At the onset of last night's TV-themed episode, Padma Lakshmi issued a series of guttural, terrifying zombie moans and introduced us to her dear plastic friend Rocco DiSpirito. You know, Rocco! He's been on the show a bamillion times because he's got nothing better to do, other than hawking frozen pasta meals and dry weeping (tear ducts no longer function.) The Quick Fire challenge was to make a little amuse bouche of breakfast, and Rocco stressed that he liked bacon. If you could also maybe infuse that bacon with sweet, sweet Restylane, he'd be your best friend forever. Now here's the tricky part: I am pathologically incapable of learning anyone's names on these kinds of shows until there are like only 7 or 8 people left. So I don't know anyone's name. I'm just going to go with vague nicknames and you can sift through and figure out what the hell I'm talking about.

Not that it matters, because no one really made anything interesting. Mostly they barreled through the competition rules and didn't make a bouche at all—having to cut something with a knife and pick it apart or do some gross, eggnoggy espresso shot is not an amuse bouche. There were a couple highlights, mostly that skinny-faced Leah girl or something and the bald Scandinavian who is a ringer to win this whole damn thing. He made a huevos ranchero something or other and put it back inside the perfectly-cut eggshell. Which was cute! Except, I really want to see him spectacularly fail, soon. The skinny-faced thing made a little bite of eggs and bacon and fried bread, the proper amuse bouche portion she was quick to add, and Padma said "It doesn't taste as good as human brains, sweet delicious human brains" and Rocco shoved a needle into his face and said "I should be able to express happiness in about four to six years." Skinny face won, much to the grundly displeasure of the only remaining member of Professor Fabulous' Magical Gay Pirate Food Squad or whatever. That lesbian totally wanted to win! But she didn't! Skinny-face is going to be runner-up in this competish.

On to the real challenge, in which Tom Colichio was bald and Padma and her ilk scoured the land for consumable human flesh. Naws, y'all I'm playin. What they really had to do was a food demonstration. So there, distilled into a twenty minute or so segment, was the entire season of Food Network's Next Food Network Star! How sad for them! And how much, much sadder for Amy Finley! Lots of people made dumb choices. Why are we cooking eggs on a time constraint? Why, for the love of the fuck god, would once choose to make crème brûlée? Curly-haried McStevenson repeated that he "wanted to be different" and I murmured to the TV "you are different, you're a gay bear who doesn't know he's a gay bear because he's marrying a lady. That's different!" He should buy a Mac! Because of his thinking!

I'm delaying here because, again, I have no idea what I'm talking about. The on-camera demonstrations went terribly, most people running out of time and kind of grunting sadly to themselves. "And then you take your stupid spatula and you— what? What? Oh, we're out of time? Oh. OK. [gunshot]" The sole member of Arthur Q. Buggery's Sodomy Squadron got really mad when her egg wouldn't cook and they almost released Padma off her chain and let her devour her. "Tastes fishy," she would have moaned. (Get it???)

Old Lady Jersey, who is an old lady from New Jersey, pleasingly did well on this one. I mean, it makes sense considering she didn't cook anything. She just threw some watermelon and cheese and tomato on a plate and said "see you in hell, cuisine" and everyone liked it. The secret of last night's challenge was that the three top dishes would be on the Today Show! You know, with that one lady with all the makeup and the dry, blowed-out hair. And the other lady who fits the exact same description. And the other one. But anyway, the three top dishes—Old Jersey, Mario the Fake Italian Plumber Cook, and He-Man—all got woken up supes early by Tommy Colic and bussed off to Rock Center.

They didn't go on the show, which aired months ago, because it would ruin the surprise for the approximately nobody who would remember that the whole thing had happened. So it was just the dishes and Dr. Tom. Meredith doesn't like watermelons. Because she's racist! And Hoda just muttered in a corner. And the other lady, Natalie something, never has anything to say. This left intrepid soul Kathie Lee Gifford to fart around and eat these idiots' farty food. When she got to He-Man's dish, a little trio of rolled up things that were useless, she couldn't do it. Having known only the taste of her swallowed pride for so very many years, Kathie Lee was not used to these island flavors. So she had to spit it out. On live TV. Because she is that way. And by "that way," I mean "a consummate professional."

Evs. Old Jersey won. Which, good for her. She's not long for this Top Chef world, so let's give her some accolades now while she's still around. Meanwhile, back at the judges' table, three people were called up to the firing squad. There was the tall skinny blonde meth addict, Curly-haired McStevenson, and the only remaining club member of J.R. Quigley's Gay Folks and Astronomy Club. They chastised the meth head for making food that was too spicy, to which she replied "fuck that man, fuck that shit. I [scratching hole in face] tasted that shit and it tasted salty like a motherfucker. Yo, you gonna watch that TV or can I sell it?" The last tribe member of Forever: A Promises Club For People Who Rub Their Genitals On People Of The Same Sex was belittled for getting supes angry when her egg didn't cook. And then she wept and said "it's because I'm infertile!!!!!" And that actually didn't happen.

Curly-haired McStevenson was the obvious choice to go home. He's getting married! And he said it a lot! Because no one has ever gotten married before ever so he is a pioneer! He went home because his creme brulame (see????) just wasn't up to snuff. TomTom C's said "you have three seconds to run, then we're unleashing the living undead hellspawn that is Padma and she will follow your delicious, gamy scent to the ends of the earth." So he hot-footed it out of there and Padma cried a sad zombie ballad.

So that's food! That is what food is all about this week, my dear friends! Some people are Tops! Others are bottoms. And only one person is part of Arliss McDooglefanny's Rear Ending and Fisting Societie. That's just the way it is.

Oh, and! There's like some sorta lurve between skinny-face and one-a-them-bald-dudes. Not the filthy Swede. The other one. Who's not really been on the show. Because no one cares. You know who I'm talking about. He's bald.

Seacrest, out!

• Lizawithazee: Brussels sprouts with brown butter and pecans, chipotle stuffin' muffins, goat cheese and onion tart, cranberries with candied grapefruit peel, antipasto tray, and buttermilk chive biscuits.
• Lillyblue: Oyster dressing, spiced giblet gravy and shrimp remoulade
• minou: Creamy spinach gratin, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and brownies
• TristaButterfly: Fresh-baked bread
• Strehle: Something involving cranberries and heavy cream
• JLynRedux: Five kinds of pie — apple, pumpkin, three-berry, chocolate cream and ricotta

And as for me? Well, I don't mean to brag, but I can heat up a mean frozen pizza. In fact, I've got one bubbling in the microwave now. Before I fetch it, allow me to suggest a few "things to watch for" as we live-blog tonight:

• Expectoration! Watch for the Today Show's Kathie Lee Gifford to become the latest woman on Top Chef to gag and spit something out. (I planned to make a junior prom joke here, but I decided to spare you. Call it an early holiday present.)
• Eggs'n'bacon! The quickfire challenge will be to make a "breakfast amuse-bouche." My French is a little rusty, but I think that means "breakfast funny mouth." Which means … they'll make smiley-face pancakes? If so, you heard it here first.
• Expatriation! Fabio will opine that guest judge Rocco DiSpirito is "not a real Italian." This is ironic because, in one of his great Top Chef recaps on Gawker, Josh Stein theorized that Fabio himself may be as genuinely Italian as Chico Marx. Next, someone will try to tell me Chef Boyardee wasn't a real Italian either. (He was, by the way — his real name was Ettore Boiardi. And I just decided to give Fabio the new nickname "Chef Boyardee" in his honor.)

