Amuse-Biatch

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: The Ravages of Time, Hormones and Sugar; the Persistent Doucheyness of Wallet Chains and Thumbs in Pockets

2010-07-01T02:25:00.000-07:00

10-Year-Old Tom Colicchio Had More Balls Than Any of the Contestants on This Season of “Top Chef”

2010-07-01T01:54:00.000-07:00

So sayeth the colicky Colicchio himself, on his Bravo blog:

“I’m going to try my best not to sound testy. As you’ve also just watched the episode though, I’m sure you won’t fault me if I do…. Watching the episode, I was amazed to hear mutterings of ‘I’m not a pastry chef’ and ‘I’m not a grill chef.’… I was at my family’s swim club one summer day when I was approximately 10 years old, and after a day of swimming I found myself good and hungry. My father had brought along several club steaks, and had heated the grill but not yet cooked the steaks. I couldn’t wait. I popped one on the grill and, when it seemed adequately cooked, I popped it back off and ate a bite…. I came out of my reverie to face an angry family: I’d singlehandedly cooked and eaten all the steaks…. I guess I discovered grilling…. I was 10, and it never occurred to me to shy away from the task because ‘I wasn’t a grill chef.’”

So, possums, bears do meow, and how.

Amanda Baumgarten, Stephen Hopcraft Star in Bravo Anti-Tobacco PSA: This Is What You Look Like When You Smoke

2010-07-01T01:40:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: After His “Flame Goes Pouf!”, Swish Kabob Wins the Gay, Er, Day

2010-07-01T01:36:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Psychic Lesbian Unable to Predict Her Own Demise

2010-07-01T01:31:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Parlor Game: Actual Sam Kass Quotes That We Would Like Him to Repeat—in Bed

2010-06-28T12:45:00.001-07:00

Never mind about that last one, possums--different speaker, different parlor, different game.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: So That’s What Happened to Urkel

2010-06-26T15:40:00.000-07:00

Possums, before you groan, we say, Come on—cheap and easy (visual) puns are a staple of Top Chef, and never more so than on this season and, perhaps, this episode (“bipartisandwich”?). Besides, what with the dead wife, we gave him a one-episode pass as regards mocking him. This is Episode 2, and the pass has expired. Welcome Grown-Up Urkel.

Amuse-Biatch Apostrophizes: Between the Finale of "Top Chef" and the Premiere of "Top Chef Masters," Bravo Chyron Loses Its Apostrophe

2010-05-06T08:59:00.000-07:00

A screencap from the finale of Top Chef: Las Vegas, and screencaps from the first five episodes of this season of Top Chef Masters.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Prissy Sweater-Gay Saveurs the Memory of His Own Wedding Night

2010-05-06T08:47:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Kelly Choi's Retina-Scarring Wardrobe Explained: She Uses a Blindfold While Dressing

2010-05-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Het Thursday: The Man Says Yowza! The Gay Says, Didn't You Know Satin Wrinkles?!

2010-05-06T08:14:00.000-07:00

Choking the Bluebird: Gael Greene, Twitter and the Art of Masturbation

2010-05-06T07:59:00.001-07:00

Possums, we are great believers in the powers of time, and just look what time has done for Gael Greene. Though scarcely four years old, her memoir, Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess, has gone from being execrable (and we were trying to be kind) to being a minor camp classic, and may soon be a television series.

How do you judge campiness in the case of memoir? Well, just imagine a drag queen doing a dramatic reading. Would a drag queen love it? Would it work?

We submit that, under this criterion, Insatiable qualifies. Just have a look at this passage:

“I…remember the terror and joy of discovering masturbation. I shared a bedroom with my sister….At night after lights-out, I would get my sister to sing along with me so she wouldn’t hear the sound of the bed creaking as my body rubbed against my wadded-up pajama bottoms. I did my heartrending Judy Garland vibrato as we sang ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ and then segued into a popular wartime anthem, ‘The White Cliffs of Dover,’ and its reassuring images of bluebirds flying free in a near tomorrow. Till, exhausted and satisfied, I fell asleep.”

Now, possums, take a minute to catch your breath. Let your eyes, which undoubtedly were popping, settle gently back in their sockets. That was quite something, eh?

Be honest now, possums. If you didn’t know it was Gael Greene’s story, wouldn’t you think it was the memoirs of a drag queen, and perhaps a parody of what an ur-drag queen’s childhood was like? Who else would beat the bishop while vocally impersonating Judy Garland?

As you can see, Gael Green really is Top Chef Master of Her Domain, and we urge you to get yourself a copy.

There is one another thing that intrigued us about this passage—the bluebirds. The cited Vera Lynn World War II classic famously promises that “there’ll be bluebirds over/ the white cliffs of Dover,” and “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” asks, “If happy little bluebirds fly/ beyond the rainbow, why can’t I?” Would it be unreasonable to assume that Gael Greene associates bluebirds with masturbation and sexual release? Could that be why she has taken to vigorously to Twitter?

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: Gael Greene's Shaded Eyes Only Hint at All She Knows About the Burning Yucca

2010-04-19T23:51:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: A Picture So Filthy, So Lubricious, So Suggestive That Only Gael Greene Could Do It Justice

2010-04-13T07:38:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Ah, Lesbians and Their Power Tools!

2010-04-13T07:26:00.000-07:00

‘Biatch-Slapped: Gael Greene v. Jimmy Bradley

2010-04-13T00:24:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, there seem to be so many spats and meow moments that we figured we might as well gawk, and so we inaugurate a new feature, ‘Biatch-Slapped, wherein we’ll briefly examine and rate these catfights.

First up, it’s “Insatiable” Gael Greene v. Top Chef Masters contestant Jimmy “I have oldness” Bradley.

In the New York Times story on his wedding last year, Bradley said of himself that he is a “self-made chef and restaurateur.” And just last week, the Times restaurant critic, Sam Sifton, also referred to Bradley as a “chef.”

On her Bravo blog, however, Gael Greene begs to differ, saying that Jimmy Bradley “is popular and very successful as owner and creator of Red Cat and the Harrison in Tribeca, but is not really a chef” (emphasis added).

Jimmy Bradley, you've been Biatch-Slapped! We give it three meows out of a possible five. What say ye, possums?

(By the way, if, like us, you were bemused and crinkle-browed by Jimmy Bradley quoting Coco Chanel on last week’s episode, the Times wedding story will clear you right up. Bradley’s 11-years-younger bride is “the fashion merchandising director for Lucky, the Condé Nast magazine,” so he must have learnt the apocryphal Chanel quote at home. Interestingly enough, the first impression the future Mrs. Bradley had of the chef was of “this gray-haired man, smelling like a dirty hippie with his patchouli oil and kitchen grease.” Ah, l’amour, toujours l’amour!)

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: “Insatiable” Gael Greene Scandalizes, Titillates Victorian World by Showing Her Knees

2010-04-12T07:46:00.000-07:00

The Bravery of Synergy

2010-04-09T07:55:00.000-07:00

First, possums, may we say just one thing?

When, on the premiere episode of this season of Top Chef Masters, Kelly Choi announced that the band The Bravery would be judging the Quickfire Challenge, and Tony Mantuano allowed as how he had some songs by them on his iPod, we heard but one voice in our head.

It was our heavily accented mother, gimlet eye coming through the accent as she said, “Bool cheet.” Miss XaXa’s response was a more measured, “Yeah, right,” in reaction to which we tamped down our inner mother and said, “Pull the other leg; it’s got bells on it.”

Were we like Jill Zarin, we would immediately have demanded that Mantuano pull out his iPod for inspection. Fortunately, we are not like Jill Zarin, or maybe not entirely, for we did smell a fiery-Cheeto rat.

