Last Updated on 3/12/2010

Published on 4/10/2009

I’m not Paula Deen, though I once filled in for her. No, really. It was at a Habit for Humanity fund raiser in Manning, S.C.; and though Paula was originally invited to be the speaker, she declined. You know what they say: When one door closes, another one opens. It looks like that left the door wide open for me. Sweet!
But I secretly harbor this burning passion of wanting to be a chef on T.V. That’s not necessarily because I’m a great cook (though I’m not bad either).
It’s not necessarily because I’d love the fame (I’ve had a little with book signings). And it’s not necessarily because
I’d make tons of money (though the extra dough wouldn’t hurt in this tough economy).
No, I’d like my own program so that I could show folks the REAL way cooking is done—mistakes and all!
Cooking programs on T.V. show none of the real messes, like, dirty dishes piled sky high in the dish drain, splattered oil and scattered flour all over the stove and counters.
It also shows none of the frustrations: Oops! Did I leave a little silver foil on the Philadelphia cream cheese when I mixed the dip…again?
And as we all know, when that foil hits an old amalgam filling, both our fillings and our feelings get hurt! T.V. also doesn’t show the chef scrambling for recipes. OMG! One of the most dangerous things in my home is my recipe cabinet—not my recipe file or my folder, but an actual pie safe with 4 shelves that my dad built me.
It’s devoted entirely to my endless recipes. Inside of it are an accordion-style folder that is heavy, bulky and very unbalanced, many loose-leaf papers, cut out newspaper and magazine recipes and a couple of humongous 3 ring binders.
The last time hubby Russell moved the pie safe from the kitchen to the dining room, I opened it and an avalanche flying in all directions landed around me.
The point is, they make it seem so effortless, this cooking on T.V.
I know I’ve written about this before, but I get so relaxed with Ina Garten, I’m ready for a nap before she starts her final “Jeffrey absolutely loves this” dish.
But I’ve never been that smooth or maternal in front of my G.E. stove. And look at Paula and her eight sticks of butter: Just thinking about unwrapping them makes me nervous.
Paper sticking to the butter and your hands, which are then too greasy to hold onto a spoon. Even though I just love Giada De Laurentiis, I’m rarely that perky or poetic when I’m cooking. And what’s up with her skinny waistline?
Does she actually eat anything at all? For gosh sakes, she just had a baby! Plus I can’t say “parmesan reggiana.” I mean, people, get real!
And how in the world Rachel Ray can peel six cloves of garlic, smiling all the while, and simply throw that sticky, papery garlic cover in her trash bowl in less three seconds is beyond me.
These are non-reality shows, and I’ve got the scars to prove it!
Just last week I lost an olive that shot half way across the kitchen and I didn’t find it for two days. The week before that I scorched my thumb and forefinger on an overheated bowl (filled with hot soup) in the microwave.
Later, when I went to grate some cabbage with the box grater, I also grated part of my thumb nail, which I luckily caught before I added the Dukes mayo (the ONLY mayo worth a flip, though Mama Louise disagrees).
 Do you see what I’m saying, people? I want a show where there are no cuts, no edits, no assistants and absolutely no perfection.
Because cooking is anything but these things.
I know that means the T.V. crew would be rolling the film frantically to keep up with all the accidents, but at least it would absolutely
If I burned the chocolate (been there many times), we wouldn’t cover it up with a new batch.
If I poured flour into the coleslaw instead of the cake batter (yeah, I was in a hurry that day), it would be shown too.
If I forgot the cornbread in the oven and found it the next day, it would just be eaten later.
True story, and too bad—woulda been good with that barbecue!
The day my kitchen becomes as streamlined, sterile and perfect as the ones on T.V., I’m afraid I’d go all to pieces, just like that glass bowl that recently slid out of hand and crashed to the floor.
Guess what I was doing? Yep, cooking. For real.

Ann Ipock “Life Is Short, So Read This Fast!” www.annipock.com amipock@ec.rr.com