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Just in Time
When it comes to Rachael Ray's 30-minute meals, there are two camps. One boasts, "I can do them in 28 minutes and 36 seconds." The other, after an hour of meticulous measuring (a Ray no-no) and trying to decipher the meaning of EVOO (Ray-ese for extra-virgin olive oil), gives up and sends out for Chinese.So I decide to try an experiment: Could an amateur chef (I have mastered the art of adding frozen vegetables to my canned lentil soup) cook a Rachael Ray 30-minute meal in 30 minutes? For my test, I choose the Christmas Pasta, a thick tomato sauce chock-full of sausage, pancetta and ground meats tossed over penne rigate. I then invite the grande dame of half-hour eats to watch and offer hints in her prep kitchen.
"It depends on how good you are with a knife," says Rachael, cluing me in on one of her secrets. "And how much wine you drink. Takes me an hour and a half once I open a bottle."
I put down my glass and set the timer.
"Pour your oil in the skillet and get it hot," she orders. I grab a pan. "That little baby thing ain't going to do nothing for you," she sniffs.
I reach for a larger skillet, then look over my recipe. Ray tells me not to bother. "I'll tell you what to do."
Rachael Ray is the James Brown of foodies—the hardest-working cook ("not chef, I don't have a pedigree") in the kitchen. She doesn't know how to sit still. Though this is to be my meal, she soon has slotted spoon in hand and is spitting out orders.
"Chop the garlic."
Being busy is how she likes it, so her proverbial plate is always full. Aside from her syndicated talk show, her many Food Network gigs and her magazine, Every Day with Rachael Ray (an RDA publication), she's just published her 14th cookbook, Just in Time. In it, she tosses in a few 15- and 60-minute recipes.
"Garbage bowl needs to be closer."
She recently launched a philanthropic website, yum-o.org. Working with Bill Clinton's Alliance for a Healthier Generation, their goal, she says, "is to get kids psyched to eat healthier food." And in Rachael Ray's world, there's no reason why a childhood favorite, something like sloppy joes, can't be nutritious.
"Chop the pancetta."
Pointing at the enormous chunks I cut, Ray squeals, "Look at the size of that pancetta! It's huge!"
Maybe noticing my hurt puppy dog eyes, Ray quickly fixes me with that famous grin of hers, the one where her mouth forms a perfect isosceles triangle. "I'm a backseat cooker, sorry."
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