Why, possums, why would this particular band be called upon? With the Foo Fighters on Top Chef there was at least the excuse that they were fans of the show. The excuse here was that one band member has a culinary degree, a connection that is, shall we say, tenuous at best. (In our research, we discovered, as per Wikipedia, that a couple of the band members went to Vassar, and our eyes widened. We remembered a couple of galpals in college who had boyfriends attending Vassar, and oh the stories we heard! The theory was that it had something to do with the pressure of attending a former women’s college, the first of the Seven Sisters; how else to explain the crying jags and the penchant for cucumbers in intimate situations? And The Bravery do have lesbian haircuts and a song called “Hate Fuck.” But we digress.)

Possums, the fact of the matter is that The Bravery’s record label is Island Def Jam, which is owned by Universal Music Group. “Wait,” said Miss XaXa, her voice quivering with rapidly dying innocence, “Universal, as in NBC Universal, which is the parent company of…”

Yes, possum, Bravo.

We were shocked, shocked, nay, even gobsmacked. Who knew you could buy synergy at the gas station?

It’s right next to the pork rinds, we were informed by the gas station attendant. When we asked him, “Well, wouldn’t some kind of disclosure about The Bravery have been nice?,” the attendant only laughed and asked if we wanted our car washed.

So, Chef Mantuano, politeness and go-along-to-get-along-ness and Countless LuAnn good manners are all well and good, but what would you have done if Justin Bieber were the guest judge? Hmmmm? Consider yourself pardoned but narrowly escaped.

Oh wait, never mind. Justin Bieber is also part of Island Def Jam. Carry on, Chef Mantuano, carry on.

Why Gael Greene Is Disqualified from Judging the First Episode of Top Chef Masters, or, Indeed, Anything Else Ever Again

2010-04-08T14:23:00.000-07:00

Possums, fear not. We’ll get to our impressions of, and reactions to, the first episode of Season 2 of Top Chef Masters in two shakes of a lamb carpaccio’s tail, but we simply could not go on without getting this off our chest.

Well, more like getting this unstuck from our craw, where it has lain for a few weeks since we read this account of Judge Gael Greene’s date night, er, morning, on her Twitter feed.

Ah, yes, that renowned romantic masterpiece Precious…. You know, possums, the one that features—in no particular order of tribulation—incest-rape, teenage pregnancy, Down syndrome, illiteracy, morbid obesity, poverty, colorism, AIDS, and Mariah Carey.

Or, as Miss XaXa so pithily put it, “Gael, girl, that’s just naaasty.”

Mercifully, the tweet does not contain sufficient temporal clues to determine whether the necking took place during or after the watching of the film. Frankly, there’s not much of a choice between the two, for either you were inspired to neck by the film, or the film wasn’t repellent enough to put you off your necking. (As for the culinary accompaniment to a viewing of Precious, surely salad is a little unimaginative, given that pig’s feet, bacon, and fried chicken make memorable appearances in the film.)

Now, if that is the Insatiable Gourmet’s idea of a date night (or date morning), we submit that she is not the right person to judge a challenge designed around the proper meal to accompany a first date. Indeed, we would question her very aesthetic bona fides. Sure, we know from her autobiographical tales of the Elvis-bagging days of yore that she’s a freak bitch, baby, but is this a freak too far?

What say you, possums? Are we not giving a fair shake to the kooky, oversexed, milliner’s wet dream of a great-aunt?

Of Spring and Sprout--Dale Levitski Comes Into His Own

2010-04-08T07:51:00.000-07:00

Possums, as you know only too well, we love nothing better than saying, “We told you so.” And possums, we told you so, and we’ll tell you again—Dale Levitski, of Top Chef: Miami, wuz robbed!

These aren’t just the ravings of a tottering-on-Louboutins fan. We have the evidence to prove it. Well, actually, we ate the evidence, but there is nothing we’d like better than to go in search of more at Sprout, the new Chicago restaurant headed by Dale. The meal we ate there was among the most delicious and stimulating we have had in years, and even though it’s been a couple of months since our visit, we think about that meal all the time.

From the fabulous, “crowdsourced” décor to the ultra-accommodating staff, I knew a mere six steps into Sprout, located in Lincoln Park, that we were in for an exceptional dining experience. The setting is relaxed luxury, and lives up to Sprout’s own philosophy of offering “upscale dining with a relax-your-shoulders vibe.”

The Executive Chef of Sprout is Amuse-Biatch favorite Dale Levitski, and while still in its infancy, Sprout has the feel of a well-honed, long-running operation. Sprout’s Sous Chef is the talented Sara Nguyen, also of Top Chef fame. Sara is as gracious and welcoming as she appeared on screen, and the best thing is that, together, she and Dale have the same culinary chemistry and rhythm they exhibited while dancing on the balcony in Miami during Top Chef.

While Sprout’s menu is geared toward an organic-focused $60 prix fixe tasting menu, including intermezzi, à la carte items are available as well. My dining companion and I both opted for the prix fixe menu. My first course was a cooked-to-perfection scallop, surrounded by freeze-dried corn, parsnip, and popcorn. This was a toothsome dish composed of a witty series of pairings, the texture and color of the caramelized scallop picked up by the parsnip, the sweetness of the scallop picked up by the corn, with crunch added by the popcorn. For her first course, my dining companion, a vegetarian, chose a pear salad featuring watercress, goat cheese, peppermint and shaved licorice root. It was an exquisitely composed plate of food, both visually and flavor-wise. (Indeed, the great thing was that my dining companion was able to find a superb vegetarian dish for every course.) In case we had any doubts, the first course announced loud and clear that we were in the hands of someone who is absolutely on his game.

For the main course, I selected the Wagyu beef. Set atop pillowy, rich brandade and haricots verts, with a garlic drizzle, the beef was luscious and vibrant. When presented with the opportunity, I could not resist sampling two additional courses. First there was chilled octopus served with white bean puree and arugula—the octopus perfectly cooked, and perfectly complemented by the richness of the puree and the slight bitterness of the arugula. Dale has a real talent for mixing not only flavors, but textures. There was also a course of veal cheek, which was richness and opulence distilled. We also had a tasting of gnocchi à la Parisienne, French-style gnocchi that are made with choux pastry rather than potatoes, which were new to me and which made me curse all the years I had gone without trying them.

In between the courses, the intermezzi included a shaved ice of passion fruit and Riesling, at once bracing and seductive. Speaking of which, the white bean butter served with the bread is nothing short of creamy crack.

My dessert course was called “lemon.” There are no words. The combination of the lemon curd, goat cheese mousse and sour cherry, while surprisingly new to me, rendered me speechless—a difficult thing—and is now one of my favorites. My dining companion opted for creamy melted chocolate with a dunk-worthy cookie.

The cheese course was witty and the ne plus ultra of comfort food, the cheese melted and sandwiched between two crêpe-like crisps, the perfect end to a truly memorable meal.

As reported elsewhere, Dale went through a great deal of difficulty and sorrow in his personal life in the period between Top Chef and the opening of Sprout, but you wouldn’t know it from the polished, effortless cooking. Or maybe you would. Perhaps food this joyous, this focused, this representative of earthly delight, could only come from a man who has emerged from a dark night of the soul. Sprout could not be more aptly named, and we are all the beneficiaries of those tender shoots. Speaking of which, the new spring menu should now be in place, so get thee to Lincoln Park, possums. Dale may have been robbed, but don’t rob yourselves of an extraordinary dining experience.

Sprout

1417 West Fullerton Avenue

Chicago, IL 60614-2011

(773) 348-0706

Find them online:

http://www.sproutrestaurant.com

http://thesproutcrowd.com

Sprout can also be found on Facebook and Twitter @SproutChi

Previews: After Tackling Gay Marriage Last Week, Top Chef Tackles the Issue of Gays (Including Seemingly Angry Lesbians) in the Military

2009-09-02T08:59:00.000-07:00

Next week’s episode, entitled “Nature vs. Nurture,” will take on the issue of gay adoptions by allowing certain cheftestants to “adopt” another cheftestant’s Elimination Challenge dish, with the judges determining whether the results are “confused” or whether the seasoning is “well-adjusted.” Rosie O’Donnell will be the guest judge.

