Ruby Ann Boxcar is a colorful sight as she visits a friend's trailer park. The cookbook author and entertainer is a staunch advocate of having fun at mealtimes. Photo by John Gurzinski.

Yes, today is April Fool's Day. No, the person you see pictured here is not someone we made up just for today. She's for real.

Well, let's qualify that. When it comes to entertainer/author Ruby Ann Boxcar, it's at times difficult to maneuver the blurry line between person and persona.

First, the name. Ruby swears it has been hers from birth, though she admits that the origin of the last name is a little murky and speculates that perhaps she's descended from hobos. (There are some Boxcar-surnamed people in the United States, though they're about as rare as a highfalutin word coming out of Ruby's mouth.)

Then there's her ... ahem ... provenance -- born and raised at the High Chaparral Trailer Park in Pangburn, Ark., she says. Pangburn does indeed have a spot on Arkansas maps. If you haven't heard of it, that may be because, Ruby says, "we're not known for anything."

The High Chaparral is a little tougher to trace, though she maintains that not only does it exist, but "people drive through there all the time" to see if they can find Lot 18, which is Ruby Ann Boxcar Ground Zero.

Then again, none of this really matters. Ruby Ann Boxcar is a state of mind, a metaphor for every down-to-earth darlin' you've ever known and the simpler way of life that today often is a magnet for derision.

Not that Ruby minds. She knows that while some people who buy her books have a sincere appreciation for her recipes, wit and trailer-park wisdom, others buy them for gag gifts.

"Doesn't bother me at all," Ruby says as she sips tea at a North Las Vegas truck stop on a recent afternoon.

"People can have a good time laughing," she says. "I think that's what we're missing is a good sense of humor with our food. It should be fun and relaxed."

Fun Ruby is. Her gregarious personality is only outstripped by her outsize appearance, which she says seems to draw people to her.

Ruby doesn't open her front door -- she swears that her Las Vegas residence is in a trailer park, too, but that she has agreed with management's demands to keep its profile low -- without her makeup and hair just so. "Just so," in this case, involves lots of blue eyeshadow and a behemoth beehive with a carefully arranged swoop of white.

Her clothes are custom-made, which is the only way to get a wardrobe that's sufficiently colorful. Her eyeglasses are custom-made, too -- in Arkansas.

"This is new there," she says as she touches her cat's-eye frames. "The '70s ain't gone in Arkansas. We put the jewels on. They don't make them anymore."

The real truth is that Ruby Ann Boxcar is an archetype.

"You've seen me before, if you know me or not," she says. She compares herself to the funny cashier at the supermarket. You know the one. "You'll wait to get in her line."

People who have seen Ruby before have no problems spotting her on second sighting. She stands out, which is why she always flies coach.

"A lot of people come up to me and want to talk," she says: " 'Can my wife and I get a picture with you?' I like to get approached."

And sometimes the encounters are a little ironic.

"I'll get people who'll come up to me with one tooth in their mouth," she says: " 'You remind me of my neighbor, she's such a hick.' "

Her first career was as a hairdresser, which no doubt comes in handy, considering the feat of beauty-school engineering required for that beehive. But it was her singing voice that launched her career as an entertainer. There was, she says, a talent show at the school in Pangburn. Everyone was there -- "it was a big town event" -- because nothing much happens in Pangburn.

The way Ruby tells the story, Tonya Brown had played "Lady of Spain" on her accordion when she was struck with a sudden burst of stage fright and bolted for the door. Kevin Lee was supposed to be next, but he couldn't commence his knife-throwing act without his performing partner, his grandmother. There was a talent vacuum.

"The principal said, 'Come up and sing,' " Ruby recalls. "So that was where I first started singing."

And she's still at it, in almost all genres.

"I don't do rap yet, but I'm working on it," she says. But she's more likely to sing the classics: "I've flown me to the moon on many occasions."

Ruby's singing appearances brought her into contact with the public. She's a talker, and frequently the talk turned to food.

"I found out people don't know how to cook," she says today. And, Ruby says, she herself is "just a wizard in the kitchen."

She thinks the trend toward greater sophistication in American cuisine has intimidated a lot of people. To cook like Paula Deen or Martha Stewart, she says, "you gotta have a crew of 12."