Well it's almost 10 o'clock, and the microwave is beeping. Let's get ready to gab, gastronomes!

Last night's episode was all about Thanksgiving®. Contestants had to make a Thanksgiving Dinner for the Foo Fighters, a mediocre pop band headed by ex-Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl. "We rarely get to have Thanksgiving with our families," Grohl says (I"m paraphrasing/making this up), "so it's really important to have a good dinner." Great, except this was in fucking late July that they filmed the episode! There were teams. There was failure. There was success. Cougar/Jackie O/inept Jersey housewife Aryan succeeded in making a passable turkey breast which, due to the wildly low Palinesque expectations for her, was recorded as a success. Eugene, the tattooed scrappy guy from Hawaii, jerry-rigged a Hibachi grill out of coal and tinfoil and made a great pork loin. Dave Grohl was torn between ruining his credibility as a rock star with cogent commentary and ruining his credibility as a epicure with numskull nonsense. Hechose the latter. The creepy gay teddy bear/idiot Richard was sent home. Thankfully, we'll no longer be forced to witness his weird vulgar fetishization of Tom Colicchio. He can now do that from home.

My mother who I love, somewhat annoyingly kept on screaming "Ai! Ai! Ai! Who cares about this?" Well, it's a fair question. I do. I love Top Chef. And here's why: Beneath all the cynical product placement (SWANSON!!!! BUTTERBALL!!! GLAD!! SAD!!! TITS!!! SPLENDOR!!!) and narrative manipulation, an American tale is told, American values are reaffirmed and the dramas we all face—saddled with different names and different faces—are played out.

Is it more noble to strive and fail (like Ken-doll Jeff or bygone Marcel) or to contain your ambition and execute a modest idea well (Hosea's fruit thing)?

Do effort, personality and ethnicity have any place in the judicial decisions to stay or to go or should these decisions be based solely on the matter and material on the plate? Do those factors deserve consideration in the court of public opinion?

Does Padma Lakshmi have a thing for Fabio, and if so, how do they make love? Slowly? Frantically? Desperately? Clandestinely? What might she exclaim? How about he?

But more importantly, in watching Top Chef, in empathizing and despising the sad-faced bat people who compete on the show, we discover ourselves. Am I the mean talented lesbian who makes fun of the fat ridiculous guy with a bad beard or am I the fat man? Does mean lesbian's insecurity excuse her cruelty? Do my insecurities excuse mine? Am I clingy like Leah, pompous like Stefan, hardscrabble like Eugene? Is it better to be loved or feared? What is Padma doing for Thanksgiving? What are you doing reading this? What am I doing writing this? It's Thanksgiving and my mother is waiting. Goodbye.

• The commenters remembered to play "How Stoned Is Padma?" this time, and our average scores (on a scale of 1 to 5) came in as follows: During the quickfire challenge — 2.5. During the elimination challenge — 4.2. Our conclusion? Unlike a slice of bread, Padma is more likely to be toasted in the evening.
• The elimination challenge meals were graded by 50 failed Top Chef applicants who — as far as I could tell — could taste nothing but sour grapes.
• Some woman ("Jill" I think her name was?) cooked a ginormous egg which, as commenter adiam7 observed, "looked like the one Wilma used to make Fred." Then Mrs. Flintstone was told to pack her knives, started sobbing, and generally did not have a gay old time.

And here are few suggested "things to watch for" as we live-blog tonight:

• Molecules! Tonight's Guest judge is chef Grant Achatz who, we are told, is a "forerunner of molecular gastronomy." Now I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's where you cook stuff using fancy molecules like NaCl, H₂O and NaHCO₃. Also, a dash of C₂H₅OH in the sauce never hurts.
• Misfires! Last week, Ariane's abuse of the C₁₂H₂₂O₁₁ molecule sent Padma's tastebuds into toxic shock. So let's watch for what Ariane might gag Padma with this week. The world's tartest cranberry sauce, maybe?
• Musical guests! The title of tonight's episode is "Foo Fighters Thanksgiving" which, to me, summons a mental image of the Foo guys wearing white turtlenecks before a crackling fire, singing along with the ghost of Andy Williams. (And yes, I know Andy Williams is still alive.) But I'm guessing they'll actually just show up, sit down and eat stuff. Hopefully, they'll plug a worthwhile charity while they're at it — preferably one that involves feeding hungry folks.

And on that note, let's take a moment to be thankful of our own good fortune and good company. Then let's tune in, start typing and get more trashed than a Glad garbage bag!

From the outset, the episode looked pretty good. The quickfire challenge was hot dogs. I, who at this point was actually quite drunk, had just eaten the Chang Dog and the Wylie Dog at PDT (the former, a bacon-wrapped hot dog with kimchi, the latter a "deep-fried Crif Dog wiener nestled against a baton of WD-50 deep-fried mayo with tomato molasses and freeze-dried onions") so was already juiced for wieners. Instead of pimping out the quickfire like some James Lipton-like mac to Oscar Mayer, the segment featured Angelina D'Angelo, an independent Queens hot dog cart purveyor. The hot dogs were okay. Fake Italian Fabio I think won? (Maybe it was the little tattooed blonde lesbian.) Lex Luthor made a stab at a world dog that fell flat. You like that, Thomas Friedman, you jealous ignoble Ionic fifth columnist?

[OH! Before I forget: Did anyone catch that weird mini-segment hidden inside a commercial break where Leah, the lady from Centro, clearly wants to hump Hoseah "Far Side" Rosenberg? She says something like, "I am into relationships. I'm boy-crazy!" and then she is cuddling with him on the sofa and being coquettish? "I want to sit here!" she says. The moment lasted all of thirty seconds then went straight back to some Housewives commercial. Transmission screw up or uncanny foreshadowing of love to come?]