The following week’s episode, entitled “Three’s a Crowd-Pleaser,” takes up gay monogamy. Cheftestants will cook in teams of two, with some having the option of “opening” up their team to another cheftestant from a past season. Watch the fun as a past season cheftestant bonds with a current season cheftestant and the two put the remaining original teammate up for elimination. Eric “McSteamy” Dane and Rebecca Gayheart will be the special guest judges. (Our onset spy related that Padma and Rebecca would constantly sneak away during filming, and when they returned to film the tasting scenes, they consumed all the food on the table, as well as the camera plates.)

Amuse-Biatch and the Exuberantly Accusatory Quiescently Frozen Treat

2009-08-31T11:47:00.000-07:00

We hailed, and we waited, and waited, and waited, and when the paleta vendor finally arrived, he claimed that the only paleta de leche left was this one.

“A likely story,” we harrumphed.

So, possums, what say ye? One of those little literary coincidences that flesh is heir to? Knowing accusation? Joyous exhortation in anticipation of National Coming Out Day? Or future personal motto? Possums, you decide.

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: Padma Lakshmi Contemplates the Spillage of Golden Seed

2009-08-31T11:32:00.000-07:00

Not a Damned Thing About Eve

2009-08-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

Eve, Eve, little Miss Eve….

Oh, whom are we kidding, possums? Even channeling Miss Bette Davis, we just don’t have it in us to be cruel about the fact that Eve Aronoff was pykagged. Not even the thought of her grating accent and her klutziness can rouse us to cruelty; it would be like kicking a cat. That must mean we have some shred of conscience, empathy, humanity left, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?

Bottom line: she had no business being on Top Chef. Her true place is back in dear Ann Arbor, or as a minor character in a Woody Allen film, one of the funny ones. That Eve should be sent home on a “Battle of the Sexes” episode where the women lose is just a touch too right.

Amuse-Biatch Tries to Keep Abreast of Gail Simmons News: Oh Google What Hast Thou Wrought?

2009-08-26T15:12:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Homosexual Wednesday: Raggaydy Andy Cohen Takes Signature Sockless Look to a New Level, Uses Mattin Noblia's Clothing as Towel

2009-08-26T08:16:00.003-07:00

Previews: Self-Regarding Asshole Alert (Todd English Is Back); Cheftestants Go Topless

2009-08-26T08:13:00.000-07:00

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Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Mike Isabella Reveals Himself as the Lon Cheney, Sr., De Nos Jours

2009-08-25T07:35:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Quaker Oats Announces Updated Aunt Jemima Campaign--She's Now White, Young, Tattooed and Pierced

2009-08-25T00:05:00.000-07:00

The Fabio Viviani Top Chef Audition Video; Warning: Many “Beat Your Meat” Jokes Within

2009-08-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

Eve Aronoff Just as Much of a Klutz as Her Voice and First-Episode Performance Would Suggest

2009-08-24T06:26:00.000-07:00

From an interview with The Detroit News:

I understand you were on crutches for the first part of the filming. What happened?
It was a little hectic, I had broken my foot the day before so I was in a boot, and then my father had to go into the hospital. Then I cut my finger packing my knives, and I missed my flight because the airline didn't have my reservation.

Were you nervous about being on the show?
I'm really a free spirit, so I didn't have a problem adapting. The show is created to simulate reality, but there were times it was hard to be in the moment.

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: Padma Lakshmi Shows Us the Jewels of Denial

2009-08-24T00:30:00.000-07:00

À la Recherche du Lundi Hétéro Perdu: Proustian Padma Lakshmi Tries to Turn La Puente, California, Into Combray by Way of Dazed and Confused

2009-08-24T00:29:00.000-07:00

Why We Hate Héctor Santiago

2009-08-23T00:58:00.000-07:00

Becos he esteels hour won-lioners beefor we haf a chanz to post dem.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Renée Zellweger Does Her Best Popeye Impression

2009-08-23T00:14:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Exclusive: Ron Duprat Had Earlier Career in Television; Do You Care? Of Course You Do

2009-08-22T19:47:00.000-07:00

In Fond Memory of Richard Sweeney: “Don’t forget to suck the head; it’s where the best part is”

2009-08-22T18:45:00.001-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Bravo Editors and the Art of the Reaction Shot

2009-08-22T16:45:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Gallery of Bad Jews

2009-08-22T10:04:00.000-07:00

Lest you think, possums, that this is a reference to Inglourious Basterds, we hasten to add that this is taken from Robin Leventhal’s statement, “Well, I’m a bad Jew, and pork would be my vice.” Bad Jews are, of course, our favorites. (In our youth, we had a Jewish boyfriend—uh, same-sex boyfriend, as Ash Fulk would put it—whose preferred Saturday morning breakfast item was a little sliced turkey with a lot of bacon on a bagel. Eating it in bed (1) on the Sabbath (2) with a Catholic (3) of the same sex made it a treyf trifecta plus two, but we digress.)

Speaking of which, didn’t you love it when, after Robin’s pronouncement, those sly Bravo editors cut to the chercest of the Chosen, the Lioness of the tribe of Judah, Ms. Gail Simmons herself? Gail, fresh from bathing in Michael Chiarello’s mushroom polenta on Top Chef Masters, tossed her head ever so slightly and laughed her “Song of Solomon”-inspiring, Wong Kar Wai-esque version of Anita Ekberg’s Trevi-fountained laughter in La Dolce Vita…uh, excuse us, possums, while we remind ourselves that we are gay.

So, without further ado, here are the shocking pictures of Eli Kirshtein promoting bacon and handling shrimp.

Amuse-Biatch Armchair Psychology: A Further Excavation of the Possible Roots of Mike Isabella’s Misogyny

2009-08-22T08:47:00.000-07:00

And the evidence just keeps adding up, possums. In the above video interview with Bella, he recounts his origin story:

“I grew up as a young kid in an Italian family, and, uh, my grandma was cooking, and, you know, when you grow up in a really Italian family, what you see is all the women cooking and stuff like that, but I always loved being in the kitchen.”

Ach so! Let’s play Dr. Melfi for a second, shall we? So, as a result of his New Jersey Italian background, he views cooking as an exclusively feminine domain, but one in which he loved to immerse himself, thus setting up the conflict and anxiety around the issue of his masculinity, the castration anxiety arising from the warm and womb-like kitchen itself. Indeed, he was complicit, for as he details, he used to help prepare the “gravy,” or red tomato sauce. And what could be more symbolic of castration and emasculation, in these culinary terms, than the crushing of those round, testicular tomatoes to make a sauce that will be poured over those phallic spaghetti, which go from being hard and long to being broken for immersion in the pot, from which they emerge soft and floppy?

So of course having this Seveech woman in the kitchen, going head to head with him, brought back these issues. (It might be beneath us to point out the too-perfect-for-words symbolism of the fact that they were competing in shucking, um, clams. You couldn’t write this stuff. Also, we wonder if he has any women working in his kitchen; if anyone knows, do drop us a line. Oh yeah, does he have a girlfriend? This, too, would be fascinating to know.)

It’s all there, possums—his association of cooking with femininity and castration, his memory of having a bar of soap stuffed in his mouth, his view of older women as castrating harpies or Venus flytraps, his attempts to butch up the kitchen, his penchant for those Ed Hardy shirts sported by Jon Gosselin (the poster boy for the castrated male trying to reassert his masculinity in hateful ways).

Makes sense to us. Bella, please get help.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: We Thought It Was the Other Gyllenhaal Sibling Who Was Supposedly Gay

2009-08-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

Top Chef Shocker: Padma Lakshmi Will Pose Nude at the Drop of a Hat, But Draws the Line at Wearing a Showgirl Costume

2009-08-21T19:21:00.001-07:00

Mike Isabella: Eve Aronoff Is “This Nice Little Woman, Coming from Michigan, or Something Like That…Whuh? Is There Food in Michigan?”

