Don't hate Ina Garten, a.k.a. "Barefoot Contessa," because her Food Network show is wildly successful, as are her five cookbooks.

Don't hate her for her fabulous shingle-style "farmhouse" in the Hamptons, complete with hydrangeas, an herb garden and a gleaming designer kitchen -- and a well-fed husband named Jeffrey who obviously adores her and her cooking.

The fact is, the ubiquitous Ms. Garten deserves full props because she taught a friend of mine, one who was absolutely terrified of her own kitchen, how to cook.

Big deal? Absolutely.

This friend, who begs to remain nameless out of sheer embarrassment, has -- I say without a trace of envy -- one of those really great kitchens littered with all the obligatory trophies, where the stove is always a Viking, the refrigerator is a Sub-Zero, the wine glasses are by Reidel and the apples in the big teak bowl (sustainably grown, of course) are heirloom.

A lucky woman, this friend of mine.

The trouble is, whenever I'd dine at her house it was always takeout (sometimes mine). I never associated her with putting anything in the oven.

That was before she discovered Ms. Garten.

During a recent visit, said friend threw a dinner party for seven people with minimum hysteria, getting everything together in little less than three hours. While the appetizers -- Stilton, table water crackers and good champagne -- were not Ms. Garten's, the roast chicken and apple crisp were.

I watched drop-jawed as my friend expertly stuffed three roasting chickens with lemon and rosemary and then tossed them into the roasting pans with loads and loads of onions, which would caramelize into a glorious side dish. With similar dispatch, she assembled the apple crisp according to Ms. Garten's simple directions, spiced with nutmeg, cinnamon and lemon peel, and topped with a mountain of buttery, oatmeal-flecked crumble.

It was all so simple, yet the results were spectacular.

More importantly, I watched a woman transformed from having an uneasy relationship with her kitchen to someone who navigated it with confidence and authority.

How did Ms. Garten succeed where others failed?

Perhaps it's because her books, and her show, don't just showcase rich yet easy-to-follow recipes, but a lifestyle, one admittedly materialistic if not over-the-top (Ms. Garten's "Barefoot in Paris" volume, where photographs of her little "weekend getaway" Paris apartment are dispersed amid recipes for Celery Root Remoulade and Plum Tarte Tatin, is one such example). In Barefoot Contessa World, the gleaming farmhouse table is topped with fresh peonies from the garden -- and the hostess always has a great time at her own parties because she isn't exhausted from slaving in the kitchen, and she knows her guests will love the food.

In short, Ms. Garten's genius is that she teaches the would-be cook how to relax. That's what happened here. My friend's guests were beside themselves with delight, while she just sat back and smiled.

Amazing: my dear, lucky friend, the cook.