Never have I felt so flattered and needed as when I stood in line to be an audience member of Rachael Ray's daytime talk show. The young women with clipboards who ushered us from the sidewalk to the hallway, from the hallway to the elevator and from the elevator to the waiting room assured us again and again that they couldn't put on the show without us.
Now, I am not Rachael Ray's biggest fan. I received one of her cookbooks for Christmas one year and while I love the premise - dinners for two, four, six or eight - I have yet to prepare a single recipe from it. I've never seen the show I am about to be a part of. Yet the excitement of the crowd was infectious. I almost didn't mind the two hours that took us from sidewalk to waiting room.
As we waited to be let into the studio, we munched on treats from the show's sponsors, Sara Lee and Dunkin' Donuts - nothing home cooked here.
The women in the waiting room - there were men, but not many - chattered excitedly about other shows they had visited and whether Rachael's marriage was on the rocks. It was uncomfortably crowded, but it was a relief from the day-glow orange of the hallway we had come through. Her signature color.
After a half-hour of announcements urging us to use the bathroom now as we wouldn't be let out of the studio once filming began, a young man with spikey hair and tattoos shouted over the commotion for our attention.
"Today we have cooking, cooking and more cooking," he shouted. "The cooking sections are the most popular part of the show and Rachael really needs your energy."
"That means there are no celebrities," the woman across from me said. She was wearing a leopard print shirt, black leather pants and a black fur vest. Not to mention a tiara. She definitely did not meet the dress code of solid jewel- tone blouses we had been encouraged to wear. It was her 50th birthday and despite her defiance of the dress code, this was not her first studio audience appearance.
After going over a long list of rules - no cell phones; coats and bags under your chair; no one leaves the studio - they began seating us by ticket color.
The studio itself is small, seating perhaps 60 or 70. We were seated on a revolving platform that turns to face whichever background Rachael will film on that day.
Our audience warmer, RC, explained that we would be filming parts of two shows, so Rachael would have a costume change in the middle. He told jokes, talked to individuals and instructed us on clapping, laughing and screaming cues. There was no fanfare when Rachael emerged from a hallway behind him.
But the audience didn't need a cue to scream then. Swept up in the mob mentality, I found myself whooping it up with the rest of them. A grin spread from ear to ear on Rachael's face and she hunched her shoulders in a show of modesty. She said hello, huddling close to RC, until she saw a woman toward the back of the audience who seemed to be having a seizure, she was so excited to be close to celebrity.
"I have a cold," Rachael announced as she made her way toward the excited woman. Embracing her, she said, "I need some of your energy to rub off on me."
That was the last we saw of Rachael.
OK, that's not entirely accurate, but as soon as filming began, cameras and cameramen, producers and PAs descended upon Rachael, obscuring her completely from the audience. We were forced to watch her from the televisions scattered throughout the studio.
RC played games and gave out prizes while the show's staff scurried about between takes. Some members of the audience grew so attached to him that they asked him for his touring schedule. He, like most attached to show business, has a second job and would be appearing in Connecticut clubs to perform stand-up comedy.
Rachael occasionally made comments and told us stories between takes, and she made sure that our group of 30 Connecticut brides-to-be got an extra goodie before we left, but she was mostly business. For someone who depended on her studio audience to get through the show, she paid us remarkably little attention.
After two hours of clapping and laughing in the appropriate places, my hands were sore and my cheeks ached. We had seen Rachael make tomato soup and grilled cheese "sammies" and mighty minestrone. We had watched her give tips on how to identify your luggage at the airport (put jingle bells on it). We had endured the comic stylings of RC. On the way out, they loaded us up with merchandise: Bob Greene's new book, the latest issue of Rachael's magazine, a $50 gift certificate to FTD, sweet potato chips and, for our lucky group, a copy of Rachael's newest cookbook. Struggling under the load, we were, I think it is fair to say, exhausted and ready to make the trek back to Connecticut.
RC told us to check the Web site (rachaelrayshow.com) for our recipes and to see when we would be on TV. And he assured us that they used lots of footage of the studio audience.
My cousin, who accompanied me on this adventure, and I both missed the airings, but her sister TiVoed them. We gathered on a weekend in December to see if we had made the cut.
"That's the girl who was sitting next to me!" my cousin shrieked.
"That's my shoulder!" I yelled as a brief flash of red showed in the corner of the screen.
But that was the extent of our television debut.
We did not break through the veil of celebrity. We didn't get close enough to Rachael for an autograph or even a whispered compliment. A month after our studio audience experience, we were still on the outside, looking in.
"But we got better gifts than when I went on Ricki Lake," my cousin said.
