Top Chef Masters, Episode 1: And We're Off!

Before sitting down to the first episode of the new season of Top Chef Masters this morning, I felt the need to explain to Mademoiselle Malaprop why this show is my absolute favorite of all Bravo's TC franchises. Top Chef All-Stars finished before Mlle. came onto the scene and I hoped to get her up to speed before the fun began so she could better understand my enthusiasm.

What is it about TCM that is so great? Oh, let me count the ways!

First of all, there are the cheftestants themselves: honest-to-goodness chefs with reputations galore and nothing to prove. This makes for a collegial 'how did we get ourselves into this ridiculous situation?' vibe that is a joy to watch. Hubert Keller, Rick Bayless, Jonathan Waxman, Susan Feniger - old soldiers like them really couldn't care less whether they win and more often than not they throw up their hands and laugh uproariously at having to cook in a dorm room, or a haunted house, or a gas station. The exception to this rule, of course, was Ludo Lefebvre in Season 2, who was the biggest ass to grace my TV screen in some time. 'I am Furensh, so I am a better kook zan all of you!' was his refrain and it made me want to slap him silly during his [albeit very short] time on the show.

The judges are fabulous, too. Jay Rayner is my favorite (as good and irreverent a writer as the great Bourdain, in my opinion), although Gael 'I slept with Elvis' Greene also has her moments. Her hats give even The Shoes' shoes a run for their money. James Oseland is pure class. For this esteemed panel, it's all about the food - and they know of what they speak.

I also really like the format. Since the competitors are busy folks with restaurants to run, they only appear a couple of times before the finale - it's more of a sudden-death sort of arrangement, with only four cooks competing at a time. This gives ample opportunity for the lucky viewer to learn about the personalities under the toques and the food they cook. Since only one individual moves on from each week, there are more losers than winners and there's lots of backslapping and cheerful commiseration among the auf'd with the victor being the odd one out. At the end of each episode, they all sit down to a gorgeous-looking repast of wine, cheese, and charcuterie while the judges deliberate. It's all very civilized and good-humored and I adore it.

So, with happy heart, I explained the conceit to Mademoiselle; we took our places in my favorite toile-upholstered armchair; and settled in for a convivial hour of courteous and considerate culinary contention.

! Horrors !

First problem. They've re-jigged the format! It's now Top Chef, all the way. Twelve cheftestants battling it out in a series of Padma-styled challenges, with one competitor going home every week. Sigh. It's like a real competition, now, which takes away about 30% of the appeal.

Second problem. They've changed the cheftestants. I'd barely heard of any of these guys - although one or two names rang a vague bell. Part of the fun of the old way of doing things was watching gargantuan talents like Susur Lee and Anita Lo trying to figure out how to make something palatable out of, say, a vending machine, knowing full well that these are folks who like earning Michelin starts in their spare time. These new Masters? Frankly, some of them are known no better than *shudder* the Voltaggio brothers, even before they started shilling for Williams and Sonoma.

Third problem. They've misplaced the judges! My beloved Rayner and Greene are gone, although Oseland remains. The replacements are one woman I've never heard of (her name escapes me still) although the other is the always-fabulous Ruth Reichl, food critic extraordinaire. Although I had previously thought from her writing that she lacked any sort of caustic wit, her description of one of the quickfire dishes as 'loathsome' prompted me to re-evaluate my opinion. There's a new host, too, one Curtis Stone, of whom I was previously unaware. He's seems pretty interchangeable with the host from previous seasons, what's-her-name, so his presence doesn't bother me too much.

Since most of the cheftestants were new to me and they're going to be around for a while, here were my first thoughts on their masterfulness:

• John Currence (City Grocery Restaurant Group). He made absolutely no initial impression whatsoever, and I relied upon his glasses and bandanna to recognize him as the show progressed. 
• Suvir Saran (Devi). In his opening TH, he theorized that only insanity - perhaps brought about by the bite of a rabid dog - justified his being on the show. When asked about his greatest strengths as a chef, he listed them with an utterly straight face and a twinkle in his eye, 'My good looks and eloquence.' I fell madly in love with him after ten seconds.
• John Rivera Sedlar (Playa). Barely even rated a TH. Instantly forgettable.
• Alex Stratta (Stratta). The token egotist.
• Mary Sue Milliken (Border Grill restaurants and truck). One of the few women, so I felt the need to cheer. Also, I think I heard of her once.
• Traci des Jardins (Jardiniere). Her entrance into the kitchen appeared to stop the other chefs in their tracks: they stood around in awe for a few moments, I kid you not. Also, she worked in France at some point and is best pals with Mary Sue. You go, girlfriends.
• Naomi Pomeroy (Beast). Absolutely nobody seemed to know who she was, so she had to introduce herself to the others in a way that was kind of humiliating. Turns out she's from Portland, which was the only possible explanation for the inexplicable decisions that followed.
• Hugh Acheson (Five & Ten). Claimed to be likable, which means we'll hate him in no time. A self-taught cook, which is never a good thing on these shows. I tried not to hold his unibrow against him.
• Celina Tio (Julien). I remembered her from Next Iron Chef: she rocks.
• Floyd Cardoz. Listed as being from New York, which I guess means he's currently without gainful employment.
• George Mendes. Another one from New York. They didn't even bother to introduce him until the episode's nineteenth minute.
• Sue Zemanick. New Orleans. She was introduced even later in the show than George.

The quickfire was stupid. Head to head, each pair of cheftestants was tasked with preparing a dish using two dumb ingredients. The pairings were canned corn beef and marshmallows; chicken livers and popcorn; sardines and dragon fruit; cockles and Marmite; black licorice and peanut butter; and frog legs and cottage cheese. The chefs were all, like, 'Eeeewwww' before getting down to it and banging out some respectable dishes. The notable events were three chefs' failure to plate: Celina was unable to sauce her dish in time and decided therefore not to offer anything; John Currence forgot half the components of his dish; and Naomi apparently was too busy meditating to get round to dishing up at all. Props went to Traci for her duo of salads (celery with peanut butter vinaigrette and black licorice with orange), which I thought was a copout but the judges loved. Praise was also heaped on Mary Sue for her cottage-cheese cake topped with frogs legs meuniere, which I thought looked quite delicious. My beloved Suvir was the recipient of the above-reported 'loathsome' comment for his corned beef and marshmallow chaat, which looked like a big bowl of gooey pulao rice. He looked positively wounded by the verdict. Never mind, Suvir - I still think you're cute as a bug!

On to the elimination challenge, which for some strange reason was Restaurant Wars. What a confusing thing to do to us this early in the game! Teams were divided up and responsibilities assigned: for not-so-mysterious reasons, Naomi's team decided she would be 'great at front-of-house.' More mysteriously, they decide to go along with her insane plan to seat all the diners at once (like they do in her ashram, presumably), so that everyone has a feeling of 'community' and 'one-ness'. Since her colleagues spent the rest of the episode bemoaning the implications of this idiocy on kitchen organization, one can only assume they hoped to get her sent home first. She was saved, however, by her incredible flourless chocolate cake with meringue and Grand Marnier (the recipe for which is unavailable on Bravo's appalling website: I know because I searched for it, determined to prepare the dessert for my next gluten-free gala dinner party).

The winner was Alex 'Token Egotist' Stratta, with his celery root, potato and spinach fricassee, yawn.

The loser? The Unibrow, whose doom was sealed the minute he opened his scallops.

Or rather, opened his tin of scallops.

Can you imagine such a thing? Tinned scallops! On Top Chef Masters! To make them palatable, he drowned them in salt and then - piling sin upon sin - undercooked them. The judges were horrified and quite rightly sent him packing. They seemed genuinely disappointed to be doing so, but I for one could not forgive his foolishness. I mean, tinned scallops - how could he be so unthinking?

So that was that. More Top Chef than Masters, so Mademoiselle couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. I foresee the sorts of tantrums, throwings-under-the-bus, and back-stabbings of which this franchise had been previously been free, as the larger-than-usual number of whippersnappers get their knickers in a twist about outcooking their peers and winning a reality show.

As my hero Suvir so succinctly put it, 'The younger the chef, the more fragile the ego.'

Wit and wisdom - and he can cook, too. Now there's a Top Chef Master.