Anyway, ever onwards. Those sadistic and cynical Top Chef producers are, let's admit it, sometimes genius. Their ability to milk, nourish and capture human misery rivals Dante's formulations of contrapasso in the Inferno. In this week's episode, the contestants had to cook for the 50 failed contestant/chefs, the people who didn't even make it on to Top Chef. Needless to say, they were all—save one or two—vindictive anal worms. It was like when corrupt cops go to jail. One upside: The chefs worked out of the restaurant Craft which Chef Tom Colicchio owns so the man was in the kitchen, expediting. It is always a pleasure to see actual cheffery happening on the show. He's no-nonsense, exacting and demanding and at the same time level-headed, doesn't yell and is well-organized.

So dishes and mistakes were made by the dozen. At the end of the day, Gail Simmons looked bad but made up for it by calling Jersey housewife Arianne Aryan. Aryan, for her part, totally blew it with her "cherry surprise" (Trust me, I've had a lot better cherry surprises—some courtesy of James Lipton!). It was so sweet even Padma (as seen above) expectorated the sweet load from her mouth into her napkin. It takes a lot to laugh, a train to cry, and one overly-sweet bite to make Padma spit. Strangely, it wasn't Aryan who went back to Jerz but rather it was the female Stephen Malkmus who was sent packing back to B-more [(Do you want to see her in a bikini? Click here) Maybe there'll be a sixth season of the Wire and it'll be about illegal kitchens and she can have a second career. Here's to hoping.]

To sum up: I'm really excited for this season. I think it'll be great. It is already pretty wonderful. It's true, I despise Toby Young who replaces Ted Allen as judge and everything that he does. He'll be cruel and witty because that's what he does and he'll do it for the camera and without the slightest thought that what he says actually has consequences for the contestants, so deep is his narcissism. But Padma will be there to be drunk and cute and slurry and Tom is always there to slice through the bullshit with his limpid eyes. As far as the contestants go, Emile from Ratatouille, the guy with the horrendous facial hair, might actually be sweet. Fabio and Stefan actually seem to be in love. Urkel—though to be fair, she more closely resembles Where's Waldo?—is crazy town and God Bless Her for it. And shorty-wanna-hump Leah is so clingy that one wonders if she was brought to us by the makers of Glad. All in all, the ingredients are there for a well seasoned season. Let's just hope Bravo doesn't fuck it up too much.

Before we get started, a quick announcement: Remember that live blog rule I mentioned last week about not second-guessing the judges because, unlike them, we can't taste the food? I've decided to retract that, based on an epiphany I experienced after discovering a Bravotv.com feature called "rate the plate." There, site visitors can grade each dish from last week's episode on a scale of 1 to 5. Seeing this made me realize that I'd forgotten a key cultural norm of the new millennium: Judging something no longer requires actual knowledge of how good that thing is. If Maxim can give a two-star rating to a Black Crowes album they never heard, and Bravo can ask website visitors to rate food dishes they've never tasted … well, who am I to judge this new judging norm?

So judge away, live bloggers! In fact, I just went to bravotv.com myself and rated all of last week's dishes, awarding my highest score to Eugene's "dry rub lamb with basmati sweet rice, tzatziki with tandoori glaze." I gave it a 4. It would have scored a perfect 5, but it looked like he used a tad too much salt.

And while I was on Bravo's site, I also watched a few preview clips of tonight's episode. So here are a few "things to watch for" as we live-blog tonight:

• Fabio make hot dog. Fabio will say he has "no idea how make hot dog." And I know how Fabio feel. I have no idea how make live blog. But I make live blog. And Fabio make hot dog.
• Contestants will make lunch at Tom Colicchio's restaurant. This must be Craft on 19th Street. Ever eat there? If you do, here's a fun suggestion: If Colicchio actually comes to your table and asks how your meal was, just glare at him and say: "That was almost inedible. What were you thinking?" I'll bet he'd get a big kick out of that.
• Fire! Things will finally burst into flame. It's about time. Can "stew room" bleep-swearing fights be far behind?

By the way, here's a fun fact: A cocktail is an emulsion. So get ready to live blog, and while you're at it — get emulsified!

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.

Team Rainbow: The real character of this team—other than young bottom and weird massager Patrick who was also a Palin and is now gone—is the bro-jock-gay Richard, a bearish version of Dale who worships Tom Colicchio in a way that almost certainly is creepy and wore a t-shirt that said, "Beer Pong." (Weirdly, that's popular to do!) Last sentence in his official bio: "On the side, he also works at the San Diego bar, Pecs." Please check out the image to the left and the account of Flickr user Thikstache for more documentation of Pecs.

The Europeans: This team is actually only two people (one "from" Italy and one from Finland) but, for taxonomic ease, we'll throw Leah in there too since she's from New York which is part Europe anyway. First of all, the point has been raised that Fabio the Florentine is actually an actor and not from Italy at all. He may or may not be a conman. Like a certain other handsome Italian—wink! wink! Anne Hathaway, I see you reading me! You need to turn off the camera in your MacBook because I can see you through it!—Fabio is involved with some charitable foundation (Firenze4Kids and Kidshealthcafe.com). Also, his accent is way too comically thick. It is what we, in the biz, call a dialect. But finally, this is the tell. Last line in his bio: "Additionally, Fabio also works as William Shatner's private chef."

The Obamas: This is the minority catch-all. Maybe post-op Carla Hall M-to-F is here. Latino Alex who thinks Indian and Latin cuisine are the same (WTF?!), also here. But the Obamas are really embodied by small tattooed Gene who never went to cooking school, never had Indian food, who grew up on a small rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and still managed to make damn good Indian curds and cheese [Note to Padma: Rein it in, woman! You were all sorts of up in Gene's shit.] Can we count on this baby-faced charming outsider? Yes We Can! A bit preemptive I know, but I'm calling Season Five for Gene.

The Palins: These are the sacrificial lambs led to the slaughter for the sake of ratings, people who have no business being in the spotlight. Yet watching them struggle and writhe and pee their pants and not know it and walk around soiled and sad is such an unfettered joy that we temporarily put aside sympathy for the much more rewarding schadenfreude. The poor mom from Montclaire, NJ, totally outclassed. The guy with the bizarre facial hair who made chicken salad and said Europe was his backyard but who is endearing like Emile from Ratatouille. Lauren, who went home after the quickfire to an empty bed since her husband is in Iraq but who still—though she knew it was only to long lonely nights she would return—couldn't come up with anything better than an apple salad with spinach and blue cheese and bacon. These people will be a riot while they last but they won't last long. And when they leave, a trail of gaffes and toilet paper stuck to their clogs in their wake, we'll feel a pang of regret, not only because we were less than kind but because we have no one to laugh at anymore. That is, until 2012 or next week. Whichever comes sooner.

I am your live-blog maitre d', Monsieur Hippity, and allow me to start things off by suggesting the first rules of our Top Chef commenter drinking game (suggest more rules in comments!): Take a drink every time …

1. Someone says the word "inedible," "palate," "tangy," "acid"/"acidic," "cheftestant," "challenge," "infused" or "plate" (as a verb).

