The Horror… of Sandra Lee
By no means am I a food snob. I love making easy recipes whenever I get the chance, and I’ve been known to use a shortcut or two to wind up with a delicious dish. But a line has to be drawn somewhere. Unfortunately for food, Sandra Lee cartwheels, backflips, somersaults, and then handsprings way past that line onto one of her crappy “tablescapes.“ Don’t worry, she stuck the landing. But seriously, she has no business being on the Food Network.
One of my favorite gems is Sandra’s Kwanzaa Cake. I’m not even going to link to it because it’s so embarrassing, but Google it and it’ll come up. The Food Network itself doesn’t even seem to take it seriously, as the description reads: “Semi-Homemade makes a most amazingly beautiful cake for Kwanza.” They didn’t even spell Kwanzaa right. It’s not amazingly beautiful, nor is it amazing OR beautiful. It should read: “Sandra Lee slaps together four things from a grocery store and calls it a cake. Don’t serve it for Kwanzaa, your guests will vomit.”
Now listen, I understand that people want easy recipes and fast party ideas, but Sandra Lee provides neither. I can just imagine the “research” she does for her show. I bet she walks through the aisles of her local mega-store while wearing a blindfold and swinging her arm violently to knock things off the shelf and into her cart. “Well, I knocked some ham, frosting, kale, and tropical scented Febreze into my cart, I think this calls for a Christmas Luau party!” It’s crap. Utter crap.
I love Rachael Ray, I love Melissa D’Arabian; they do easy food deliciously. Sandra Lee opens a can, dumps it into the middle of a pre-made pound cake, and smears some canned frosting over it to honor a religious holiday.
I love Ina Garten and I love Paula Deen. They infuse so much heart, soul, and fun into the parties they throw for people. Sandra Lee buys some matching plates and table cloths from the dollar store, throws on a Halloween costume from a few years ago (or not, maybe that’s how she dresses), and overwhelms all five senses of her guests.
Dear God, I can’t even imagine going to one of her dinner parties without wanting to gouge my eyes out, or better yet, end my misery by poisoning myself with some of her food. The horror… the horror…