Yesterday, for about five seconds, so fast you’d miss it if you blinked, I was on the Rachael Ray Show.
It came about after I sent a proposal into the show after the success of Julia & Julia (my new favorite movie), suggesting that someone (me) could cook through a Rachael Ray cookbook for a year and blog about it. We could call it the Rachael/Rachael Project because I couldn’t come up with a more clever idea.
Well, that must have put me on some list because I have randomly received calls from a producer or segment coordinator every six weeks or so. “Have you ever wanted to bob your hair?” “Does your daughter have a boyfriend you can’t stand?” “Can you be in Manhattan on Tuesday?”
Just before Christmas I got a call asking me to send in a video of my daughter and I cooking one of Rachael Ray’s recipes (they gave me four or five choices). We chose Cheeseburger Chili Mac and Cheese because part of the footage they wanted was the family enjoying the finished product and this was the only thing there was even a chance of my daughter actually eating. Even though she doesn’t eat meat. Or things with more than one ingredient, generally. But she likes macaroni and cheese and we had a talk about “acting” beforehand so I thought we’d be okay.
Over Christmas vacation, I scrubbed my kitchen, cleared the counters and displayed two of my paintings prominently in the background for some shameless promotion. We borrowed an HD camera from some friends, and with a 9-year-old cameraman and 6-year-old sous chef, I got cookin’.
From off camera, my son yelled, “Hey, did you wash your hands?” My daughter took a bite of the mac for the camera…and promptly spit it out. The camera was left unattended several times and we got some good shots of the ceiling. My son discovered the zoom control, and despite my advice to the contrary, attempted to get all artistic with his camera work.
When we were done, I watched it with the kids (sighed in exasperation at the state of my hair), burned a CD and sent it off.
I watched the show in my office on Monday with some friends at work. We cheered when we saw my daughter’s adorable person sprinkling grated cheese over the pan, and boo’d when it became apparent we’d only be on screen for five seconds.
I guess if we all get 15 minutes of fame, I’ve got 14:55 left.