2. A contestant "bleep-swears."

3. Padma shouts "utensils down!"

4. Something bursts into flame (whether by accident or design).

Next, a few general live-blog rules. 1. Please don't use the word "cheftestant," just because I hate that word (pet peeve, sorry). 2. Try not to argue that the judges' opinions are unfair, because let's face it: They can actually taste the food, and we can't. (That's just the way it is with this show: Until somebody invents taste-o-vision, we have to take the judges at their word regarding what sucks and what doesn't.) 3. Don't post spoilers and/or spoil posters.

Finally, here are a few of my impressions of this season after watching (too many) promo clips posted on bravotv.com. First impression: Reputed pot-imbiber Padma looks even more stoned than usual lately. (Here's an overshare: In one clip, Padma dreamily intoned, "I want every part of my palate to really be stimulated," and it gave me a culinary boner.)

Other impressions: This season's contestant group looks refreshingly "global" (with origins from places like Hawaii, Italy, Finland, Spain and India) as well as promisingly eccentric. Examples include:

• Richard, who helpfully identifies himself as "one of those witty gays" and says, "You will scream my name and slap your momma when you taste my food" (which makes me happy, for my mother's sake, that taste-o-vision really doesn't exist).
• Gene, a native Hawaiian who loves Spam and wants us all to know that he never went to culinary school.
• Jamie, who has enough tattoos on her body to consider a career in the circus if the chef thing doesn't work out.
• Fabio, who has "chia pet hair" and moonlights as William Shatner's personal chef.
• Stefan, who is simply my early pick to win the whole thing. (My other preseason favorites: Carla and Hosea.)

Anyway, that's enough fat-chewing from me. It's nearly showtime, so grab a drink, Glad-wrap the ol' laptop and let's get ready to live-blog!

my friends and i went to the NY Mag sponsored highbrown backyard bbq today.
and it was a total failure. first of all it was in some gross parking lot on the east river, so there goes the "highbrow" part of it. second, i dont think they actually bbq'd anything. it was supposed to be a bbq with some sort of tacos, fruit salad, mexican corn, peach cobbler, and beer—tickets were $25 and sold out a few days ago, so you think they would know how many people were there. it was from 1-5pm, we got there just before 3 they were out of: beer, corn, peach cobbler, utensils. so essentially we paid 25 bucks for a stupid cold taco and a couple cubes of watermelon. CJ (from top chef) was there—drinking bourbon and apologizing, "they didn't tell us there were going to be 600 people here" and attempted to give my friend an impromptu soup out of some taco sauce (gross, but they didn't have spoons anyway). i dont even know if that band played either, they were blasting some sort of awful dance music through blown speakers. now i'm stuck with a year subscription of ny mag that i dont want, ugh.

I mean the restaurant has a jacket-required dress code, for God's sake. Their tasting menu is $220 a head (with wine pairings)! It's one of those storied haunts that needs only to quietly go about its gourmet way to drum up praise and customers. But now, like Faye Dunaway and now Vogue before it, Le Bernardin is bowing down to the reality gods in search of, well, that hideous term "relevance." While this evening's reserved patrons won't actually be served by the blotto, under-the-bus-throwing, vain yet desperate contestants, they still have to sign waivers (to be faxed over!) and deal with camera crews and all that reality jazz.

CUSTOMER 1: I do say, Harold, there seems to be a lapel mic in my Kindai Maguro.

CUSTOMER 2: Oh Evelyn, do shut your face.

So far the cast has remained pretty incognito. Few people from neighboring buildings were even aware Top Chef was shooting in Williamsburg.

“No way,” said the cashier at Urban Rustic, an organic market down the street, who is a fan of the show. “That’s awesome.”

So will the cast do any shopping there?

“That would be cool, but I doubt it," the cashier said. "They usually give them a budget.”

Though, I don't think our little cashier friend will be quite as excited once all the slurred recriminations start wafting on the night breeze and some uptight little shit stands screaming from the balcony at the top of his lungs about his crispy duck in pomegranate reduction on a bed of Swiss chard that went horribly awry because that cunt Mallory can't do a fucking thing right in her whole fucking miserable life.

That might be a little unkind. The finale wasn't completely rotten and the winner of Season 4, Stephanie, certainly deserved to win. She is a great chef and, if Bravo's editors haven't diced her personality beyond recognition, a nice person too. The winner was clear last night. Sadly, new father Richard pulled a Casey last night and choked. It happens. Even when aspyhxiating, Richard was a joy to watch. He was genuine, curious and down-to-earth. However since it seems Bravo was adamant that a female win Top Chef, one wonders if even if he had been on point whether he would have prevailed.

Lisa, well, Lisa. Lisa Lisa Lisa. Goo goo kachoo. What's there to say? Her persistent larval anomie and her glee in broadcasting her meanness to others was epic. In fact, her consistency deserves some respect. She's gone now, Lisa is. And, إن شاء الله we'll never have to see or hear from her again. She'll disappear deflated from our consciousness, a villain no longer. When she passes us on the street, exhausted and bitter after a day in the kitchen of the failed Mai House, we'll feel a vague gurgle of hatred though we won't be able to recognize its source. Old villains don't die, they fade away. The same could be said for reality television series.

Far from the rage or joy I felt after the finales of seasons 2 and 3 (in that order), when the television blinkered off last night, I was just kind of left let down. The producers of Season 4 have played so fast and loose and brutally with the viewers' emotions, so manipulated our loves and hates, maneuvered so cynically to whisk up drama, and rammed Glaad products and Evian so strongly down our throats that unless Lisa met her untimely end after getting tangled in a Force Flex bag gradually being pumped up with Evian or won, the finale was inevitably going to be anticlimactic. By last night, I'd felt enough in Season 4. Like a dropped transmission, the producers could use as much slow motion and jump cuts as they wanted, but I just couldn't get it in gear. No amount of shots of Padma's loopy mug slurring "It's deshilishsush," or genuine celebrity chefs like kooky Dan Barber nor even the travesty of putting Tim Zagat whose restaurant reviews consist entirely of opinions not his own, on the judging panel could muster up a minyan of feeling.

Watching Season II, I mistook the chefs for real people and had no disbelief to suspend. Watching Season III, I noticed the strings holding up the marionettes but rather liked watching them herky jerk around. But watching Season IV, the house lights were on and the mystery dissipated. It's like a third marriage. All right already. We get it.

Congratulations to Stephanie, shrug. Richard, good luck with the baby. Lisa, rot in hell. Padma, I emailed you so you have my number. Call me if you want to go to Shake Shack or something. I'm saying goodbye to all this. Or at least until Season V.

