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I think we watch too many cooking shows. we watch top Chef, top Chef Masters, Hell’s Kitchen, Chopped, The next Food Network Star, The F Word, Kitchen Nightmares (English and American), last Restaurant Standing, no Reservations, Iron Chef, The Chopping Block and four or five other glide-by-night shows that only made it one season.
There are some clear cryptogram that ten cooking shows might be too many.
For one, the other day we were going to have spaghetti and I asked my husband Mike: “Should I drop the pasta?” He mocked me quite a bit for that.
The next day I was taking some plates from the front room to the kitchen and nearly set them down on the small cutout between the two place to stay. Mike said: “Don’t leave them at the pass.” Ha! Commence reverse mocking.
I’ve found myself pronouncing “ricotta” that way that sounds more like you’re trying to swallow your tongue than really saying “ricotta.” to be honest, I might have picked that up from watching The Sopranos.
Once I called a filet of beef a “fillet” of beef because I’d watched one too many of the 5400 shows Gordon Ramsay hosts now. You know the British call it a “fill-it” instead of the French “fil-aye” just to piss off the French. no other reason at all. I mean it is their word – clearly the French pronunciation is right. That’s like my friend who told me I pronounce my last name ill-treat. no I don’t. It’s my name. I could pronounce Vansant “Johnjacobjingleheimerschmidt” and I’m subdue right. just ask Ralph Fiennes.
Thanks to Ramsay I can’t even work in a kitchen without calling myself a “stupid cow” each time I screw up. Before him I had no thought I was a misogynist. And a donkey.
Gordon has a new show coming on called Master Chef. The man hosts so many shows he had his middle name officially changed to “overexposed.”
I already have Master Chef set to confirmation.
I hear next year they’re developing a show where Ramsay takes a giant dump and contestants have to guess what he ate. I’m sure I’ll tape that, too.
Sunday brunches I sometimes play Chopped with myself. Chopped is the show where for three rounds the chefs are given a wicker basket with weird ingredients in it, for instance: squid, chocolate, chickpeas and maple syrup. They then have to make a dish out of those ingredients that doesn’t make the judges puke. or, even more unlikely, make something that makes judge Alex Guarnaschelli look a small less like she’s been sucking on lemons all day.
On Sundays I see what junk we have in the refrigerator and play “Chopped the Home Game” by trying to make something good out the unlikely collection of leftovers there. I have not bought a basket and asked Mike to place ingredients into it behind my back so I could open it and have to go from there.
If, in 1965, you told someone that some day there would be a Food Network channel they would have choked on their Tang laughing. Now food shows are 40% of what I watch; the other 60% comprised primarily of house shows and things with “Housewives” in the title. My husband watches most of these shows with me. we were watching Chopped with host Ted Allen recently when Mike said: “Hey, he’s from Queer Eye!” Wha – what? I’ve never even seen Queer Eye. how the hell did Mike know that!? Does he switch from Sports Focal point to Martha Stewart each time I leave the room? Note to self – next time he gives in to me begging to watch one of my shows, place on Essential Fighting.
So… clearly, too many food shows. I’d write more but I’ve been in the weeds and neglecting my dinner. I need to go re-fire the steaks. Mikey wants it on the fly.
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