Top Chef, Episode 1: Texas Toast

Previously on Top Chef Just Desserts:

As luck would have it, almost the entire second season of Just Desserts coincided with my blogging hiatus. In the final analysis, this mattered not at all, since Chris 'I Have a Passion For Helping People' Hanmer won the whole catastrophe. I know, I know - like we didn't see that coming from a mile away. I predicted his eventual triumph the minute I espied his black Converse All-Stars and he himself had no doubt of his final victory, which he foresaw in the very first episode. So really, I saved us all a lot of time and trouble in the end. Don't bother to thank me, just consider it another valuable public service courtesy of Fractured Amy!

On to the Lone Star State, where Pads, the Heimlich Maneuver, and the Shoes awaited our next group of culinary contenders. In anticipation of an overwhelming flurry of names, faces, and personalities (such as they are), last night I logged on to Bravo's appalling website before the festivities began in order to introduce myself to the cheftestants. I clicked on 'bios' and duly waited while a bazillion adds for GE Monogram appliances scrolled by, only to be then confronted by the sneering Voltaggio brothers shilling for Samsung. I axed all the pop-ups cross-promoting various housewives and matchmakers and tried to ignore the exhortation to sign myself up for two free issues of Food and Wine magazine (could it be any worse that Bon Appetit?). When my desired link opened up roughly two hours later, I was dismayed by two equally disturbing revelations.

• First, only the judges' smiling faces appeared, which I thought was bizarre. Usually Bravo are at great pains to get as much mileage out of the competitors as possible, so it was strange to have their presence so blatantly ignored on the website. I concluded that the fact there were more than twenty would-be top chefs in the running this time round might have had something to do with their absence - or perhaps Bravo had already used up all their webserver space on that ridiculous 'Tweet Tracker' and Top Chef merchandise marketing.
• Second, the identity of the judges themselves came as something of a shock. Instead of my cherished Eric Ripert and Hubert Keller were the smirking mugs of ... wait for it ... Emeril and the Unibrow! Hyperventilating ensued as a result of this unwelcome development. In order to recover, I was forced to make myself a soothing cup of Earl Grey and take to my bed, not to emerge until this morning when I had calmed myself sufficiently to address to horror.

With no great optimism Che (my new Moleskine notebook) and I presented ourselves in front of the DVR at 4:30 this morning, ready to see what havoc the producers had wrought on my favorite show. It wasn't that bad, actually. The reason for the website's omission became obvious immediately: Pads announced to the crew (whilst standing rather incongruously before the Alamo - make of the symbolism what you will), that not all the cheftestants would be proceeding to the show proper. Rather, they would have to submit themselves first to a qualifying challenge, after which only sixteen would be chosen to take part in the festivities. The competitors, clearly gutted by this turn of events, gnashed their teeth and furrowed their foreheads in suitably dramatic fashion.

The chefs were divided into three groups (not enough GE Monogram appliances to go around, I guess!) for the fun. In the process, the rather complicated rules for the qualifying round were explained. For each competitor, three outcomes were possible: s/he could cook well enough to be ushered directly to Bravo-sponsored immortality; s/he could make a dish of such an egregious nature as to be sent summarily packing; or s/he could be relegated to something called 'The Bubble', the middling residents of which would have to cook again in a sudden-death elimination before admission to the Promised Land. Why the producers chose to call this purgatory The Bubble and not some sort of Texas-appropriate conceit (The Border Fence? The Chain Gang? The Pickup Truck?) I am unable to explain satisfactorily.

The first group crept warily into the kitchen to be confronted by a butcher's block with a lovingly slaughtered pig stretched out upon it, looking rather like a 3-D version of one of those anatomical diagrams one finds in better cookbooks detailing where on the animal all the different cuts may be found. We were simultaneously introduced to Tyler, the creepiest individual to grace my LCD in some time, who THd endlessly about his experiences as a personal chef cooking for 'international celebrities' and other gourmets. 'Uh oh,' Che and I thought. 'Here comes another one!'

Sure enough, given the task of chopping the large porcine pieces into something called sub-prime cuts (I'd never heard the term before, but they sounded a lot like sub-prime mortgages, with equally disastrous results), he retrieved a hacksaw from somewhere and with a fearsome cackle was soon sending bits of bone and skin flying all around the place. He was opining how amazing he was and how the other competitors might as well go home and leave him to it, when the Heimlich Maneuver - angered by such disrespectful treatment of 'the protein' - rushed over and bodily stopped him from doing any further damage. Quivering with rage - or the nearest Colicchio equivalent - the HM sent Tyler out of the kitchen before he'd even had a chance to put pan to burner. It was some of the most gratifying television I've seen in some time - it isn't often that such obviously incompetent crazies are dispatched even before the party has begun.

The rest of the show proceeded with minimal shenanigans. Into the Back of the Pickup were sent Molly (who earns her living making soup on cruise ships) for a mediocre soup (quite) and Grayson, who was fatally hampered by a tenderloin butchered to three-inch smithereens by the aforementioned Villain of the Piece. Sent packing were Colin the Vegan from Seattle, too grossed out by Wilbur to think straight; and Simon, who overcooked his pork to stringy oblivion. I was sad to see Simon go - he was one of those self-taught tattooed guys that probably got his start washing dishes and peeling spuds. Che expressed the hope that one day such a chef will run away with the whole shebang, showing the Voltaggios a thing or two, but alas, it has yet to happen. Maybe in Season 10.

The second group cooked its rabbits without incident. The only drama was provided by Edward, who couldn't get the vacuum sealer to work properly. The undercooked result of his machinations got him relegated to the Back of the Pickup ('There's talent in there somewhere,' the HM ruefully admitted) to be joined by Janine, who didn't get her sauce onto the plate. Nina was sent home for somehow forgetting to serve the rabbit, thus ignoring the cardinal rule that the secret ingredients must always take center stage.

Oops - wrong show.

Next week: the results of the final group's qualifying challenge and the long-awaited Back-of-the-Pickup Cook-Off.