The broken, rage-filled 10th grade lesbians and haughty, closeted 9th grade boys who will inevitably populate the show will mirror the ruined and angry contestants on the grownups version, while also representing how kids today "are continually expanding their culinary knowledge - from cooking classes to kids' cookbooks," according the show's press release. Also noted in the release is that the adult scream-fest Top Chef, which airs at 10pm on Wednesday nights, performs very well with kids aged 2-17. Who the hell is letting their 8 year old stay up till 11pm on a school night? Seriously, I want to know. Are they the same people that are sending little 12-year-old Vincent (pronounced, by Vincent, as "Vinthhhent") to culinary classes? Find out for me. There's your reality show.

The other edifying part of the interview is how frequently Lewis insists on inserting "Everybody laughs" after every piddle-headed thing he says. Anyway...

• Steve Lewis on Todd English: "Todd English is a two-bit, lying punk and should, in my opinion, never be trusted by anyone – community boards, investors, women, anyone."
• Camille Becerra on Throwing the Competition: "You know you have to leave because it’s just not where I want to be. And so yeah, it gets to a point where it’s like, ‘How do I get out of here? How do I get out of here with dignity?’ Because all of these people, all around America are watching you."
• Nikki Cascone on Being the Sexy Chef: "If I read the blogs, I’m the ringer because I’m the pretty girl, you know? That’s the way it’s been."

• Steve Lewis's Makes Everyone Laugh:

"These two ladies, and I’m using that term without knowing them that well… (Everyone Laughs) … "

"It sounds more like a platoon in the army. (Everyone Laughs)"

"SL: Camille, Nikki just made this statement. You’re a year removed. A year further away from the confidentiality agreement. ...Everyone Laughs"

"SL: You did get voted New York’s sexiest chef or something, didn’t you?

CB: Yes, Steven.

Everyone Laughs."

Oh no, I don't read the blogs—you couldn't pay me to read the blogs. I don't want to know what people who can't even afford to eat in my restaurant, let alone know how to cook have to say about me, and the few comments I did read on Eater.com a few weeks back because my job asked me to read 'em. The best they could come up with was that I was ugly.

Subject: Gail Simmons — ALIEN EYES! Spotted Gail Simmons, from food&wine/topchef at 'wichcraft this morning getting her java fix. Was with a young Asian kid, talking about Tila Tequila. Sounded somewhat like a jerk, insisted she "wasn't flirting with Tila Tequila." Didn't look so alien-like upclose. Wonder if Tom will reimburse her for the latte?

On May 29th, Richard and his wife Jazmin Zepeda welcomed into the world, Riley Maddox Blais. She weighed 7.9 pounds and was 21" long (long? how do you describe things that can't stand up?) These photographs were taken by Whitney and Jesse. It should be noted that on the same day Blais became a father, Lisa probably cut in front of an old woman at a supermarket, opened the Emergency Exit gate in the subway setting off a horrendously annoying alarm though she could have just as easily have gone through the turnstile, stole moleskin from a Mom & Pop drugstore, slashed the tires of an ambulance, hacked her way into an ex-girlfriend's email, and tapped aggressively on the glass window of a pet store, scaring the adorable puppies therein to the point of catatonia.

Joshua David Stein is back briefly to talk about Bravo's Top Chef whose eleventh episode aired last night. For a number of reasons this week, it occurs to me that maybe Earth is a crummy planet, or at least crummy to the extent it is inhabited by man. Our reign at the top of the food chain is near its end (Three fine examples of why may be found here and here and here) Last night's episode of Top Chef did little to reinvigorate my faith in man, mankind and man's kindness.

Lisa stays. Any creature with a heart and soul must agree that for Lisa, a human being riven with maggoty and fetid misery, to remain on the show for yet another episode does not bode well for our fate as a species. And yet, though it pains me to write it, Lisa stays. If Lisa is right side up, the world is upside down. Admittedly, in fairness, her food didn't seem that bad. (I lay the blame for this whole situation on last week's guest judge Tony Bourdain who axed Dale instead of Lisa in a fit of pique. Had the even-keeled Tom been there, this situation never would have arisen. Goddammit, TC! What charity was so important he had to miss his scheduled appearance on reality TV anyway?!!?!) Spike went home instead. He was always a bit of an idiot but really?. Lisa stays!?!? Ai!

Critics you might say that I only hear what I want to, that I don't listen hard. You might even say I don't understand if you really care, I'm only hearing negative. But no. No. No. There is hope yet. And it comes from the past, what was, and the future, what yet shall be. On this episode, former winners Harold, Ilan and Hung were guest judges. My optimism comes not in the form of Ilan who is still an unctuous twat nor Harold who is nice but boring but in the form of the once-vilified Hung. Shown outside the competition setting, Hung is elegant and smart and kind and charming. All the things that, in competition, he wasn't made out to be. This means two things: Maybe Lisa isn't actually as miserable a wench as she seems. Ah fuck it. She is. But it also means, that good can still win in this world. Indeed, it seems inevitable which is a good thing.

Think about it: Lisa is out next week. She has to be. She took Spike's job at the Manhattan restaurant, Mai House so you know girlfriend didn't win. That leaves Richard, Antonia and Stephanie as possible winners. All three are fundamentally solid people, good people. Sure Stephanie might be boringish; Antonia might be too much like an emo Helena Bonham Carter and Richard is called Blais (and not like Cendrars) and has a faux-hawk. But all three of them seem genuinely kind, enthusiastic, smart and talented chefs. They are mensches (menchiz?). Clinging to the assumption that Lisa is gone next week—an assumption that makes living possible—we can afford to be charitable and magnanimous in victory.Lisa's greatest or rather only contribution to the season is to cast the menschlekeit of her competitors into warmer contrast. That's why we need villains, to make heroes. But now that she's served her purpose, it's time for Lisa to pack her knives, her scowl and her hideous haircut and leave.

Project Runway
How It Is Now: The popular, zeitgeisty series, in which gay people and ladies compete to design the best fashions, has one more season on Bravo before it moves over to Lifetime, where it will (presumably) be their flagship program. The contestants run all over New York (well, it'll be in LA for Lifetime) and have lots and lots of challenges outside the confines of a "studio." Add big-name talent like Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn to the roster, and it's not exactly bargain basement.
The Cheapening: The LA move, done so Klum can be closer to family, will feature most of its workroom scenes filmed in the Bavarian model's mudroom. While it will look sadly low-budget, there will be the unexpected thrill of seeing Klum, fuzzy in the background, walking around in a commandant's uniform, brandishing a Luger, yelling "schnell! schnell!" to her terrified children, and making husband Seal bounce balls on his nose for fish. Also, Michael Kors will be replaced with a Teddy Ruxpin doll that's been dyed orange.

