I had a big birthday coming up — one of the ones ending in "0" and Jeff, my fiancé, asked me what I wanted to do to celebrate. Almost without thinking I answered, "Meet Bobby Flay and taste something he's cooked."

I've been a fan of the Food Network for a few years, and I've always favored Bobby Flay. Of the many chefs on the channel, he seems the most talented, winning most of his Iron Chef America challenges as well as besting the competition on taste — the most important criterion — on Throwdown, even if he often good-humoredly loses to the local guys, owing to too much creativity with traditional dishes.

Yes, I just wanted to meet Flay and taste his food.

When I want to connect with someone I don't know, I usually run through my mental Rolodex to see who might know that person. I'm only one degree of separation from the Clintons, two from Barbra Streisand, and two from Kevin Bacon, so surely I must know someone who knows someone who knows Bobby Flay.

I called my brother, a former foodie in Cleveland; nope, he didn't know anyone who knew Bobby Flay. I asked the local Santa Fe food columnist, Johnny Vee; no, he didn't know anyone. I asked my neighbor who used to work with Wolfgang Puck; no, he didn't know anyone who knew anyone either.

So Jeff and I went to Las Vegas, Nev., hoping to make a connection at Flay's restaurant, Mesa Grill.

At the restaurant we were told that Bobby's appearances are unannounced, and that they didn't know his schedule — "Just check his Web site," they suggested.

Back in Santa Fe, Jeff checked the Web site and called Flay's office. His assistant said they don't give out his schedule and could not say where he would be so we could arrange a meeting.

This was getting frustrating.


"You're stalking Bobby Flay," my friend Steve said.

By my definition, stalking involves following the target, sending unwanted messages, and harassing the poor victim. All I wanted was a handshake and a taste!

So I started stalking Steve, leaving pictures of Bobby Flay in his bathroom and taping them to his computer. Obviously, these tactics didn't get me any closer to my real target.

Meanwhile, my "0" birthday had come and gone, celebrated with friends in Taos, with family in Ohio, and then with my niece in Paris — but still no Bobby Flay.

Finally, I heard about the Food Network's New York City Wine & Food Festival to be held in October 2008. There was to be a cocktail party in the Meatpacking District hosted by the Flayster (as we now called him). I made plane, hotel and festival reservations, determined to meet my prey (oops, my guy).

After nine hours of travel from Santa Fe to New York we arrived at the party venue where Bobby Flay had a table. We were told he had been passing out burgers to promote his new restaurant, Bobby's Burger Palace, a chain of fast-food restaurants he's opening in the suburbs of New York City. But now he was nowhere to be seen.

Jeff peered behind the Burger Palace banners and saw Flay in a private, glass-walled room, kissing and hugging well-wishers and being interviewed. He looked terrific, well-coiffed and handsome in a dark business suit, tie and white shirt. We stood and watched for about 20 minutes, until he finally came out to greet the crowd that had gathered at his table.

"Bobby," I yelled, "I came all the way from Santa Fe to meet you." He shook my hand and said, "I love Santa Fe. I'm going there soon ... I can't say when."

Perfect! Did he mean "I don't know when" or "I won't say when?" Was he being enigmatic or evasive?

Soon he was on to the next group of fans and back to the glassed-in room to grab his burgers. He came back to the crowd and handed me one. It really was delicious, with great-tasting beef, American cheese and a spongy, flavorful sesame roll with potato chips on top of the meat.

Ah, I had met Bobby Flay and tasted his food.

I called my friend Mitzi from the party to tell her I had just met the Flayster. It was over. I could cross this off my life list.

I felt hollow and a bit empty — but then I thought, "So what!"

On to Anderson Cooper.