It all started harmlessly. I got an email from my friend Michelle who works for Every Day with Rachael Ray asking if I was interested in submitting a recipe for an internet segment on chili dogs. I wasn’t. Not because I didn’t want to do it, I just didn’t think I would get chosen. The person who got the gig needed to fit these two qualifications:
1) They need to have a “story” of some personal attachment and experience with the chili dog (I held my bachelorette party at Lafayette Coney Island; I worked my way through college at Hot Diggity Dog; was inspired to become a food historian when I discovered that a chili dog has a different name depending on where in the U.S. you’re eating it, etc.).
2) They must be a highly competent cook (a professional would be ideal) who can develop a magazine-ready recipe for a classic chili dog.
I don’t fit either of those like a glove. First of all, I am about as close to a professional chef as a professional chef is to a professional dog-walker. Second, I have nothing but nasty things to say about working my way through college at the Hot Diggity Dog. And third, I don’t form a lot of sentimental attachments in general, let alone to the sloppy meats I stick in my mouth (how I actually worked my way through college).
So I did what Bens do best: I tried to give the gig away. When someone asks me to submit something I first gauge whether I am interested in submitting something, and then whether I am interested in competing for the thing I’m interested in. In Hollywood submission and competition go hand-in-hand, so one really has to consider whether he wants to put himself out there from job to job. And in this case I felt like Rocky in Rocky IV before he trains to fight Ivan Drago and my Inner Yo Adrien was like, “It’s suicide! You can’t win!” So given my failure to meet even the basic requirements of the piece I thought I’d pass on word to someone who could KO that bioengineered Russian. Wait, what story am I telling?
Oh, right. Rachael Ray. So I tried to pass the (good kind of) buck to someone else. But for whatever reason, the Rachael Ray Everyday people still wanted me to do the damn thing. So I acquiesced.
The truth is, while I honestly do consider my cooking skills novice, chili is the one dish I’ve had great success with. (To the tune of two consecutive “Best Overall” trophies in chili cookoff comp a few years ago.) Really, I’m good at cooking anything you can un-fuck-up just by adding more ingredients, and chili isn’t halfway to being great chili until you’ve fucked it up a few times. Let’s face it, making chili isn’t exactly brain surgery. But on the other hand, that’s good because brain surgery tastes terrible on top of hot dogs.
My assignment was simple: Write a recipe for classic chili dog chili using, preferably, ten items or less that can be found at any run-of-the-mill grocery store, prepare the dish and photo-document the finished product and me with it. No prob, I can do that in my sleep. Well, not in my sleep. But it’s easy when I’m awake. Well, not easy, but . . . Whatever, I did it.
The recipe I used in competition isn’t a classic chili dog chili so I tamped it down a bit for this assignment and one Saturday in early January a few friends came over and we transformed my kitchen into a cooking mag photo studio. I made and transcribed my Rachael Ray Everyday chili recipe, then we presented the finished product appetizingly on a plate and took pictures of it. Then we ate our art project.
Later that day I sent in my recipe/photos and the next day the staff at Rachael Ray Everyday tested the chili to positive results. So they emailed me and asked if a woman could interview me on chili dogs, I agreed, and the next day I received a phone call from the reporter. Her first question was, “So you’re an expert on chili dogs?” I lied, “Yes,” and proceeded to give answers that defied the definition of expertise for the next half-hour or so. Then she thanked me for my time, I thanked her for hers and that was the end of it. For awhile, anyway.
At the beginning of this journey I was told there would possibly be a component involving Rachael Ray’s television program, but I never considered it a sincere possibility. I look like a professional wrestling villain. Rachael Ray’s audience doesn’t wanna watch this hairy mug shed in a pot of chili. So when I didn’t hear anything about more about the gig I assumed it was done. Then, in late February, I got a call from Mandie DeCamp, a segment coordinator for The Rachael Ray Show, wanting to arrange for a film crew to film me making my chili recipe. Sure, why not, right? The only hold-up was that I’d be in Detroit when they wanted to film, so no problem, they’d send a Detroit film crew and record it there.
Mandie and associates then went to work on arranging whatever has to be arranged when filming a hairy beast cooking chili and I flew home to Detroit. A couple days later I heard back from her and we arrange the final details that would have a film crew coming to my family’s home on the upcoming Friday. This is all fine and good and I am amenable. There’s just one caveat I spring on them at the last minute. Given that no one I know had died or gotten married very recently, I hadn’t shaved or gotten a haircut recently. I asked if this was an issue. Unsure, she had me send her a photo of myself, which I did.
About an hour later I got a call from Andrew Goldman, a producer on Mandie’s team, with a proposition for me. “How would you feel about not only having your chili made over, but also getting a makeover yourself?” I laughed. But I also agreed, for two reasons: One, because I had agreed to do all this other stuff and couldn’t think of any reason to stop then. And two, because when TV tells you that you don’t look good you really have to take a long, hard look in the mirror. Which is hard, because TV told you that you don’t look good.
So with my confirmation, Andrew and Mandie and the rest of the team went to work on arranging a new set of details. Over the course of the next hour I received a half dozen phone calls from Mandie and each time the size of this grew in scope. Or the scope of this grew in size. I’m not sure which one; the point is with each phone call the thing got bigger. It went from get a makeover in Detroit to come to New York On Tuesday to come to New York on Monday to come to New York on Sunday and film all day Monday and before I knew it my trip home to Detroit had been cut in half and I was on a plane headed for New York.
And that’s where I’ll leave you for today. Tune in to the Rachael Ray Show tomorrow to see what transpired and on Friday I’ll give you the detes on my time in New York with Rachael Ray and friends. I will say that I had a ton of fun and they treated me exceptionally well, and that people should watch it and laugh at me without even a hint of remorse. I’ll be laughing at myself, so you can laugh at me too.
My name is Ben and soccer moms find me adorable.
