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Not an Exact Science
Unlike many stars, Ray in person is much like her TV persona—funny and charming, if a bit rougher around the edges. She howls when I tell her about the time I burned my mouth eating habanero peppers, then went to the bathroom and proceeded to burn another body part.That's the key to her popularity.
"Chop the onions, and I'll get your meat going."
Not that she likes potty humor, but she's everywoman. Whether it's traveling on a budget or making a 30-minute meal and even screwing up on occasion, she says, "people can imagine themselves doing anything I do."
Of course, with immense success comes the threat of overkill. Ray is everywhere: all over television, in bookstores, on boxes housing her cookware. Can she possibly sustain this popularity?
Though she's having the time of her life, she says, she doesn't care if her star turn ends. "When people are sick of me," she says, "I'll go away."
That time can't come soon enough for a small element of the population driven batty by an adult who says things like "yum-o" or "easy peasy." There's even a website devoted solely to trashing her, community.livejournal.com/
rachael_ray_termwecan'tuseinreadersdigest.
"I'm too busy to look it up," she says of the site. And to chefs who condemn her for using store-bought items, she retorts, "I don't use processed anything. I use canned beans because I don't have 24 hours to soak them, and I don't think most people do."
Others jump to her defense. Überchef Mario Batali wrote of Ray in Time, "Her ease with basic kitchen techniques and a simple-to-find-in-Topeka ingredient list does not challenge viewers but entices them to join her."
"Add a couple of glugs of wine."
Cooking, for Ray, is not an exact science. Whatever tastes and looks good works. In fact, the first time she ever saw her recipes followed exactly was last year when NASA asked her to create such dishes as Spicy Thai Chicken and Winter Vegetable Curry for the astronauts. "It was excruciating," she says, laughing. "They put everything on ounce scales." But she can now go to her grave bragging that hers was the first garnish in space.
"Check your pasta. You don't want to overcook it."
I drain the penne, toss the parsley into the sauce, then mix it all together. As I grate the Pecorino Romano on top, the timer goes off. I … we—okay, mostly she—did it. I … we—mostly she—cooked one of her 30-minute meals in 30 minutes. It can be done.
Now for the best part—Ray doles out the pasta onto our plates using a coffee mug (when did ladles become old-school?), and we dig in. "The things I do for a living I like to do in life," she offers between bites. "I prefer to go home and cook than go anywhere. It calms me down." She takes another bite. "Very tasty, my friend. Good job."
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