With Ruby's recipes, "even a Yankee could do it. Or a man. And you don't have to spend $20 on special ingredients. These are things people would have in their house, or if not, it costs nothing to go out and get it.

"The Food Network is too serious; there's no fun. Food needs to be fun."

"Food at the trailer park is so important," she adds -- a balm for nearly all ills, including broken hearts: "You may not have a man, but you'll always have those Pringles in a can."

Her first book, "Ruby Ann's Down Home Trailer Park Cookbook," was so successful that her publisher immediately asked for three more. It was followed by "Ruby Ann's Down Home Trailer Park Holiday Cookbook," which recognized, among other things, the birthday of Ruby's sister-in-eyeshadow, Tammy Faye Bakker, who wrote the forward to the book.

Then came "Ruby Ann's Down Home Trailer Park Guide to Livin' Real Good," "Ruby Ann's Down Home Trailer Park BBQin' Cookbook" and "Move Over, Santa -- Ruby's Doin' Christmas!" Another book, "Move Over, Mama -- Ruby's Doin' My Weddin' " is due out soon. (The books are available through traditional bookstores; Ruby can be contacted through her Web site, www.ruby lot18.homestead.com.)

Ruby says she's sometimes asked the difference between white-trash cooking and trailer-park cooking. Those who practice white-trash cooking, she says, will salvage road kill and clean it, while "in the trailer park, we don't clean anything."

And, "we get our food from the Piggly Wiggly, or from the government."

In fact, government cheese figures in many of Ruby's recipes, although in the later books she more frequently lists Velveeta.

"You can use government cheese, but it won't melt," Ruby says. Besides, "a lot of people don't get government cheese anymore."

But it's more than government cheese that holds a trailer park together, and that's a recurring theme in Ruby's books.

"We're always helping each other," she says. Hence the tips so freely given.

Since pie crust made with bacon grease is so flaky, Ruby says, she recommends pouring fresh grease into an ice-cube tray; when frozen, pop out the cubes and keep in a zip-top bag in the freezer.

To make "beaver tails" pastries, start with canned biscuit dough and "beat it like it's a stepchild."

To avoid crying when peeling an onion, she notes, put the onion in the freezer first. Ruby knows some people suggest peeling onions under water, but wonders, "who's got time to put on a bathing suit?"

She even provides a recipe for making your own version of evaporated milk, to save money.

There also are tips on crafting, another trailer park standard -- for instance, how to make napkin rings from curlers, or a Christmas-card holder from a coffee can.

To avoid the woman in the neighborhood who's always selling something, hit the floor with a bag of potato chips when you see her coming, although "a remote-control water sprinkler would work real well, too."

It's all strung together by Ruby's trailer-park narrative, which continues from book to book but also stands alone. The characters from the park are all there, though names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

Ruby's Ozark oratory has brought her fans in some unlikely places. The books sell as well in the North as in the South, she says. New Yorkers may have seen it all but they hadn't seen Ruby. When she was there for an appearance, she was so mobbed for photographs and pictures that she couldn't get into her car. (She also has been on the "Today Show" for the barbecue book; while there she stood outside with a sign reading,"I'm often mistaken for Katie Couric.")

She's a correspondent for the Australian Broadcasting Co., with a regular gig, and is in talks to do a TV show in England. "They need some help with their food."

She even gets into politics, as with this advice to then-President Bill Clinton: "If you just tell them the dress is yours, problem solved."

Ruby and her husband, who she calls Dew, moved to Las Vegas two years ago, partly because of its proximity to Los Angeles. She has an agreement to four-wall her show in a local casino and is just looking for a backer. The show? "Double Wide: The Joys of Trailer Park Living." In the meantime, she's spreading the joy, and the recipes that go with it.

Ruby lost 100 pounds recently, by developing some soup recipes that she swears are so good, "you'll slap your granny into the creek, and then slap her again just for gettin' wet."

Because, she maintains, "eating needs to be enjoyable."

"There is one thing Dr. Atkins taught us, and that is we're all gonna die." She wonders if in his last moments, "he was lying there on that ice, thinkin' about a honeybun."

"There's nothing like a home-cooked meal," as Ruby says. Or, as she tells Dew:

"There's nothin' says lovin' like somethin' from the oven -- or Fingerhut jewelry."