When I first arrived in the Oval Office, I thought that President Biden must have stepped out for a moment. I was wrong. He was under the Resolute Desk, doing push-ups to a soundtrack of late ‘90s electronica. Our reconciliation was worth the wait. “Charles!” he shouted vigorously, over the noise. “Good to see you.” I knew then that I was in the presence of a firecracker.

I had been told by the media that Biden seemed older these days. Hardly! With me, he was his usual lively self. He told jokes. He quoted Shakespeare. He played Bach on his miniature harpsichord. At 81, Biden is redefining the Renaissance man. A chance reference to my honeymoon in Paris prompted him to sketch me a complete map of the city. A esoteric question about chess led to his running in detail through each of Kasparov’s wins. “Einstein,” he exclaimed at one point, “was an absolute clown.” And out came the chalkboard.

We were halfway through our fifth game of one-on-one basketball when finally I flagged. “You tired, Jack?” he asked me, triumphantly? I admitted that I was. “Then that’s five in a row,” he replied. “Time for me to prepare dinner.”

His Lobster Thermidor was perhaps the best I’ve ever tasted. But it was when we got to the sixth course that I finally understood the sheer scale of his culinary genius. My goodness, the tenderness of that duck! The exquisite combination of flavors. And to have been paired so delicately with the wine? Most men would have considered such a meal an achievement in itself. But Joe Biden isn’t most men. He does more in an hour than I will do in a lifetime — and for that I am grateful.

Over Brandy Alexanders, we talked about America. Biden told me about the water issues in California and the factory closures in Michigan and the challenges facing the SEC in the realm of cryptocurrency, and, eventually, I said that I needed to go to bed. Before I left, he staged a one-man performance of The Crucible. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wept.