I’m still getting my mind around the ad- and comment-driven insanity of starting a column devoted to “a little chef shall teach you,” but I suspect the mom we had lunch with the day the magazine landed expressed a pretty common reaction: “I think I’m gonna puke.” And her spawn is all growed up and off in London on a fellowship. I admit my greatest accomplishment in life has been not repeating my mother’s mistake of producing a litter (seven kids in 8 1/2 years), but even if I liked human larvae I would have a hard time accepting the possibility of inspiration from them. Judging by what I encounter at parties and in public, many are idiots, few are savants. Hollywood dogs would make more sense — just consider the potential of “Marley Under Pressure.” I can hate the sin but admire the sinner, though, so I’ll just say the silliness could have been Baby Gap sillier. So far, at least, none of the fetal Roccos and prepubescent Panchitos springing up all over the internets have been awarded a regular gig. To the 15-year-old doing back flips in the bathroom to get a Per Se reservation, you just want to wearily say: Learn to masturbate. It’s only food.