Chow, Baby’s psychotherapist father did his children a great disservice by teaching us, early on, about Jung’s shadow theory.

Being five at the time, wee Chow, Baby didn’t get all the nuances, but mainly came away with the concept that if you don’t like somebody, it’s your own damn fault. Because what offends you about the other person is really the same things you dislike about yourself, if you only had the self-awareness to see them.

That’s why Chow, Baby was standing in the cracker aisle at the Montgomery Plaza Target for 50 minutes trying to sort out its Rachael Ray issues. The main complaint on the internal couch: “Bad enough that she’s barging into my territory (Saturday at 1 p.m. at the Southlake Williams-Sonoma, signing copies of her new cookbook, Just in Time: All-New 30-Minute Meals), but now I have to look at her Joker smile all over my Triscuit boxes?

Argh!” Clearly, most of Chow, Baby’s distaste for this woman is simple self-loathing transference – who else do you know who has a silly hyperenthusiasm for olive oil, cutesy-poo terms for everything, a misspelled first name, and a reverie-inducing wholesome sexiness? Look in the mirror, Baby. But self-charges of jealousy are off the mark. Though of course it could if it wanted to, Chow, Baby has no desire to become famous and wealthy by writing best-selling cookbooks or hosting a TV show or launching a magazine about quick, yum-o meals.

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