2009-08-21T12:47:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Pages Dr. Freud to Treat Mike Isabella's Fear of Vagina Dentata

2009-08-21T12:28:00.000-07:00

Possums, we had earlier theorized that a hate-fuck involving Bella and Seveech was possible. But watching this video, it looks like they might well soon make out in a Camaro parked off the Leah and Hosea Memorial Lovers’ Lane somewhere in Northern New Jersey.

But we were unprepared (and yet boundlessly delighted) to have our cheap Freudian theories further reinforced, as it were, out of the horse-ass’s mouth.

Seveech says that Robin “One Less Old Lady” Leventhal is in the hot tub in the boys’ room, and Bella jumps in, complete with hand gestures, to say that the “old lady” is lying in wait for the boys, “She’s gonna eat ‘em up, like a Venus flytrap.”

!?!?!?!?!

Wow, just wow. Who needs a DSM-IV when they make it so easy for you? Seriously, possums. You ask for vagina dentata, you get Venus flytrap. Oy, Sigmund, what are we to do?

We need health care reform, if only so that this jackass can get help.

Top Chef “Yes, We Have No Bananas” Shocker: Lesbian Falls into Semiotic Trap!

2009-08-21T08:52:00.000-07:00

Who, you? Yes, you.

It’s no use looking shocked and sheepish. You’ve been found out. How, Preeti, possum, how do you fall into these semiotic traps?

First came the encounter with the Sorting Hat at the start of the Quickfire Challenge, in which you showed the world just how lucky and satisfied your girlfriend—pardon us, your “lady”—must be.

Even your fellow member of this season’s Team Rainbow, who ought to know a thing or two about AshFulk-ing, looks impressed with your technique, the just-so curve of the hand.

Then came the Quickfire Challenge itself, during which you repeatedly admitted that you’d never opened a clam before, which prompted us to yell at the television, “Go on, pull the other one. It’s got bells on it.”

But it wasn’t until we reviewed the premiere episode carefully that we noticed how you’d slipped on a metaphorical banana peel and fallen into the biggest lesbian semiotic trap of all.

Oh, possum, how could you? Didn’t you know that there are cameras everywhere, and that those horrible, basement-dwelling bloggers, who suffer from dirty minds and compulsive screencapping, would be ever at the ready? On the other hand, it was your first day on the show, indeed your first hour, so we’ll cut you a little slack.

Top Chef Shocker: Hootie Wears a Padded Bra!

2009-08-21T08:02:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Possum-Responsive Photoessay: There's Gold in Them Thar Yukon Hills

2009-08-21T06:50:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, you told us of the resemblance, and we have to say, when you're right, you're right. It also must be said, possums, that when we see Kevin Gillespie onscreen we are also tempted to intone, “What’s in your wallet?” At the rate he's going, and in light of previous statistics (thanks, Bryan Voltaggio!), there could be $125,000 in his wallet when this is all said and done. (Apropos of which, ain't it nice that the big prize has gone up 25K? And oy, what about that 100K in products from Macy's? It's like the biggest wedding gift registry in history. Think of all the toasters and Vera Wang lace-pattern vegetable serving platters!)

Top Chef Armchair Psychology Shocker: Misogynist Named After a Woman!

2009-08-21T06:31:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, could this have anything to do with it? It makes us want to call him Bella or Liz, instead of the Asshole of New Jersey.

And then, of course, in what caused much Austrian goatee stroking and cigar smoking in the television room at Withering Depths, he mentioned that the fish (hmmmm, interesting, revealing choice, nicht wahr?) on his dish was supposed to resemble the bar of soap (a nice touch) that his mother (natürlich) would stick in his mouth (ach so!) as a kid.

Was denkt ihr, possums? This couldn’t possibly have anything to do with why Bella says things like “One less old lady to deal with” and generally talks shit about women with his “foul mouth,” could it?

Nah, we didn’t think so either. He's just as asshole, pure and simple

Confidential to Ash Fulk

2009-08-20T04:14:00.000-07:00

Jesus Christ and Liza with a Z Almighty, what the hell kind of a gay are you? Just what sort of bowtie-wearing homosexual is unable to pronounce the word “palazzo”? We wuz mortified on your behalf. Shame on you, “pal.” No seersucker palazzo pants for you. And don’t try to claim that as some kind of bear you wouldn’t wear them anyway. Bears do not wear bowties. You wear a bowtie. Therefore you are not a bear. The syllogayism should suffice.

The Love That Dared to Speak Its Nickname

2009-08-20T04:06:00.000-07:00

We love this sexist, ageist, retrograde, epically unattractive sewer of arrogance poached, halibut-like, in insecurity and resting on a bed of braised self-loathing, whom we have dubbed, if only temporarily, the Asshole of New Jersey. Why? Because he provides the powerful opiate of immediate, visceral, justified hatred (which we sorely needed after the kind of Wednesday we had, and we suspect we aren’t alone in that). In so doing, possums, he performs a valuable service for society. In a more metaphorical sphere, he would one day die for our television sins.

Life's Ceviche and Then You Blog

2009-08-20T03:45:00.000-07:00

Oh the thrill, possums, the thrill.

Jennifer Carroll worked at Le Bernardin for five years, and now heads another Eric Ripert restaurant, and she can’t pronounce ceviche?!? Oh the vapors, possums, the deliciousness of it all.

It made us think of that speech Anthony Hopkins recites in The Silence of the Lambs, about Jody Foster’s character wearing cheap shoes and being a well-scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste. We know nothing about the background of Jennifer Carroll—who, to our delight, described herself as “a freakin’ bitch in the kitchen” who’s “made enough boys cry”—but something about her gives off a whiff of the trailer park. Is it the accent, her admission that she drinks too much and does stupid things as a result? Is it the way she looks perennially unkempt, or drunk, or angry, or on the verge of tears? Whatever it is, we love this hot mess, and the woman can cook. Had this been last season, we would have pegged her as the one most likely to engage in drunken hate-sex with the Asshole of New Jersey, except that this isn’t the season of Leah and Hosea, and the Asshole of New Jersey doesn’t deserve so much as a hate ass-whoopin’, much less a hate fuck.

Make no mistake about it. She may be unfamiliar with a comb, but she can handle a spatula like a dream, and will make for entertaining television. And best of all, she might just take the whole thing.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Suet Pudding with a Reddish Merkin or a Younger Gimli the Dwarf King?

2009-08-20T02:48:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: I Kissed a Girl and I Didn't Like It

2009-08-20T02:31:00.000-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Where the Bois Are

2009-08-20T02:23:00.000-07:00

Unpacking the Story of a Much-Needed Lobe-otomy

2009-08-20T02:06:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, it was quite a night for Mexican food in the world of Top Chef.

On the plus side, un gringo bien chingón, Rick Bayless, won Top Chef Masters with his rendition of the Oaxacan black mole. (We’ll savor the victory for a few days before ungratefully discussing just how patronizing the franchise’s attitude to Mexican food seems to be.)

But before that, we had to suffer through an Allison Anders film, or perhaps the sequel to Quinceañera, in which tattooed chola Jennifer Zavala trotted out the cheapest and oldest of stereotypes—ay Dios mío, in the name of Lupe Vélez, I am such a Mexican spitfire—and further debased it by attempting to illustrate it with, of all things, a chile relleno.

Yes, mija, because when one thinks of spicy and fiery, it is of chiles rellenos that one thinks. As if.

Of course, she was doomed from the beginning. From the moment we saw her obscenely distended earlobes and the chest and neck tattoos (is she really “scarred” or just “scared” and saddled with a tattoo artist who can’t spell?), we had a squirming, exasperated, bourgeois reaction. This is the best representative of Mexican food the producers could find?

Matters weren’t helped by her prescient refusal to unpack her suitcase: “I’m not unpacking anything. I’m, like, very superstitious. I feel like it’s bad luck.”

Oh, how conveniently stereotypical, possum, but that’s not superstition; that’s low self-esteem. And look what happened—you got kicked off anyway, even though you didn’t unpack. So there you go; you can let go of that “superstition” now. Unless you did unpack. Well, didja?

