latest issues of the food magazines, all the posturing about (and by) so-called superstar chefs brings that bitter architect’s observation to bear on the kitchen.

I don’t know who is going to save the world from itself (or even if it can be saved), but I can tell you this: it won’t be chefs.

Let’s face it; in the broad scheme of things, what we do is—pardon the expression—pretty small potatoes.

That isn’t to belittle giving and taking pleasure from the table. If we weren’t supposed to take pleasure in cooking, we would not have a highly developed sense of smell and taste and would never have bothered to figure out that holding a slab of mastodon over fire made it taste better, go down easier, and, more important, stay down.

Nor is it to dismiss good technique and carefulness. But it does put good technique—not to mention cleverness and inventiveness—in its proper perspective. It would be nice to believe that a man walks away from a perfectly made omelet of new-laid eggs happier than he does from a plate of badly scrambled Egg-beaters, when it comes down to it, however, both of them fill him up.

The author of Proverbs understood all this when he observed wisely that a humble dinner of greens served with love was better than a sumptuous banquet surrounded by hate. We can posture all we like, but it’s what’s already in our heart that makes the difference in what’s on our plate, and not the other way around.

When you step into the kitchen tonight, remember that it’s just dinner and keep it simple. Stop trying to wow your family and company with your cleverness and impeccable technique and think instead of who it is you are cooking for and why they’re important to you.

Trust me: the rest will take care of itself.

The obvious technique to talk about is probably that for a classic omelet, but I’ll be covering that next week in my Morning News column. It would be redundant to repeat it here. Besides, the thing that most of us cook most often (and most often mess up) at home is a boneless chicken breast, since they are quick, have almost no waste, and usually satisfy most of the family.

They are also, unfortunately, far too often badly cooked and boring as the dickens. The secret to cooking these well is not to overdo the heat or leave them over it for too long. Look for the quick sauté that imitates the flavors of a roast chicken in my Morning News column this week, seasoned with sage, salt, and pepper, and finished with brown pan gravy. And in the meantime, here’s another handsome way to cook them that’s especially nice for an impromptu dinner party or special occasion within the family.

First, melt some butter in a frying pan (about 2 tablespoons per whole breast) over low heat. Turn off the heat and let it settle. Skim the foam off the top and carefully pour it off into a bowl, leaving the whey (milky white liquid) at the bottom of the pan. Wipe out the pan but don’t clean it.

Now, trim each boned breast of its fat and any cartilage at the thick end (that’s where the breast muscle met with the wing). Lay it on a flat work surface and flatten it with the back of your hand. Using a sharp chef or butcher’s knife, cut it horizontally into two equal halves. Season both sides of each well with sea or kosher salt and a few liberal grindings of pepper and put them aside on a plate.

When you’ve trimmed as many as you need, spread ¼ cup of flour on a dinner plate. Have handy a few tablespoons of cold fresh butter and a handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley.

Put in some of the clarified butter back into the frying pan (start with 3 tablespoons for the first whole breast and allow about 2 tablespoons per breast beyond that). Heat it thoroughly over medium heat and then roll the chicken in the flour, shake off the excess, and slip it into the pan. Raise the heat to medium high and brown well on one side, about 1-2 minutes, depending on how thick the pieces are. Turn and sauté until the second side is browned and the chicken is barely cooked through, no more than a minute longer. Remove them from the pan.

Turn off the heat and swirl in a couple of tablespoons of fresh cold butter, swirling the pan until it has melted and has slightly thickened the browned butter. Throw in a handful of chopped parsley and pour it over the chicken. Serve it immediately, spooning some of the butter over each serving. Be sure to have lots of crusty bread for sopping up the luscious browned butter.