Top Chef
How It Is Now: The "drunken, horribly angry chefs compete for a vague prize" Bravo hit is all about on-location filming, from Miami to New York to Chicago. No "big" names like Project Runway, but zombie bite victim and series host Padma Lakshmi probably isn't that cheap anymore.
The Cheapening: Easy-Bake Ovens, mostly. Head judge Tom Colicchio will be swapped out for a cardboard cutout of Mr. Clean. Also, the already heavily product-placementy series will get further tie-ins, and contestants will be forced to cook with only the "Kraft family of products."

America's Next Top Model
How It Is Now: This strange, melting wax figurine of a competition series, one of The CW's biggest hits, flies their final contestants to far-flung locations like China, Thailand, and South Africa. They often employ many stylists and photographers. Plus, Tyra. She's making a mint off this thing.
The Cheapening: The new, cheaper "cycles" will last only three minutes. The first two will just be slo-mo footage of Tyra gyrating and posing for some unseen photographer while, in voiceover, she reads selections from her diary. In the final minute, Tyra will shriek some weird name like "Yahoo" or "Jasmenayaya" and a weird leggy thing will emerge from the shadows, weeping. She'll be handed the keys to a 1987 Datsun and then the lights will be shut off. Nothing will be lost in this new version.

The Hills
How It Is Now: Fancy camera work, increasingly popular stars, buzzy pop songs, constant on-location filming. While MTV is unlikely to make many changes to their hugely successful series, there are a few corners that could be cut.
The Cheapening: Each episode will simply feature soaring stock footage of Los Angeles while melancholic upbeat pop-emo songs play. In a little box in the corner of the screen, one cast member (to be changed every week) will make facial expressions. Sometimes they'll say things like "Brody" or "Le Deux" or "Baloney."

Only time will tell if these prognostications will come true. You can also probably look forward to new seasons of your favorite reality shows like Survivor: Parking Lot, The Just OK Race, and So You Think You Can Dance For Nickels. Maybe we'll finally see the genre killed off! Wouldn't that be something.

For now, though: Enjoy.

Hello,

I wish I could comment to this posting but I do not have an account. I know Lisa or rather I have been subject to her presence at a few of her co-hosted "dinner parties". Not only does she make shit for food but her mere presence at a dinner party was enough to take the appetite from a starving homeless man. She is so sour and just generally pissed off. It's such a contrast because her parents are beyond cool and her sister is actually gorgeous and very personable.

The challenge seemed promising: Restaurant Wars. We love restaurant wars. Who doesn't love restaurant wars? It combines two primordial passions: food and fighting. Since perky pesky single mother Antonia somehow managed to snatch the Quickfire challenge victory away from Dale, she was allowed to choose her team. She picked faux-hawk duckling Richard and blah blah Stephanie. This left Spike, Dale and Lisa together. Obviously we knew what team would win.

Mai Buddha, the Asian restaurant Spike, Dale and Lisa create, is an unmitigated disaster. The food stinks. The decor stinks and mistakes—many of them—were made. Spike, the unctuous oily slitherer, dons a suit and works the front of the house. He knows his team is going to lose and he just wants to save his hide. Dale beats Lisa in a coin toss to become executive chef. Lisa, on the other hand, whether by design or by ineptitude, manages to crumb up every dish she creates. Her laksa soup is all smoke and no spice. Dale, no angel himself, curses a lot and makes a bad decision regarding an unhappy coupling of scallops and butterscotch (the doughy whiteness of one not melding well with the sweetness of the other). It's clear either Dale or Lisa is getting kicked off.

Lisa stays. Dale leaves. He cries in the exit interview. He was by far one of the most talented chefs, along with Richard and Stephanie. He put himself out there. He had skills and he took himself and his work seriously. It was sad and unexpected to see him be sent packing. Especially when one considers Lisa. Lisa's entire focus seems to be shivving other contestants. She's fixated not on the flavor of the food or the success of the challenge but on protecting herself from the chopping block. She can be charming at times, a glad-handing politician. But anyone with a brain can see through her ruse. Her main technique is dishonesty. Her defensive stance and villainous grin mask a serious lack of skill. What was most disappointing about last night's episode is that a fundamentally respectable institution (Bravo!) made a serious error in judgement by electing to retain and promote a petty, crummy, talentless hack. The decision hurts not only the institution but the viewership as well. We don't need more crumminess. Dale was no hero but he didn't deserve to be let go. Lisa is no nothing. She's nothing but negativity and self-service. And I eagerly await the day when her heartbreak soup comes back to burn her.

Seriously though, police officers do suffer from a high rate of obesity. This has less to do with donuts and more to do with the "long hours and the on-the-go nature of police work [that makes] it hard to find time to eat well and stay in shape." In fact the LAPD recently hired a dietician to cut the BMI's of the force and Chicago's police superintendent recently floated the idea of mandatory fitness tests. Anyway, what made last night's episode enjoyable/risible was the reappearance of Sam Talbot, the almost winner almost chef of last season. He's diabetic and has crap taste in sweaters.

Yesh, yesh kittehs. I know. According to many, I haven't the best track record in sweaters. But, srsly, what the shit was Sam Talbot wearing? First of all, he changed costumes more than Padma. During the Quickfire, he wore some khaki green blazer/flak jacket thing with a menagerie of necklaces. By night's end, Talbot boasted a chunkystripey shawl-type sweater, fingers covered in silver and some sort of Dark Crystal type amulet. I don't care if he has diabetes. Blindness does not account for his fashion choices. Douchiness however, pretty boy unctuous self-righteous douchiness, does. He is incredibly good-looking though. I mean his face. It's like an angel face.

So that's fats and ugly sweaters. Next up: Villainy. Who's villainous? Well two people really: Spike and Lisa, the self-promoting skeazy puppy-eyed stoner and the ugly lesbian, respectively. [NB: I will no longer refer to Lisa as an ugly lesbian however since I do believe that gives other ugly lesbians a bad name. Sorry Judith Butler, Andrea Dworkin, Ingrid Sischy, Annie Liebowitz, Andy Borowitz. No harm. No foul.] Spike won the Quickfire and thusly had first pick of Box Lunch ingredients. What he chose others couldn't. So Spike shrewdly fucked everybody by eliminating lettuce, tomatoes, chiclen and bread from their arsenal. But like an idiot asshole, he didn't put any of it to good use. He made a crappy chicken salad with a slice of tomato, a leaf of lettuce and some burnt pieces of toast. But whatever. His villainy was at least strategic and not personal. He handily kneecapped everyone. He didn't single out one victim.

The same could not be said for shit-for-tits Lisa. True, Andrew, who got sent home and who deserved to be sent home, did not follow the rules of the challenge. He forgot grains. But to throw him under the bus at the judge's table was not only pointless (of course the judges knew he had erred) but just plain scummy. Lisa is, I'm sure, an opportunistic amoral sorely losing bitter pill. She may be able to parboil some salmon or dice some carrots but she has none of the qualities of a chef. She spend most of her time pointing out the flaws of others and evading responsibility. Andrew, despite his many flaws, at least stood for something and understood some things. Sure he was crazy and annoying but he was loyal and passionate. Additionally, that Viggo Mortensen Eastern Promises moment in the Stew Room was pretty amazing.

