The minutes before 10pm could not tick away fast enough. After a taxing season of Project Runway, Top Chef was back and with it the possibility that true villainy, true genius, and perhaps Padma Lakshmi's boob slipping out of her dress and, looking to shore up their breeder ratings, Bravo would keep the nip slip in. The first episode of a season is always like Day One at camp: you figure out your bunk bed (are you a top or a bottom?), you make first stabs at alliances, you wear a t-shirt you think is really clever that you've picked out months before that has writing on it that you think will make you beloved by all. Writing like, for instance, "Beer Pong" or "Diablo" or "Trust Me. I'm Perfect." Mostly though, you meet your bunkmates. Let's.There were, what, seventeen cheftestants? Obviously our sticky emotional strands will only Glaad Cling Wrap® to a few. But for the sake of simplicity and because the work has been done for us, let's break them up into teams. On one side, Team Rainbow (LGBT), on the other, the Europeans, on another the Obamas (rascally and inspiring minority report), on the other The Palins (the scary, the sad, the unfit). These four teams form the inward facing phalanx of Top Chef combat.