It happens very soon after you’ve arrived at that phase of the relationship where the two of you are living at the one address.

You’ve established some kind of routine to drop off the kids at school on the way to work. You’ve got the household chores divvied up and cobbled together a joint account to pay the rent and groceries.

Possibly the wine, too.

So now things are relatively settled, calm. Dare I say it, things are even humdrum.

It’s then she says something which shocks the man of the household – that’s you – right to the core.

And these are the words. “Honey? Can you make dinner for the kids?”

I know. Shocking, right? No way you could have prepared for this, or the suddenness with which it was dropped on you.

As you take a deep breath, here’s a little context and an understanding of how the female of the species goes about this very same task.

Read through, and you’ll see the glimmerings of a new world, a shiny place where you are a cook. The kids might even get a meal out of it.

Here’s the thing. When women go to the refrigerator, they find neat little packages: a dozen sausages, 10 hamburger patties, six lamb chops. And they pop them into the microwave.

When we men go to the very same refrigerator, there are two items in there that may or may not be food.

One is quite possibly the remains of the dinner you tried to cook last week. It now appears to be wearing a fur coat and green eyeshadow.

The other item is a 100 kilogram block of frozen Woolworths chicken, too large to be separated from the wooden pallet on which it was shipped.

How are you, man of the house, to turn this Everest of deep-chilled chicken flesh into an actual dinner? Bear in mind, you’ve got seven minutes before ‘Home and Away’ comes on.

I’m glad you asked. This is a test of your manhood, gentlemen, just a test, and this is how you do it. First, drag that chunk of chicken out to the kerb. Use a piano dolly, a wheelbarrow, a forklift if you have one handy.

And you’ll get a good grip of that slippery chicken skin by using those new tea-towels her mum gave you as a moving-in-together gift. You wouldn’t want freezer burn on those hands, would you?

Holding the chicken over the edge of concrete kerb, whack it – this is a technical term, gentlemen – whack it with your best hammer.

You probably have a quality masonry mallet close at hand, but I prefer a 28-ounce framing hammer. My Estwing has a good weight, great balance, and a very pretty blue handle.

So… two or three whacks, and as the greats of MasterChef would say: Voila! We have ourselves a chunk of chicken we can chuck into the microwave.

Oh? Still can’t quite fit it into the microwave?

Forget about the electric knife, even if you knew where it was. It’s time to drag out the big, bad boy, that chainsaw you’ve been saving for a very special occasion.

Strap on the Alaska edition, carbide-tip, all-purpose blade, and away you go.

I know, I know, you’re saying: “But Mike? A chainsaw? Won’t that leave a raggedy edge on the chicken?

And I say to you: “Yes, yes. But you just watch that special marinade soak right in.”

There, then, is my handy household tip for you newbie house holders, any and all genders.

There’s more in my new cookbook, Mike’s Cooking with Power Tools.

It’s the follow up to Tenderizing Tenderloin with an Impact Wrench, and of course the very popular Preparing your Favourite Desserts with a Welding Torch.

You can pick up a copy at most bookstores around town. Or at Mitre 10, near the hammers.