From now on, we just have to wait for the Final Three. Gawker's bets are on Richard and Dale (obviously) with Stephanie hanging in there too.

A couple quick asides: 1. Padma Lakshmi, still hot, still high. 2. The relay race quick fire challenge is always my favorite. It is, to me, exactly what Top Chef should be about, a distillation of skill and ability. For all my hatred of her, the ugly lesbian lady with the bad attitude did supreme those oranges astonishingly well. Richard showed his prowess with the uglysexyscary monkfish. Stephanie, who somehow always seems to have just stepped out of the shower in all her interviews, showed herself a true champ whisking that mayonnaise. The same could not be said for Nikki who actually admitted to taking a break while making her mayonnaise. IT'S A RACE, LADY!!! She also hasn't made mayonnaise by hand since culinary school. Dale, one of her teammates, was not happy. When they lost, in part a cause de Nikki's torpor but also for Spike's manhandling of the artichokes, Dale punched a locker. He had, however, thoughtfully wrapped his hand in a towel.

Normally, I'm not a fan of team challenges or weddings but this one was actually okay. Mostly because the challenge (cooking for 125 people and making a wedding cake) moved the underlying dilemma along. Well set aside the winning team. Richard, I love you more and more. AND you are married!!! But, of course, it is to the losing team that our interest is attached. The breakdown of labor follows:

• Nikki, after sandblasting it into our heads and that of the groom that she's Italian and therefore can cook anything from that region, refuses to take a leadership role on her team. I think she actually says, "If they fail, then at least it won't be on me." Instead she focuses on making pasta...again!!! Oh yeah, she fucking botches it too.
• Ugly lesbian makes an ugly lesbian cake: tasty, solid, squat.
• Spike spends the entire time making sea bass. It looked good.
• Dale would not stop bitching and looking like an Asian Terrence Howard. He cooks just about everything. The only problem is that he doesn't do it well. He does nearly nothing well. He just does a lot of mediocre work.

Obviously it was between Nikki and Dale. The ruling would basically validate one of two very different principals. Either Nikki would stay because, as Russell Simmons wrote, "Do yourself." In other words, she made a wise decision by abdicating responsibility, by letting her crew drift stranded on their own pieces of jetsam, because at least she couldn't be accused of leading them to failure if she didn't lead them at all. On the other, hand Dale, who compounds being an asshole with being a peevish fucker, refused to delegate responsibility due to his utter lack of respect for U.L., Nikki and Spike as chefs.

The difference is Dale's approach still values food while Nikki's values only Nikki. Her legacy will be that of a Scottie Pippen who notoriously and often shied away from leadership positions.(Thanks, Will!) preferring to insulate himself from the danger of failure. At root, this is cowardice. Furthermore, her criticism of ball hog/tugboat Dale, "You don't throw someone under the bus up there," is particularly hypocritical since her whole program was to throw as many of her teammates under the bus as possible. Anyway, it was nice to see Bravo actually reward a values system I, and I think many people, agree with. And it's nice to see Nikki finally get her due.

The episode—in which contestants were asked to create a meal for four people for ten dollars and were helped during the preparation by disadvantaged children—reeked of a Lifetime special. As was communicated throughout the show via the valorization of Antonia, a single mother contestant, the target demographic of this challenge was...single mothers, a demographic more likely to be sitting in front of a television tuned to Lifetime than to Bravo. And not just single mothers but low-income single mothers which even moreso places the focus on a Lifetime-esque demographic. That said, the kids were cute as buttons. (Not these buttons. These buttons.) How can you make fun of kids!? What kind of bumptious stinker would dare attempt to? In this way, however, the show has already showed itself more interested in inoculating itself against criticism rather than making good television.

Of course, the winner was Antonia, the single mother! Why? Because, in the words of Gail Simmons who may or may not be pregnant but has certainty gained some weight which I totally understand because during the course of the show I ate an entire large pepperoni pizza from Posto and a slice of strawberry pie I got upstate in this weird hippie bakery that was actually the kitchen of a couple named Bob and Valerie who had moved to Woodstock twenty years prior and set up a pie shop, "it was so natural for her." Well, fuck, of course it is natural to her. She's a single mother (though she does live in Beverly Hills.) But authenticity is no reason anyone should win anything. I would have liked to see Crazy Andrew win because he used to be fat and now is skinny but of course that might be read as fattist, not to mention sexist, by the sexy fatty Lifetime viewership. So there's Antonia—-who, make no mistake, I genuinely like—smiling and telling funny/dirty jokes to her kid. (Knock knock/Who's there/Smellmap/Smellmap who? Get it?/No/Smell my poo!/Oh. Ha!)

Two other moments of the show are also noteworthy. Firstly, that quick challenge really totaled my faith in Padma. Contestants using UNCLE BEN'S RICE had fifteen minutes to create an entree. The screen was immediately flooded with a panoply of UNCLE BEN'S PRODUCTS!!! Padma was excited. How that woman could be so excited by such a lame challenge or at least act that excited by such a lame challenge questions if, and when, she tells me that she loves me, how can I believe her? It just seems so shammy. What a put on! What a laugh! You love me you say?! A love that is so easily bestowed that it falls on a product placement so heinous is no love that I want, Padma.

The other moment of emotional amusement was when crybaby loser (and handsome Australian Kiwi) Mark accused Tom of not liking him. After sending him home Tom said, "I don't dislike you." It's not as if Tom is using litotes to communicate his intense affection for Mark. "I don't dislike you" is like when a girl tells you (or you a girl, or you a guy or a guy you) "I don't not love you" which, even more than "I really like you," means "I don't love you" which is all to say, this new life-affirming Top Chef? I don't dislike it at all!

I always kind of liked Jennifer, the shorter mohawked girlfriend of Zoi the Boi. She seemed down to earth in a Northern California way. She seemed loyal, consistently standing up for her girlfriend. And she seemed like a great chef. Something bad happened though between the point where Zoi was sent home and last night, when Jennifer teamed up with similarly tolerable Stephanie in yet another ree ree challenge: The contestants were forced to cook according to the shouted out suggestions of Second City Theatre goers. Improv crowds are, as anyone who has walked by the UCB theatre at around 7:00 pm on a Sunday night knows, are not the coolest lot. Anyway, the girls got, if I recall correctly, the words: Turned-On, Orange, and Asparagus. But what the girls really got was incredibly flirtatious.