As an extra narrative kick, we got the photo and story of her blue-eyed, güero kid whom she had intended for Harvard or Yale, which made her turn on Top Chef “not so much an opportunity; it’s more of a have-to.”

Well, Bravo, we hope you feel great for having kicked her off. Now, thanks to you, that kid is not going to Yale. And all we got was Stand and Deliver Bad Chiles Rellenos.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Who Could Have Gotten the Chola Sent Home? Could It Be...Seitan?

2009-08-19T22:34:00.001-07:00

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: “Show, Girl”: In Preparation for Top Chef: Las Vegas, Padma Lakshmi Shows Us How to Play the Slots

2009-08-17T06:59:00.000-07:00

Though, given her penchant for billionaires, possums, it’s certain to take more than a nickel if you want to play.

Amuse-Biatch and the Issue of Prejudgment Interest

2009-06-10T16:49:00.000-07:00

Oh, possums, how our nonexistent little hearts have fluttered for weeks each time we heard the Bravo announcer jauntily intone, “From the producers of Top Chef….”

It’s just the sort of clarion call to which our hearts have previously responded. Indeed, who among us hasn’t experienced an expectant swoon upon hearing, “From the makers of Metamucil” or “From the producers of White Chicks”?

And so it is with great delight that we awoke today, knowing that tonight is the premiere of I’m a Celebrity Chef (I Wish!), Get Me Out There….

Ah, just a minute, possums, Miss XaXa is pointing to the press release and mouthing something. It appears the show is actually called Top Chef Masters.

Dang it, we think there ought to be a colon in there, the way there has been for Top Chef: Miami, etc. After all, without the colon, the show’s title seems redundant (if they’re top chefs, they’re also masters, n’est-ce pas?) or misleading (if they’re supposed to be the masters of Top Chef, then that arguably means only Harold Dieterle, (God spare us!) Ilan Hall, Hung Huyhn, Stephanie Izard, and, ahem, Hosea Rosenberg). And so, for as long as we’re blogging the show, we’re going to call it Top Chef: Masters. (See, possums? 90 days have not done away with our streak of pedantry.)

Not having seen the show, we will, for the next several hours, withhold judgment. We will admit, though, that there are troubling signs. The reviews we’ve read have focused on what a kinder, gentler version of Top Chef this is. No liquor, no bunk beds, no nookie, oy vey. Indeed, the New York Daily News refers to Top Chef: Masters as a “wade in the kiddie pool” (and means it as a compliment!). What has the world come to?

As for the replacements for Tommy, Pads, and the gang, well, we will know in due time (though we think it most unsporting and, again, potentially misleading, that the original teasers for Top Chef: Masters contained no indication that the Gang of Four would not be back in their roles). We will say this, though, based on the video below. Kelly “Padma Lite” Choi seems far too nice for the job. Dare we say we will miss the Pads, who can go from cannabimbo to ice princess in the flip of her Pantene’d locks? (Hey, we’re not knocking her Pantene gig; how else are you going to wash the smell of a Carl’s Jr. burger out of your hair?)

Apparently, Top Chef: Masters will be a “tournament-style” competition (we’re told by reliable jocks that this has something to do with the sports world) in which the 24 chefs (some of whom actually qualify for the title of “master”) will do their darnedest to score some scratch for charity while trying to prevent their (in some cases incipient) television careers from taking a hit. With that in mind, we have as of now established but one ground rule: We will not make fun of anyone’s chosen charity. Not, of course, because we’re incapable of it, but, rather, because who the hell wants to tickle the bony ankles of bad karma In Times Like These? As for everything else, it’s fair game. Gird your loins, luvs.

Top Chef: Masters and Margaritaville

2009-06-08T08:57:00.000-07:00

Possums, it is with the sanity of bloggers as with Roquefort cheese—it’s a goodly spell in a nice, dark cave that does the trick.

In our case, you have only to imagine the salutary effects of 90-odd (and 90 odd) days with nary a thought about His Bearness or, um, Her Highness. Week upon glorious week neither knowing nor caring about Padma’s apartment, her burger commercial, or her wearing of silk charmeuse without a bra on noticeably cold nights at public events.

Day upon day unfolding without ever having to hear the phrase “throw under the bus,” or ponder the ominous portent of scallops, or come up with ursine metaphors, or decipher the semiotics of fauxhawks and t-shirts obviously chosen to attract attention.

Night upon night of sleep undisturbed by dark dreams of Bravo conspiracies bearing the suffix “-gate.” Rien de rien, possums.

By the end, we had very nearly returned to our customary, half-human state.

And then it occurred.

Suckling at the teat of cable television one afternoon, we landed on an oh-so-alliterative Food Network show titled Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives, hosted by preposterously peroxided putz Guy Fieri. Normally, we are as allergic to him as he is to long trousers and intellectual depth. Indeed, chez Amuse-Biatch the show is referred to as Douchebag, Dipshit, and Dumbass. This time, though, we cocked our head and said aloud to ourselves, “You know, he’s kind of charming.”

The Patsy Stone-like scream from Miss XaXa was blood-curdling. We cannot say whether it was “No, Eddie, nooooo!” or “No, Charlus, nooooo!” we heard before we lost consciousness. It was not sal volatile or booze that brought us round, but, rather, Miss XaXa’s perfectly manicured nails digging into our neck as she dragged us by the scruff to where our laptop lay in desuetude. “That’s it!” she kept saying, “Vacation over! It’s time!”

So, yes, possums, we are back to the venom, vim, and vitriol of the internet, and we will be blogging the bejeezus out of Top Chef: Masters. The show premieres Wednesday, June 10, at 10 p.m.

Possum Communiqué

2009-03-09T09:36:00.000-07:00

Well, possums, thus endeth the season that established the FCC is apparently ok with “pussy” and “twat” airing on basic cable, the season of interesting personalities and not-so-interesting food.

On a personal note, it was also the season that proved once and for all that our fan favorite endorsement is the kiss of death. For Season 6, we will be accepting cash and gifts from cheftestants in order not to endorse them for fan favorite.

Now that the season is over, posting will be much lighter, as and when the spirit moves us. We are working on a couple of interviews for you, and will post them when they’re ready. We haven’t yet decided whether we will blog Marco Pierre White’s new show, Chopping Block, but we will most definitely keep our claws in working order for Top Chef Masters when it airs. (And look for us on Twitter, where we are sure to spend far too much time.)

Mil gracias, vielen Dank, and merci to you, the possums, for reading, commenting, and sending in tips and piquant (often salacious) rumors (and photographs). (And as the casting and other preparations for Season 6 get underway, please continue to send those in.)

Mientras tanto, hasta la próxima….

Seeing How the Sausage Is Made

2009-03-03T20:36:00.000-08:00

And there’s a lot of gristle in that sausage, possums, if the above is any indication. We came upon that on Television Without Pity, where poster SisterOfSylar said the tidbits came from a friend with access to inside information.

We have, of course, no way of knowing whether any of these tidbits are true, but if they are, they help to make sense of other events.

For example, during many of his post-win interviews, Hosea Rosenberg oddly discusses how demoralized he was after his make-out session with Leah Cohen, which doesn’t make a lot of sense. Earlier, we theorized that remorse on the part of Leah and Hosea was not necessarily the result of their consciences needling them, but, rather, “a product of discovery, a realization that their encounter would be televised, and would have consequences.” And if Il Colicchio did indeed have to do a finger-wagging chat with the two lovebirds, it makes this theory of ours all the more plausible. And it’s easy the stress from a fruitless attempt to convince editors not to show the make-out footage.

In any case, very interesting, possums, very.

(Click on the picture to enlarge it and read the details of Scott Conant-Fabio-Colicchio Italian-offs, Colicchio-sick-making food, and avuncular ursine scoldings.)

“Top Chef” Shocker! The Untold Story of On-Set Ursine Cannibalism!

