I wanted to like Rachael Ray, I really did. On paper, she has it all: a brunette Meg Ryan who can cook. What’s not to like?
Alas, the food.
We’ve been burned before. Last year I bought one of her 30 minute cookbooks, hoping to find something I could actually make that would expand my (admittedly basic) repertoire. The Wife and I each tried a couple of recipes, and came away wondering what the fuss was about. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anything either of us felt any need to have again.
For her birthday, The Wife received a second RR cookbook (not from me). Last night we tried two recipes: an entree and a dessert. The entree wasn’t awful, but was certainly boring, and I’ve done far better with less effort. The dessert, well, sucked. The concept was good – fluffernutter brownies (or, as The Boy calls them, fluffernutting brownies). Take brownies, put peanut butter chips in them, and melt marshmallows on top. Fire up the insulin, I’m goin’ in!
Sadly, RR apparently has no concept of the laws of physics and chemistry, as they apply to baking. The brownie package said to bake them for 55 minutes; RR said 20. What the hell, she’s the cook, so we did 20. Then 20 more, then 20 more.
At the end, they mostly just tasted burnt. A terrible waste of wonderful ingredients. Even The Boy didn’t like them, and he’s usually pretty tolerant of anything with way too much sugar in it.
Sorry, Rachael. I can only have my heart broken so many times. When your entree pales in comparison to barely-passable-even-by-bachelor-standards moi, it’s time to move on.
