ATLANTIC CITY, N.J. — As the first chords of “Sweet Home Alabama” thrummed through the Circus Maximus at Caesars Atlantic City on July 31, the 1,600 people in the sold-out crowd were already on their feet. They howled for the star. When he emerged from the wings in flip-flops, mirrored sunglasses and a red chef’s coat with skull-shaped buttons, they howled louder.

It wasn’t until Guy Fieri had autographed a yellow bell pepper with a Sharpie marker and tossed it to a fan, sprayed the people in the orchestra seats with a bottle of water and vigorously denounced the induction stove he was about to use on-stage (“Give me flame or give me death!”) that his fans settled down. It didn’t last.

Their Guy — rebel, clown, frat boy, chef — had arrived.

Since 2006, when he won a Food Network reality show that earned him his first series, Fieri, 42, has brought a new element of rowdy, mass-market culture to American food television. He was raised among tofu-eating California hippies, spent his junior year of high school in France, and says he hasn’t eaten fast food in 15 years. But this platinum-haired, heavily tattooed chef-dude has proved that he has a Sarah Palin-like ability to reach Americans who feel left behind by the nation’s cultural (or, in his case, culinary) elite.

“You feel like he has that same background just like you do, never pretentious, nothing fancy,” observed Ami Wilson, who went to the Atlantic City event with her husband, Matthew, a police officer in central New Jersey.

Susie Fogelson, the head of marketing for the Food Network, explained his appeal. “I haven’t seen anyone connect to this range of people since Emeril,” she said. With his bowling shirts and burgers, Fieri makes Emeril Lagasse look like Alain Ducasse. The fact that it was 3 o’clock in the afternoon, that there were numerous children and oxygen-toting seniors in the seats, and that he wasn’t about to do anything more radical than sear a duck breast didn’t do anything to diminish the energy Fieri brought to the stage. The charisma that recently inspired a middle-aged mom to throw her lavender-colored bra on-stage during a cooking demonstration was on full display.

Fieri is the rare reality-show winner who has translated a small-screen victory into a national fan base, and the rare chef who has transcended the food-TV genre. As the host of NBC’s new “Minute to Win It,” he presides over a prime-time game show in which people, for the chance to win a million dollars, compete at feats that require not strength, courage or knowledge, but the ability to perform stunts with household goods, like unwinding a roll of toilet paper really, really fast.

The Food Network has betted heavily on him, giving him prime-time slots, and making him the face of the network’s new collaboration with the NFL, a series about tailgating that will be shown this fall. “We found a high correlation between viewers of football and of ‘Diners,’” Fogelson said, referring to “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives,” Fieri’s most popular show.

“Look, the fame rocket is only on the upward trajectory for a limited time,” he said. “I have to do what I can for the program while it lasts.”

For Fieri, the program includes his family in Santa Rosa, Calif. (sons Hunter, 14, and Ryder, 5; wife, Lori; parents, Jim and Penny, who live next door); his buddies, who go by names like Gorilla, Mustard, Kleetus and Dirty P.; and his five restaurants, which brought him financial stability (if not culinary fame) long before he sent an audition tape to the Food Network.

Fieri, with partners, runs three branches of an Italian-American pub called Johnny Garlic’s; and two hybrids of California-style sushi and Southern barbecue called Tex Wasabi’s. Johnny Garlic’s serves dishes like Cajun chicken pasta Alfredo; a signature dish at Tex Wasabi’s is found in the “gringo sushi” portion of the menu: the Jackass Roll, filled with pulled pork, avocado and French fries.

“A lot of people who like sushi don’t really like raw fish or seaweed,” he said. “So I make what they do like.”

Fieri’s cheerful embrace of taste at the expense of tradition is an example of what makes him so popular, and of why other chefs tend to dismiss him. He’d rather have the loud love of the guys in the audience at Caesars than awards from the James Beard Foundation.

“He is an original,” said Norman Jones, who came to Fieri’s Atlantic City show from Warminster, Pa., where he works at a Christian residential program for troubled children. “He goes to regular mom-and-pop places and gives them the respect they deserve.”