2009-03-03T19:31:00.000-08:00

There are times, possums, when we cannot see the bear for the fur.

Come to think of it, there are also times when we can’t see a darn thing at all because our eyeballs are so riveted by the Gail Simmons poitrine. (And yes, we feel very guilty indeed to be constantly objectifying such an intelligent and accomplished woman, but what can we do, other than to ask Christian Bale’s stepmother to indulge and forgive us?)

At any rate, this was one such occasion of blindness, and, as is so often the case, it took another woman to open our eyes, none other than our beloved Ms. Dorothy Snarker, the eagle-eyed, martini-wielding hostess of the All-Gals-In Pink-Triangular Table:

Watching the video above, we had not been able to see past les bazooms de Gail, and we had missed the most important thing of all, which La Snarker brought to our attention and provided photographic evidence for: Ursus Major Tom Colicchio eats bears!

We have not been so shocked since learning—spoiler alert!—that Soylent Green is people. Oh Tom Colicchio, how could you?

“There’s always room for Gummi Bears,” you say, a phrase that is sure to haunt the dreams of cubs across America. Perhaps a turn as spokesman for Gummi Bears is in order once the Diet Coke campaign is done? (Come to think of it, isn’t it fitting that Colicchio’s shilling for Diet Coke and choice of Hosea Rosenberg as Top Chef should have come at roughly the same time? After all, as Miss XaXa put, Hosea is the Diet Coke of Top Chefs—bland, a poor substitute for the real thing, and leaves a bad taste in your mouth.)

Is There an Amuse-Biatch “Top Chef” Curse?

2009-03-03T18:11:00.000-08:00

Well, possums, perhaps it serves us right for being so immodestly pleased that, as shown above, our endorsement of Carla Hall for the title of Fan Favorite (and its attendant prize of 10,000 scallop shells) is going to be shown on tomorrow night’s Reunion Show. Caught and held fast in the gauzy web born of the Gail Simmons giggles we inspired, we failed to think our usual pessimistic thoughts.

Fortunately, one of the properly cynical possums, watching the second video’s bit on the “birthday curse,” suggested that there might be an Amuse-Biatch curse as well, at least where Fan Favorites are concerned.

A curse? Sure, “fan site” is not exactly how we would refer to this endeavor (“cyber scratching post,” or “tiny, clawed fist shaken in the general direction of the aspirational reality tv panopticon” might be more to our liking), but a curse?

But the Santayana-quote-wielding possum was merciless in her remembrance of things past. We were reminded that during Season 2, we endorsed Carlos Fernandez, only to have him lose to Sam “Not That Guy” Talbot. During Season 3, we endorsed Dale Levitski, only to have the title won by Casey “Beaver Boots” Thompson, a title she might not win again if the voting were held today. During Season 4, we endorsed perhaps the biggest fan this website has ever had, self-proclaimed metrosexual and logorrhea sufferer, Ryan “Chicken Piccata” Scott, but the fans chose Stephanie Izard instead.

We must face the very real possibility, then, that in endorsing Carla for Fan Favorite we inadvertently doomed her chances of success, putting us in the company of none other than Dick Cheney. Just great. Why, oh why, didn’t we endorse Ariane “Silencer of the Lambs” Duarte? Why?

Previews: Amuse-Biatch on the Reunion Show, Padma Lakshmi on the Bear Vote, and the Birthday PYKAG Curse

2009-03-03T09:56:00.000-08:00

Hootie Tells NPR About Her Journey from Accountant to Model to Sandwich Lady to “Top Chef” Finalist

2009-03-03T08:54:00.000-08:00

Click HERE to hear.

Despite Feeling Like a Deer in Some Very Nice Headlights, Amuse-Biatch Attempts to Stay Abreast of News and Rumors

2009-03-03T07:35:00.000-08:00

Look, possums, we’re not blind (though, it must be said, we were very nearly blinded). We know all too well that the main issue on viewers’ minds during the Top Chef finale was not who would win, but, rather, what was up with Gail Simmons’ breasts?

Is she trying, singlehandedly and double-barreledly, to turn Bravo’s gay viewers straight? (There’s a frightening, but distinct, possibility that it might just do the trick for us. A de-Gailing?)

From far and wide (even our mother called to ask) came the purple-hued cry, Is Gail with child?

We think the answer is no. Here’s the evidence:

The Gail doth quaff. Indeed, as Raggaydy Andy recounts on his blog, after filming of the finale wrapped, early in the morning, Gail and the gang went out for drinks:

“…the entire crew and chefs went to a dive bar around the corner and celebrated the end of the season. We were surrounded by local NOLAholics, some who popped in around 7 a.m. for a nip in suits on their way to work. I took Gail out of there around 8 when a bar fight broke out. It was that kind of joint.”

As such, we think Ms. Gail is not with child. She does do a grand job of upstaging the Pads—how do you like that, Padma, how do you like that? In your face!

So what is the explanation for this recent fulsomeness and glow? We put it down to marriage.

Last Season’s Top Chef, Stephanie Izard, on Whether Padma Lakshmi Follows the Acapulco Golden Rule

2009-02-27T11:56:00.001-08:00

Possums, as much as we like and appreciate last season’s Top Chef winner, Stephanie Izard, we cannot help but concede that she, being a cautious and intelligent sort (drats!), hasn’t always given the most thrilling of interviews (although perhaps in these Caseygate times, that’s not such a bad thing). So it is with great pleasure that we perused one of the liveliest Izard interviews to date, where she discusses her soon-to-open restaurant in Chicago and how she is confident she will beat Hosea Rosenberg during their upcoming cook-off in Aspen. But our favorite exchange was this:

Q. Settle a rumor: Does Padma like to share her weed or no?
A. Does she seem like the type who shares? That would not be very diva would it?

A Hootie Nation’s Tributes to Its Fallen But Unbowed Heroine Begin

2009-02-27T11:27:00.000-08:00

Click here for the full, uncanny triptych.

Another Gay Falls for the Pads

2009-02-27T10:50:00.000-08:00

The Facebook Updates That Signaled Impending Doom; Also, Toby Young on Caseygate: A “Pretty Shocking Rant”

2009-02-27T10:32:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Pegasus News posted the updates from Casey Thompson’s Facebook page that seem to indicate in real time her growing frustration with being portrayed as a scapegoat for Carla Hall’s loss:

Asked about the snowballing controversy, Toby Young told CelebTV.com:

“It’s a pretty shocking rant. The judges don’t see what goes on behind the scenes, so I don’t know if what she says is true.”

But, as Miss XaXa is quick to remind us, Texas girls have a temper, and don’t take kindly to attack or loss.

The Response to Casey Thompson’s Response

2009-02-27T10:09:00.000-08:00

From the SideDish blog of D Magazine.

Casey Thompson Responds--Again

2009-02-27T09:10:00.001-08:00

From Casey Thompson's blog.

One of These Things Is Not Like the Others: Amuse-Biatch Celebrities Difference, Even on Rocco Ground

2009-02-27T08:51:00.001-08:00

And for anyone who still has doubts that Rocco DiSpirito is straight, his outfit on the episode should clear things up. What Gay would be caught dead in that?

And Then We Woke Up, and Realized It Was Only a Beautiful Flamer's Dream

2009-02-27T08:31:00.000-08:00

New York Chef to Stefan Richter: My Dishes Are Dirtier Than Yours!

2009-02-27T07:24:00.000-08:00

Well, possums, it looks as though Stefan Richter has finally found an Italian chef who isn’t happy to join him on Team Euro.

As our pals at Grub Street relate, Pino Luongo—who, according to The New York Post, “was synonymous with the high-powered New York dining scene of the '80s and '90s,” and who a couple of months ago released a memoir titled Dirty Dishes—is “flabbergasted” that Stefan’s own book, scheduled for release in May, is also titled Dirty Dishes. Luongo calls him out for being unoriginal and destined always to be second, and “strongly suggests” that Stefan change the title of his book.

