My long-running, illicit TV affair with Rachael Ray is at an end.
It was doomed to failure, of course. She's a semi-famous Food Network personality who has no idea of my identity or my feelings. I'm a married father who writes pointless crap on the internet. We were the original star-crossed duo.
But it wasn't until tonight, during an airing of $40 a Day, that I realized we weren't meant to be. The concept of the show is fairly simple: Rachael travels to a different city each episode (tonight's show took place in Portland, ME) and endeavors to eat three meals and a snack for under 40 bucks. Those of us who've operated under even more stringent budgets know you can manage that by hitting Taco Bell three times, and you'd still have enough for a case of fine domestic beer, but that's not the point. The point is to eat good food, defined by whatever esoteric criteria Ms. Ray is using that week.
Tonight, unfortunately, I discovered something about my would-be beloved. For dinner, she enjoyed a local favorite, a crab quesadilla. The cost: $14.95. With tax and tip, she spent $18.10 on the meal, allowing her to skate under the day's budget.
I've bitched about the tribulations of working in the food service industry here before, drawing upon my own experience as a waitperson, and I immediately noticed something. Maine's sales tax on prepared food is 7%, which brings the cost of her meal to $16. That comes out to a $2.10 gratuity, or 14%.
Oh, Rachael. Don't you know I could never be serious about someone who didn't tip their waitpersons sufficiently?
It's over. We had a good run - you gallivanting around the continent, me forced to watch your escapades whenever The Wife had control of the remote - but I think you'll agree that this is for the best.
And I don't care how many FHM photoshoots you do. No, I mean it. Stop begging.
Too bad FHM didn't have her drizzling olive oil over her scantily clad body. EVOO, EVOO, EVOO-oh-oh-OH!
Rachel Ray is actually from a town not far from where I grew up (Albany, NY, if I'm not mistaken). Local girl made good, you know.
Oh, did I say made good? I meant "made *great*".
When you look like that, if you flash a little cleavage and give the waiter an eyeful, you don't have to tip the full 15%.
It'd work for me if I was the waiter.
It was a waitress, actually. And Ms. Ray was dressed pretty conservatively.
And cleavage don't pay the electric bill. I'll take the cash, thanks.
Please, Pete, I'm starting not to believe in love any more.
You could buy a $20 bag and still have $20 to satisfy the munchies at Taco Bell. That's a much better method.