Top Chef All-Stars, Episode 13: Dumbing Down

At the risk of alienating further my Field Correspondent in the Twin Cities, who recently accused Moleskine and me of excessive prattling (prattling, I tell you!) about Top Chef and the other foodie competitions we so adore, the two of us sat down this morning - in a somewhat defiant mood, I'm bound to add - to watch the latest DVRd installment. Now, this was a somewhat risky move on our part: I rely heavily on my FC in the TC for news of chestnut-flour bread, arugula emulsions, anise-scented lamb and other delicacies offered up by the imaginative and cutting-edge chefs of the great American Upper Midwest, not to mention his trenchant theatrical criticism and up-to-the-minute reports on the current state of culture in his neck of the woods. Still, Moleskine and I just can't help ourselves - like lemmings to the cliff's edge, we are obliged every Thursday morning to rise an hour early to see what culinary havoc our favorite cheftestants wrought the night before. However, lest it be said I care nothing for the sensibilities of my readers, I shall keep this posting brief and to the point. 

1. Michael Voltaggio: I'd have a lot more respect for his tattoos and bad-boy attitude if he weren't currently shilling for Williams and Sonoma.
2. All the cooks seemed depressed, and not just because of the ungodly hour during which they were forced to cook as a result of the Deep Fat Fryer Inferno. Richard's lack of self-confidence (can he really not distinguish between his successful and unsuccessful dishes?); Antonia's defeatist approach to her inexplicable pork-shoulder infested grits; Carla's conviction that she'd be going home - these are not the outward signs of happy-go-lucky competitors. Moleskine is depressed  now too, of course, because his nemesis Mike 'The Giggle' Isabella, curse him, lives to cook another day.
3. Did our chefs really think there is such a thing as a monarchy in the Bahamas (or, as Tiffany coined it, 'Bohemian Royalty')? I blame the American education system for this deplorable lack of basic political awareness.
4. It was disturbing that, after realizing they would not be cooking for Prince William's wedding dinner after all, many of the chefs decided to rethink their dishes. Is it really that difficult to believe that the King of Junkanoo and his crew might appreciate some upscale dishes rather than dirty rice, shrimp and grits, and sweet potatoes? I think this is a rather patronizing attitude, quite frankly, and it didn't sit well with Moleskine either. It gave us a certain amount of satisfaction that the reimagined dishes were the ones on the bottom - Isabella, curse him again, served lobster to the humble diners and won props for his audaciousness.
5. Eric Ripert is still, as ever, fabulous, perfectly-coiffed, and long-sufferingly patient in the presence of godawful food.

Next week, a return to more felicitous times. Pads breaks out her bikini and we are treated to the sight of Blais attempting to snorkel!

Postscript. Many thanks to the sharp-eyed reader who questioned the origin of wildebeeskastaiings. They are little fried doughnut-like snacks soaked in syrup, and yes - the name literally translates as 'wildebeest balls', which (I gather) they resemble. A wildebeest is, of course, the exact same thing as a gnu.