Rachael Ray of the Food Network was on the show today a year after I stalked her at her last appearance at the Viking Store in Buckhead. Herewith is my account of that meeting from a couple of Thanksgivings ago:
We are headed off to see FoodTV’s Rachel Ray, host of 30-Minute Meals, in town to sign her new book. I don’t know the name of it, but I’m guessing it’s about making meals in a half-hour. The lines are pretty long for a woman who makes leftovers on cable TV. The definition of star certainly has expanded in the past few generations.
Rachel Ray is better looking in person than on TV which makes her look chunky, and she has an unnatural, emphatic way in front of the camera. But in person, she’s looking mighty hot, even if she still displays that Long Islandy, Hebraic, high maintanence enthusiasm that grates after the liquor wears off. She and I would divorce within minutes. I wouldn’t have the patience to tame her.
She has a big rock on her finger and her publicist tells those of us in line that she is engaged. This makes me sad, not because it diminishes my chances of getting personal with her, but no married woman who cooks should be gallivanting around the nation instead of at home making a nice hot meal for her hubby. That’s just wrong.
“I love the biscuit!” she shouts to someone at her table. Evidently a groupie came out to meet her after sending her a fan biscuit of some sort. What is it about some people that they insist on giving gifts to people they see on TV? I love TV and I have many favorites. It never occurs to me to send them a little trinket of gratitude for their performances. Do they not get paid and rewarded enough in their daily lives? How many frickin’ awards shows do these people have? What the hell they need your “Biscuit” for? If it was any good, you’d have your own book tour and show. Get outta line. You’re holding up an honest creep. Me! I don’t have time to buy gifts and write cards. I just want to fuck Rachel Ray. That’s all. Get out of my way!
Hey, Creeps. Here’s how you do it:
The move in...
...Boom! I'm holding on like a salmon.
Look at her. Feigning shock and surprise for the camera. Meanwhile, out of camera range she is lustily grinding her loamy rear loins into mine and giving me a hand finish. Satisfied, she then haughtily signaled to one of the Viking Kitchen security personnel wearing his official chef uniform to escort me away. But that’s OK, because unlike Ms. Ray, I don’t need 30 minutes to make a stew.