Loads, but one that springs to mind:
Goes on and on and on about their "signature speciality" when cooking, finally to serve you up something stunningly adequate, only to expect you to praise it to the heavens.
My last boyfriend made such a song and dance about his perfect roast potatoes, and insisted on cooking me Christmas Dinner. A sadder, more woeful meal you have never seen. Yes, the roast potatoes were perfectly nice, but they were accompanied by quorn roast, boiled carrots and sprouts and Bisto gravy. That's it, and he presented it with a bloody flourish like fucking Jamie Oliver. I had to pretend to be quasi orgasmic, while thinking back to the nut roast, bread sauce, gravy, stuffing, roast potatoes and parsnips, cauliflower cheese, braised red cabbage and sprouts sautéed with chestnuts that I'd prepared myself from scratch a couple of days before with a fraction of the fuss 🙄.