Top Chef Recap: Finale Part One

Dear Best Friend,

What is the best way to hide a baby bump? I am normally very sexy, but as I get bigger, I'm afraid of wearing my normal clothes.

Yours truly, Knocked Up in Napa

Dear Knocked Up,

Instead of wearing your normal slutty clothes, what you should be wearing is even sluttier clothes. If last night's tv watching taught us anything, it's that pretty girls who are pregnant should wear even less clothing than what got them there in the first place. Try digging out your old cheerleading outfit, or dressing in a really fattening color, like white. It'll be ironic, since you're obviously anything but virginal. Change your hairstyle dramatically. Or, if you're really brave, wear clothing that has been previously only worn by cast members of Resident Evil movies and Blade. People will be so busy wondering where half of your sleeves went, they won't look at your fat little belly at all.

Dear Best Friend,

Which is worse, over-salting goat cheese or feeding a pregnant woman
a raw egg?

Yours truly, Cheated by the Brothers Grimm

Dear Cheated,

Up until last night, I would have said the raw egg thing. Salmonella and all. But apparently over salted goat cheese is really fucking nasty. Also, if you are called on the carpet for this sort of thing, NEVER EVER CONFESS THAT YOU WOULD HAVE MADE YOUR PERFECT DISH A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT WAY. If possible, make sure you have some sort of epic story arc, like Cain and Abel, or Lucy and Desi, that will make you indispensable to the editors. Show no weakness. Next time, try hitting on your furry married co-star. It can't hurt.

Dear Best Friend,

What is Michael Chiarello's fucking problem?

Yours truly, California Dreaming

Dear California,

I don't know, but if you could please, as a state, do us the favor of forbidding him from traveling across state lines, I know we'd all be grateful. Please make sure he understands this includes all Top Chef production sets. I suggest also maybe imprisoning him in a wine cave under his beloved valley for all time, with animated grape vines removing his vital organs every 24 hours, until a sous chef should find him and put him out of his misery.
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That is the worst sign ever, you pretentious twats

Last night was anything but poetry for our Fearless Foursome. They were spirited away to Napa Valley, the Den of Easy Virtues. Once there, they came face to face with the soggy pork known as Chef Chiarello, the bastard who stole Top Chef Master title from Hubert, and who had kidnapped their princess and impregnated her with mystical soul sucking grapeseed babies. Their first challenge to was to get on his evil Train of Sustainable Doom, which was obviously a trap. Once imprisoned in the tiny kitchen car, they were forced to cook grapes grapes grapes. These dishes they fed to the Princess, like pomegranates to Persephone, knowing they were powerless to help her. With every bite, her soul turned more and more a deeper shade of khaki beige, with spots of sportscoat navy.

The brave boys managed to escape, but Jennifer oh my Jennifer. Like the Grinch, Chiarello set his evil eye upon her and determined that he would steal her talent for himself. Right then and there, he resolved that she should never win Top Chef. She would come to live with him in his faux Italian villa, while her soul would fester in a cedar barrel, trapped in the cellar with all his other victims. Like Ursula the sea witch and her bottles, see? Ripert he would deal with later.

Their destination was the annual harvest festival, call The Crush because traditionally this is when the indentured Chinese and Mexicans would pass out and drown in the mighty vats. They were forced to race each other through mazes to gather the ashen scraps of a raped countryside, and out of the scraps they must compose the dish to save their lives and careers.

First, the meats. Kevin chose the stoic and silent Cow as his totem, strong and cornfed. But did he cook it long enough? Bryan also used beef, understated and sweet, elegant. But where were his figs? Michael, devious ambitious Michael. Was it any wonder foi gras was his choice? And was it a surprise the stingy bastard didn't put enough in his soup? But Jennifer my Jennifer. Your duck was the prize of the night, the gilded feather in your cap. How ironic that it should also be the seal on your coffin, since Chiarello renewed his vow to bring your star down, once he tasted it's toothsome duckyness. (also, my friends, Kevin, that is what toothsome actually means.)

And the vegetarian dishes? Kevin took a carrot and a radish, said a magic Southern Witch spell over them, and created two pieces of vegetable that tasted like a 5 course meal. Bryan wove a ravioli so fine, the spiders were jealous. Michael put a raw egg in some vegetable stock and fed it to the princess. Maybe, he was trying to put her out of her misery? I think that's giving him too much credit. And Jennifer my Jennifer, it's not your fault that the evil Chiarello switched salts on you, giving you the cursed salt with the very slow melting that was ultimately your downfall. I know he did it. Did you see at judges table, how he immediately knew what had happened, even before you did?

The princess, whose transformation to rogue angel fighter was complete by the second scene, felt a tear on her cheek, and wondered what it was.

In the final level, the heroes faced the Circle of the Black Thorn, and though their armor was shining brightly, the Council nit and picked until the smallest pores and ingrown hairs had been exposed. When the smoke had cleared, Voltron remained united, to fight it out in the final battle. And Jennifer was left to hitch her way back to Philly, and battle Chiarello's minions by herself until she could be reunited with her Master, The Sorcerer Ripert. Who watched the battle from his ivory tower, and plotted revenge for the humiliation of his secret daughter.