Rachael Ray Is On Crack

OK, I really don't mean that literally. It is a tad harsh. Let me rephrase.

Rachael Ray is on crystal meth.

I used to like watching her 30 Minute Meals show on the Food Network a lot. She was spry, perky, energetic. Now, I watch it and see her for what she is...wired, incapable of being quiet for 2 seconds, a boldfaced liar.

I have a litany of complaints about Rachael Ray and most of them revolve around her seemingly superhuman ability to make healthy meals in a mere 1,800 seconds, or, as she emphatically mistruths while smiling the biggest smile in the history of smiles: "In the time it takes you to watch this show."

Me and Christine tried this recipe one time after seeing it on her satanic program. I curiously noticed that everything she uses doesn't have conventional measurements. I scoured Bed, Bath, and Beyond for spoons and measuring devices labelled: "some", "a fistful", "a tad", "a good amount", and "turns of the pan." No luck. But wait! There's more! When you go to the website, they turn the lights on for you! There are measurements! But wait! There's more! Guess what? They're wrong.

I'm not blaming Rachael Ray for this herself, as I doubt she is the webmaster for the Food Network, but some little HTML nerd is laughing his ass off while Christine and I "eat" our smashed cauliflower through a crazy straw because they told us to put THREE TIMES the needed amount of chicken broth. I'm not Emeril, but that seems to be more than just a slight oversight. I wanted a carb-alternative vegetable, not a porridge that had so much sodium that the blood pressure machine at Target automatically called 911 when I used it. Weird thing is when the EMT arrived and hooked me up to the defibrillator, he said, "Bam!"

I also get pissed off that everything is within her reach at all times. That goes a long way to her having the meal ready in 30 minutes...some kitchen elf sneaks in and moves all of her ingredients to the front of the fridge, the front of the cabinets. I can't open a cabinet in my kitchen and have the friggin fire extinguisher within my grasp, but she opens up hers and, BINGO!, there's the cumin she needs! I don't care if you're Aladdin. You shouldn't have a thingful of cumin at your fingertips at any time.

So, ultimately, not having Rachael Ray's superhuman ability and not having all of the ingredients at my disposal, causes my 30 minute meal comes out slightly over in duration. Let's just say, in order for my meal to only take 30 minutes, I would have to don my Superman outfit, fly into the outer atmosphere, and fly around the earth in the opposite direction to reverse it's rotation. Welcome to Dim's 115 Minute Meals! In the time it takes you to watch this program, you could have trained your half-senile dog to dial a phone and call for a pizza.

We try to make 30 minute meals and we don't smile the biggest smile in the history of smiles. We don't laugh at our own semi-humorous anecdotes. We bump into each other constantly, while yelling such constructive questions as "Where the fuck's the stove?!?"

And the next time she takes a bite of whatever she made at the end of her show and makes a face like she just kissed the face of Jesus and it tasted like prosciutto, she's getting a swift smack in the ass with an iron skillet.

Yum-o,

Dim.