It all started with an errant shot at the Second City Theatre. Jennifer's arm was casually draped around Stephanie's broad shoulders. Jennifer through her dork hot indie glasses was looking at Stephanie with a look of love, lust and respect we had previously only seen on her face when she gazed at Zoi. But Zoi was out and the need for emotional intimacy trumped whatever qualms Jennifer had about openly pursuing a Sapphic and adulterous dalliance on national television which surely her girlfriend was watching. So the flirtation continued, communicated to us viewers at home by bite-sized cuts of handslapping, smiles, and warmth. An astute observer of Bravo's latent morality couldn't help but suspect that Jennifer would be axed for her infidelity. She, of course, was.

The most interesting part, at least to me, of the reason why she was exiled was that the two women (one openly gay, the other unopenly ungay or openly ungay or something) created an explicitly phallic dish. The germane phrase was turned-on. There's no reason why they had to choose a phallus—-culinarily expressed as a piece of flaccid bread and a wilty spear of asparagus—instead of say a clitoris to be the turned-on element. This is a particular bitter morsel in the history of sexual inequality in terms of gratification. Why a lesbian would forsake her own sex in this context for a man is unfathomable. I guess it would be hard to express the sex that is not one on a plate. But crafting a menage a trois of goat cheese, crouton and asparagus whilst focusing exclusively on the phallus seems to undo as many decades of feminist thought as Dale's insipid stereotype of male homosexuality did in the last season. The real question is whether Jennifer got booted off for betraying her girlfriend or for betraying her entire sex.

This week, especially when he actually suggested he shuffle around on his knees as an Oompah-Loompah, one began to wonder if his quirkiness passed into DSM-IV territory. And then it's no longer fun to watch. It's kind of creepy and sad. It's like when you find out your weird and crazy uncle actually is schizophrenic and paranoid and then you hide every time he comes over. You know what is fun to watch? Angry lesbians and it seems like next week, the back room of Top Chef's kitchen is a rage-filled Sapphic playground!

I guess what I'm saying is the teaser for next week's episode was exponentially more interesting than anything that went on this week. Manuel left. Clearly he had to go. Next week, I hope it's Nikki. The following week that eyebrow-pierced lady has got to skedaddle. In fact, let's just cut to the final three: Stephanie, Richard (the mohawked tweety-bird who is weirdly growing on me) and Dale. Next week though, the super cool mohawked lesbian (she is great, I think) knocks over a chair in what looks like a confrontation with Spike who I can totally see being an enormous prick. Bets made at the time of viewing indicate that she is made violent in the course of defending her girlfriend, the bad-vibey Zoi. But what I really really want to see is Dale go batshit nuts. If I am remembering correctly he says something like, "You feel the need to justify all your mistakes and blame them on other people." Pause. "I feel that is bullshit." This is accompanied by athletic hand motions in which his palm is facing downwards, his arm is upraised and his elbow is bending like a metronome, emphasizing his points. I found it sweet that even when he is yelling at someone he introduces his opinions with "I feel..." which is a sign of a good arguer. Anyway, thoughts, hypotheses and bets on what goes down taken in comments.

There was an audience poll (think of all the revenues from the text messages!) in which 61 or something percent agreed that moreso than vulture, penguin, lion or gorilla, Tom Colicchio is most like a gay who "tends to have hairy bodies and facial hair; some are heavy-set; some project an image of working-class masculinity in their grooming and appearance, though none of these are requirements or unique indicators. Some bears place importance on presenting a hyper-masculine image; some may shun interaction with men who display effeminate style and mannerisms, although some actually exhibit these traits themselves."

So that happened which was a relief to those of us who have been waiting for the show to openly address the obvious. I'm just amazed there wasn't some sponsor tie-in with, for example, the DVD release of I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry But let's move onto the challenge: Design a menu for 200 people based on the diets of five animals using only ingredients those animals eat. Humma, wha? I mean this really approaches absurdity in terms of contrivance and stochastic challenges. If we're this random in the second episode, imagine four weeks down the line when the chefs will be asked to create a seven course meal out of yellow, snozzcumbers, the shavings of deodar cedar, late-market capitalism, the later work of Luc Tuymans, memories of Maya Deren, the ten Inuit words for snow, "Snow;" by Orhan Palmuk, the idea of Orphans, the ideations of Oprah, all to be judged by a classroom full of cactii. I bet Richard will win, the cheesy fuck.

Of course last night the loser wasn't simply linear thought. Also that short cheffette from Chicago named Valerie went home which is fine because really, who cares? Aren't they starting to film 30 Rock again anyway?

Predictions for the season are always welcome. For my part, I think Richard and Spike will be the villains. That dude Manuel is a sweetheart whose personality will continue to shine. Andrew, still top three.

First of all, Padma Lakshmi continues, bizarrely, to become even more winsome. By the end of last season, her beauty already seemed to approach absurd. And splitting with Salman has only made her even more beautiful. At this point it's hardly even enjoyable to see her. It's rapturous, of course, but you get the feeling this is what dogs feel like when they chase sunbeams. Only, I want to sleep with the sunbeam. Also, the first shot of that scar! What a sight for sore eyes.

Second of all, if the first three minutes of Top Chef Chicago is to be any indicator of the rest of the season, we are in for some heavy heavy product placement. Remind me again what exactly Pizzeria Uno has to do with culinary anything? We all knew product placement was coming but it arrived with such alacrity and ferocity that it took me, at least, off guard. I thought initially we had been unwittingly taken to commercial break in a clever way. In a way we had. But in another way we had just been had.

Thirdly, motherfuckers! People cuss so much on this new season it is kind of amazing. Of especially dirty mouth and charming cadence is Andrew. He looks like a cross between me and Wallace from Wallace and Gromit. He got fucked by Richard, he of mohawk and smoked mayonnaise. Every talking head interview with him read like a scene from Scarface. He's in the final three for sure.

Other observations include: Rocco DiSpirito's face gets fewer wrinkles and more injections day-by-day. Anthony Bourdain's pants are really tight which is a wonderful thing. Erik made the ugliest scat-implying soufflé ever. And I'm pretty certain, though it's too early to tell and I'm interested in what you think, that the final three will be Jennifer (the Sapphic San Fran chef); Andrew and Richard.

If I sound down on the show well, it's because I am. Both this week and last week and, come to think of it, the quickfire challenge in the first episode, stink of a gimmick built around a sponsor thought up by a team of suits (or probably no, they probably all wear American Apparel now) in marketing who have no idea what being a chef is like. The balance between testing the skills of the cheftestants and pleasing the advertisers has been upset. It makes for unenjoyable television. I mean whatever that dude's name was Erik, he deserved to go no doubt. But this isn't Top Caterer, it's Top Chef. Both Valerie (played in real life by Rachel Dratch) and Eric (played by David Brockie) were kicked off for errors t