Possums, it is on. Herr Richter, your move.

Ellen Upstages Fabio, Serves as the Melon to His Ham, Er, Prosciutto

2009-02-27T06:43:00.001-08:00

And so it begins. Click HERE to watch.

Page Six: Leah & Hosea at It Again

2009-02-27T06:32:00.000-08:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: What a Difference a Letter Makes

2009-02-26T22:07:00.000-08:00

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Who Says That Chivalry Is Dead?

2009-02-26T21:40:00.000-08:00

Just imagine it, possums. For once, a man who’ll free you from crabs rather than give them to you in the first place.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Do Padma and Madonna Have Something in Common?

2009-02-26T21:17:00.000-08:00

Try if you can, possums, to ignore for just a moment the retina-searing outfit that Pads is wearing. Focus instead on her wrist. Is that one of them red stringy thingies from Kabbalah? Has she become a Padmaterial Girl?

It’s Not Delivery, It’s Viviani: Fabio to Shill for Italian Frozen Pizza Made by German Corporation

2009-02-26T20:51:00.000-08:00

So sayeth the press release, announcing that “Fabio Viviani will act as American spokesperson for Italy’s number one selling frozen pizza,” Dr. Oetker’s “Ristorante” brand. Now, possums, we have no shame in admitting that we had never before heard of that undoubtedly storied Italian, Dr. Oetker, so we turned to the Internet.

According to Wikipedia, Dr. Oetker is a German company founded in 1891 by the eponymous Herrdoktor, who chose Nazi Party member Richard Kaselowsky as company leader in 1920. “In 1937, the company received the title of Nationalsozialistischer Musterbetrieb, or national-socialist model company, by the German Labour Front…. The company participates in the Forced/Slave Labor Compensation Fund, an organization of German industries taking responsibility for slave labour during the Second World War.”

It cannot be said strongly enough, however, that none of this is unique to Dr. Oetker as a company. After all, other highly reputable modern brands have Nazi associations in their corporate pasts. For example, historian Neil Gregor wrote a book on Daimler-Benz that found “a close association between the car manufacturer and the Nazi system” and established that “the company acquiesced in the exploitation of forced labor.” And yet no one has a problem buying a Merc, and in 1998 Daimler-Benz merged with the All-American Chrysler Corporation.

Nowadays, Dr. Oetker is apparently a multinational corporation with a good reputation in corporate responsibility and environmental matters. And somehow frozen pizza is now part of the empire, however odd it seems. Indeed, the German television ad below reflects that cognitive dissonance.

The Fabio “will participate in a five-city media tour this summer to introduce the favorite brand of thin-crust pizza lovers throughout Europe and Canada to consumers in the northeastern United States.” So if you live in the Northeast, you know what to look for, possums.

Toby Young: I Might Be Back Next Season, Marcel Vigneron Has a Temper, and Stefan Richter Converted a Lesbian

2009-02-26T19:33:00.000-08:00

From today's live webchat with The Los Angeles Times:

The Moment Hosea Won

2009-02-26T19:24:00.001-08:00

Talk of the Hootie Nation: Carla Hall Speaks to the Adoring Masses

2009-02-26T17:35:00.000-08:00

Miss Carla was a guest on National Public Radio's show, Talk of the Nation, where she reveals that even her family thought she was being too nice, and defends Tom Colicchio from charges of insincerity.

Bear Baiting: A Defensive Tom Colicchio Says He’d Give Hosea the Win All Over Again

2009-02-26T16:35:00.000-08:00

Well, possums, if there’s one thing we learnt from reading National Geographic and watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom as a child, it is that you must never, ever, ever attack a bear, for bears wax exceedingly wroth and their wrath is fearsome to behold.

How much more true, then, is this for the Ursus Major himself.

In response to the firestorm that has erupted on the Internet over Hosea Rosenberg’s being awarded the title of “Top Chef,” Tom Colicchio called People Magazine—exclusively!—to give the irate a piece of his mind:

“If I had to do it all over again, reading what I’m reading, I’d still say Hosea wins. He made a better meal….We don’t care about personalities. We don’t care about who was making out. We simply care about who put together a better meal from start to finish.”

First of all, the teddy doth protest too much. As mentioned in this video, he does care who was hooking up with whom. But that’s an unimportant point.

This is the bit that is interesting to us:

Plus, he adds, the judges only consider the output from that night’s challenge – never relying on past performances or outside factors.

“I come to Judges’ Table with an idea of who I think should win based on what the challenge was – not based on who I think the best chef is,” he says.

We find it curious because on his Bravo blog, Toby Young has a quibble with that “never”:

I asked Tom at the outset whether the same rule applied to judging the finale as it did to all the other challenges, namely, that we had to disregard everything the chefs had done before and judge them entirely on their performance that day. He said it did, but with one caveat: if we whittled the finalists down to two, and there was nothing to choose between them, we could bring in their past performances as a tie-breaker.

As far as I was concerned, that was exactly the situation in last night’s episode — and, for that reason, we ought to give it to Stefan, who clearly performed better over the course of the season than Hosea. My argument went like this: Stefan and Hosea tied the appetizer and the first course; Stefan won the second; and Hosea won the third. So that was one win each, deadlock.

It’s a frightening day in our little corner of the Snarkshire Moors when we find ourselves thinking that Toby Young makes a cogent, lucid, persuasive argument, but end times appear to be upon us.

But take a look at Tom’s statement again. It seems implicitly to concede that he doesn’t think Hosea is the best chef, and that is the most revealing thing of all. That, we suspect, is what lies at the heart of the “popular revolt” on the blogosphere, a very American sense that the principles of meritocracy have been violated, and that the winner, no matter what the title says, is most decidedly not Top Chef.

Even Tom Colicchio Wants to Know If Leah and Hosea “Hooked Up”; He’s Betting on Fabio for Fan Favorite, and Liked “Slumdog Millionaire”

2009-02-26T15:39:00.000-08:00

Hosea Rosenberg’s “Tasty Treats,” “Hugs, Kisses, and Spoon-Feeding” at South Beach

2009-02-26T14:58:00.000-08:00

For details, read this account of the party hosted at the Pelican Hotel by Jeff McInnis, and featuring the work of Jamie Lauren, Melissa Harrison, and—surprise!—Leah Cohen.

Meowza! Beaver Boots Doesn't Return the Hootie Love

2009-02-26T11:08:00.001-08:00

In an interview with D Magazine, Casey Thompson tears into Carla. You have to read the whole thing to get the full flavor, but here are a few tidbits:

Carla was not prepared and in over her head. The show did not talk about how the first course (crab) took her half of the friggin’ cooking time that day, I was left to work the rest of HER dishes....

And where in the hell did french come from!? She is not even classically trained! It (the show) didn’t talk about how I worked on a sauce for 2 days and Carla forgot to put it on the plate… It didn’t show how the 2nd course (fish) was MINE....

I am done with TC. I did not influence her. She has NO ideas of her own, oh, except a cheese course.

What is left to say, possums? Just wow.

UPDATE:

Earlier, we posted only excerpts from Casey’s statements to D Magazine out of professional courtesy, but in the interim, the magazine's server has gone down several times, the article has been flooded with comments, a person claiming to be a friend of Casey’s posted that Casey realizes she went too far in making those statements, and now the post appears (at least temporarily) unavailable. For that reason, below please find the full text of Casey’s statements:

"Carla was not prepared and in over her head. The show did not talk about how the first course (crab) took her half of the friggin’ cooking time that day, I was left to work the rest of HER dishes.

She also did not have a plan. The ONLY thing she had in mind was a cheese course! I would NEVER do a cheese course. And where in the hell did french come from!? She is not even classically trained! It (the show) didn’t talk about how I worked on a sauce for 2 days and Carla forgot to put it on the plate… It didn’t show how the 2nd course (fish) was MINE. It didn’t show how she took the sous vide idea and decided to GRILL it last minute causing it to be tough… And it didn’t show how she WANTED to do the souffles which she does not even know how to make! That was HER food, because it certainly was me asking her how she wanted to do this and that while she was busy picking crab the entire time and making a souffle that didn’t rise!

