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.

Top Chef Recap: Jennifer, My Jennifer

Alright, before I start babbling inanities about a tv show whose contestants have more talent in their paring knives then I have in my entire arsenal, let me babble a couple extra ones:

1. I did not want to start chronicling a goddamn tv show again. I remember how painful that Top Model cycle was. I recognize I am merely setting myself up for disappointment in the show and in myself. I can't stop myself. I like writing mean things about these people. I really really do.

2. I watched Glee before Top Chef came on, and it was awesome in a way that really draws in the old community theater side of me. I think because I despise that lead choir girl SO MUCH, it's actually cathartic. Then, a show choir doing a snazzy rendition of Winehouse's "Rehab". Then, a teacher blackmailing a student with weed. THEN Journey sang over and over and over. And the nervous guidance counselor looks like a cartoon squirrel! I'm going to have to get DVR finally, because then Lost is going to premier, and it will be the same time slot, and there was this dinner club thing I wanted to get into, and dancing? Oh Wednesdays. I don't know if I was actually born on a Wednesday, but I always liked you best in that rhyme "Wednesdays child is full of woe". Totally.

3. I made pot roast last night in the truest most orphan sense of the word. Like, I bought the cheapest meat I could, I filled a crockpot with split peas, meat, salt, pepper, and water. And I cooked it overnight. In the morning, the meat was great. The rest of the pot though contained what can only really be labelled porridge. Or mush? It was exactly what you would feed to destitute pickpockets if you owned a juvenile prison work camp in 19th century London.
I haven't thrown it out yet.

Okay, on to the topic at hand. How much does Jennifer rock on Top Chef? I mean, how obvious is it that they should give her the money right now? Last night was exhilarating, watching her run the kitchen and put tape on everything? They would have NEVER gotten anything done if it was not for her.

But first, Quickfire. Michael PEEL, who used to PEEL potatoes in some famous guy's kitchen, introduces the POTATO as the subject. The ultimate poor people food. I mean, I guess you can also make an argument for rice, but aren't they the same thing, really? They're filler. Sticky starchy stuff you can pile into your stomach to not notice you're only getting a tablespoon of goat or lamb or whatever. I was impressed by the variety of the potatoes they gave them. I mean, who's heard of a Russian Banana Fingerling before? It sounds like a sex act. Also, it seems sort of racist if you think about it. My great grandmother got off the boat in America, and tried to eat her first banana with the PEEL on. One can imagine an Allied soldier making some quip about Russians being so stupid they eat a potato raw like a banana. Or something. It's a valid theory.

So then everyone makes something with sweet potatoes, cause no one likes regular potatoes anyway unless they're fried. And Jennifer wins. And then leans over and sucks Ash's brains out like a fried prawn.

After that, everyone has little breakdowns. Jesse hits herself in the head with a water bottle, not understanding how to properly rehydrate herself. She almost gets it, it's near her head, but not quite. They get the next challenge, and Michael I. (who is quite possibly the biggest hanger on in the entire history of this competition) comes up with a strategy where he can pair himself with someone better. Like he has been doing his entire life. In the smartest decision of the night, they decide to hand the executive chef position to Jennifer since she has immunity. Jennifer humbly accepts, though quite frankly I thought it was kind of sucker for her since she didn't get to actually cook anything and thus stood no chance of winning. Plus then she didn't even let anyone throw themselves under the bus through their own stupidity, like she very well could have. Because she has PRIDE. Robots don't let humans fuck up.

In one of the strangest moments on Bravo ever, we discover the reason Preethi became a chef is because of 9/11? Apparently, the Twin Towers came down and she had an awakening that she need to cook eggplant for the rest of her life. I feel like she probably got a little screwed by the editing there. Maybe not.

So they cook a bunch of food for some Airforce guys and everyone cries just a little, and is overwhelmed and such. Michael V. has a fantastic idea to hand everyone fried slabs of bacon in a lettuce leaf, and he wins. I hope no one ever discovers that human belly is that good fried and smoked. No really. I hope that never happens.

Everything comes off almost seamlessly, because Jennifer puts the smackdown on the mortals.

Then comes one of the meanest eliminations I've ever seen on Top Chef. Which is not saying a lot, Tom is no Simon Cowell. But Mike I. gets all red like the shrimp he undercooked, and all blustery and blah blah blah. Preethi and Laurine cower like guilty little liars in church, knowing if they both say nothing, neither can get in trouble. But it fails. Preethi goes home, and Mike I. lives to suck Mike V.'s dick some more. Beta Male.

I've been formulating some theories about what might have gone down between Mike V. and Bryan V. 1) Mike slept with Bryan's girlfriend. 2)Bryan's wife hates Mike and Mike knows it. 3)Mike lived with mom and Bryan lived with dad. Maybe other way around. 4) Mike did some coke for a few months when he first moved to Vegas, and Bryan found out about it, and got Mike fired from his first restaurant job as a lesson to him.