I am done with TC. I did not influence her. She has NO ideas of her own, oh, except a cheese course."

Commander’s Palace Owner Loves Fabio, Gets Into “Squabble” with Tom Colicchio Over Machismo and Desserts

2009-02-26T10:55:00.000-08:00

That's what Ti Martin, the lady herself, divulged in her blog:

I ended up sitting near Fabio – a past contestant. He is a dynamic character and sweet all at once. Across from me was Toby Young – hysterical – pithy. I was glad he wasn’t judging our food....

It was one of the longest 3 course meals I’ve ever experienced but it was a great crowd and a pleasure to be in the company of industry experts. Tom and I did get in a bit of a squabble when I suggested that perhaps “machoism” is to blame for the lack of concentration male chefs put on dessert. He pointed out that one of the contestants tried a dessert and it fell flat (literally – it was a soufflé that didn’t rise) – but at least she tried. We’ll agree to disagree but I’d say that was about as heated as the conversation got.

And if you want to get advice on how to evade an alligator if you're being chased by one, watch Ms. Martin tell you here.

The Audacity of Hootie: “Don’t Blame Casey”

2009-02-26T10:39:00.000-08:00

Miss Carla told a reporter from the Huntington, West Virginia, Herald-Dispatch:

"I would love to give [Casey Thompson] a call to see how she’s taking all of this. I hate for her to get the brunt of it. If I could get on a loudspeaker and tell the whole world and everyone who watches the show, I would tell them, ‘Don’t blame Casey.’ I take full responsibility.”

Mature and classy to the very end. Hootie Nation expects nothing less of her.

Padma Lakshmi Tries to Get the Smell of Bacon Burgers Out of Her Hair with Pantene

2009-02-26T10:31:00.000-08:00

Consummate New Yorker Mr. Cutlets Thinks “Top Chef” Did Very Wrong by NYC

2009-02-26T10:04:00.000-08:00

Now that the season is over, Josh “Mr. Cutlets” Ozersky—lover of the Lucullan, heterosexualist high priest of the hamburger, and sybaritic singer of the porcine pleasures that the citizens of New York are heirs to—laments what the producers of Top Chef have done (or, rather, not done) to his city:

The biggest disappointment by far — by far! — was having the show in New York, and then not doing anything with the local resources. This season could just as easily have been shot in Moonachie. Where was the visit to Katz’s? Or Flushing Chinatown? Or the run-in with David Chang? Le Bernardin may well be the best restaurant in America, but it’s not what you would call a “New York restaurant.” Every week should have brought in a real New York chef and a real New York locale. How could Top Chef, which did such good work in Chicago and Miami, not know this?

Despite the new authority conferred on him by “the disease of kings,” we disagree with his assessment of the show’s use of Chicago, but as far as New York is concerned, he is spot on. For all we know, the show was probably shot in Toronto, which so often stands in for New York (but even there they have a great food scene). As for the rest of his criticisms and suggestions, read the full corrido de Cutlets and tell us what you think.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Perhaps Practicing for a Carl's Jr. Burger, Padma Lakshmi Opens Impressively Wide

2009-02-26T09:54:00.000-08:00

Money Shot! $100,000 Shot

2009-02-26T09:06:00.000-08:00

Hey, possums, ain't nothin' wrong with that passionate kiss; they're both single now.

She Shills by the Sea Shore: Padma Lakshmi Makes Her Bid at Paris Hilton-dom

2009-02-26T08:40:00.000-08:00

Let’s see, possums. The same week that Tom Colicchio was revealed as a shill for Diet Coke, and the same night that Padma Lakshmi referred to Stefan Richter’s dessert as “pedestrian at best” (at which point we half expected a lightning bolt of irony to drop casually from Zeus’ hand and smite her), good ole Pads was herself revealed as the newest shill for Carl’s Jr., following in the stiletto-wearing footsteps of Paris Hilton.

According to People Magazine, Padma claims the television ad, directed by the same cinematic “genius” who did the Paris Hilton carwash ad, is “a beautiful love song to food….I think eating in itself is the act of great sensuality, so all you have to do is point the camera in the right direction.”

Pedestrian indeed. And what could possibly make Padma so hungry all the time?

Hootie Nation Weeps as Carla Hall’s Rise Deflated by “No”-fflé, Voodoo Double Curse

2009-02-26T08:24:00.000-08:00

What was meant to be a blue cheese soufflé curdled into a “no”-fflé, and likewise our sense and reason have curdled into a bubbling, grief-studded, superstitious inquiry into why some things fail to rise. (And no, we’re not taking “egg whites and a too-hot oven” as an answer.)

After tossing and turning our voices-filled head on our tinfoil pillow, having nightmares of Hosea Rosenberg and Tom Colicchio holding up cans of Diet Coke and those little gold homunculi from the king cakes, an answer came to us.

It was nothing less than a voodoo double curse (though, of course, the producers tried to throw us off the scent by showing us a voodoo lady so incompetent that she suggested Jamie Lauren might yet be Stefan Richter’s girlfriend; mind you, if voodoo ladies have the power to turn lesbians into straight girls, then Jerry Falwell and Fred Phelps are going to be in a sticky bind).

Much as it pains us, since we genuinely like Casey “Beaver Boots” Thompson, we have no choice but to pronounce her the first voodoo curse of this finale. And it isn’t as if this is a new idea. Back in August of 2007, during Season 3, we had already dubbed her the “Typhoid Mary” of Top Chef, since everyone who became friendly with her was immediately eliminated from the competition.

And as for the second voodoo curse, well, we learnt yesterday that Carla once cooked for Dick Cheney. Need we say more?

With this kind of bad magic, Hootie never stood a chance.

Gail Simmons Twitters Reaction

2009-02-25T23:29:00.000-08:00

Gail, possum, if we had a heart, it would be broken, too.

Richard Blais’ Speaking-from-Experience Reaction: “Sometimes, the Best Team Doesn’t Win the Game”

2009-02-25T23:18:00.000-08:00

From his Bravo blog:

"Padma says it best when describing Stefan’s food. He exhibits an elegant classicism. The guy's very talented. The pigeon was the best thing I tasted that night. Sometimes, the best team doesn’t win the game."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!-sea Wins

2009-02-25T20:52:00.000-08:00

Well, possums, as we half suspected, the public "apology" and publicity rehabilitation of Hosea Rosenberg were indeed necessary because he was just revealed as the winner of this season of Top Chef. You cannot, after all, have a Top Chef whom America perceives as a cheater. We cannot harrumph loudly enough or roll our eyes violently enough.

Home Cooking We Can Believe In: Hootie Wants to Make Peach Cobbler for Obama

2009-02-24T11:58:00.000-08:00

That's what Miss Carla said in a very entertaining interview with Pipe Dream, "Binghamton University's student-run paper since 1946." When asked, "If you could cook one meal for anybody in history, who would it be and what would it be?" Carla had little hesitation:

Oh, let’s see … now that I’ve got Jacques [Pépin] out of the way (Laughs), I think it would be Obama. I think it would be President Obama and I heard he likes peach cobbler. So, I’d start him with dessert because life is uncertain. He might have to get up and walk out and then I would go on to make him something homey with a little twist on it. I don’t know what it would be, he likes homey food. I would have to ask him what that would be.

We urge you to read the interview in full, as Carla also talks about the pitfalls of editing ("if you say it, they can play it"), her love of Gail Simmons, her days in Paris, her Platonic last meal ("a hamburger so juicy that the juice runs down my arm while I’m eating it"), her favorite and least favorite challenges, and the difficulty of watching herself on television:

Sometimes it’s weird because I have these facial expressions and people would always talk about my eyes and to see myself, yes, my eyes are bugging out and yes, I make these facial expressions, but I don’t see myself that way, so it is funny to see.