Top Chef: Masters and Margaritaville

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

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….

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

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?

A Scarlet Letter from Amuse-Biatch

Possums,

We won’t get into the reasons for our absence of the past week, mostly because in spite of all recent, firsthand evidence to the contrary, we refuse to accept that we inhabit a world in which illness and mortality have any more purchase than they do in a Pedro Almodóvar film. Into the bubble of the blogger’s basement no shafts of reality must be allowed to make their way, nor shall they.

Instead, let us agree to a version in which our silence was that of the well of loneliness, the soundless scream of the daughters of Bilitis, at the pykagging of our Sapphic mini-Fergie, Miz Jamie Lauren. Fortunately for us, though, our Uranian grief was assuaged by the sweet, sweet balm of the Christian Bale freakout remix on constant replay.

After all, which of the world’s ills can’t be cured by a good house beat? As a straight (that’s what he said) friend told us many years ago, being a good gay is about “dancing through the pain.” Mind you, this was in the context of the Hex Hector remix of Toni Braxton’s “Unbreak My Heart,” but the principle is the same.

And so, yes, the loss of Jamie was rather difficult, all the more so because it seemed so unavoidable and so very just under the circumstances. In the wake of Jamie’s exit, we wondered whether it was possible to feel simultaneous boredom and despair—despair at her departure, and boredom at the prospect of a final that doesn’t include her—as one feeling would seem to negate the other.

Oh, fickle, fickle gays!

We could not possibly have anticipated just how good and entertaining last night’s episode would be, and we had to laugh at the pleasure of watching the show cheerfully violate its own stated principles about it being a one-challenge-at-a-time, what-have-you-done-for-me-lately competition.

Had that principle been followed, Stefan Richter would and should have been sent packing for the undistinguished (and undistinguishable) spinach and the salmon that was unanimously deemed to be overcooked, an unpardonable sin on a season that has been so much about “respecting the protein,” and on an episode that was preceded by the hazelnut-and-butter-accented presence of the St. John the Baptist of fish cookery, Le Bernardin’s Eric Ripert (come to think of it, his accent is more the equivalent of Nutella eaten out of the jar with one’s finger, but we digress). What is a thinned hollandaise sauce in comparison to that?

Surely on the scales of PYKAG justice, Leah’s sin of a thin hollandaise sauce was outweighed by the greater, audience-perceived sins of weakness, whininess and immorality (about which more later). We declared ourselves fans of Stefan from the outset, so we would have been grieved to see him go, but it also would have made a satisfying kind of narrative sense for him to have gone out now—hubris, Icarus, the Finland vs. Sweden thing, etc. Instead, the show opted for a more timeless kind of American narrative—Hester Prynne is pilloried to satisfy public morality while the bald, stolid, chin-merkin’d Dimmesdale (and how dim indeed) is allowed to continue in a halo of xenophobic, phallocentric (tiny shrimp!, eel!) anxiety and insecurity to battle the European savant Chillingworth (we haven’t quite worked out all the details, but give us time). How will it all turn out?

From the Depths of the Savanna, a Message to the Possums

We ought to have known, of course, sensing, as we did, a disturbance in the Force. Still, we didn’t fully understand the state of things until we heard Miss XaXa’s dulcet but Vincent-Price-ominous tones (or is it C. Aubrey Smith filtered through Texas bonhomie?) warning us, “The possums are getting restless.”

Possums, possums, possums, you ought to know by now that we live only to saunter onto the reality-tv savanna in order to bring down the sick and the lame for you to feast on. Given our less than wholesome psyche, it makes us happy in a way that few things can, and it displeases us to no end to have to disappoint you.

But as we all know, possums, no one, not even us, can afford to take gainful employment for granted In These Troubled Times. We have been travelling for work all week in regions where the pink-particled beam of Bravo’s signal doth not penetrate, and have consequently not yet seen this week’s episode. But we are set to return to the realm of the Bravo-accoutered cable box this weekend, and will watch the episode forthwith and bring you its bloodied carcass. It’s a promise, possums, from our heartless hearts.

Amuse-Biatch Has a Gail Time: Two More Reasons Why Gail Simmons' Husband Is a Very Lucky Man

Amuse-Biatch Night Vision, or Is It Nightmares? We Spy with Our Little Jaundiced, Giggling, Insinuating Eye

Amuse-Biatch Pictionary: “Brunoise”

According to Wikipedia:

“Brunoise is a method of food preparation in which the food item is first julienned and then turned 90° and diced again, producing cubes of a side length of about 3 mm on each side or less. Common items to be brunoised are leeks, turnips and carrots. The diced vegetables are blanched briefly in salty boiling water and then submerged in ice water for a few seconds to set the color. The brunoise is often used as a garnish in many dishes. A common dish which often uses a brunoise as a garnish is a consommé. A brunoise must be very consistent in size and shape, as it helps to ultimately create a visual effect.”

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: We and Padma Lakshmi Are Back, Giving You Our Best Come-Hither Look

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Wednesday: Padma Lakshmi Inspires Us to Bare All

Well, possums, we have now returned from the customary hiatus that follows the end of a Top Chef season, a time during which we attend to what, if we remember correctly, James Mason in The Shooting Party referred to as “death, disease and dentistry.” Mind you, we also use the time off to grow new claws, and new brain cells when we can manage it. This time around, though, we did a little something different. Foodie networking site FoodCandy kindly and unexpectedly asked us to sit down for an interview, and we—inspired by Padma Lakshmi’s penchant for self-exposure—couldn’t help but say yes. We won’t take off our top, but we will reveal the innermost depth of our shallowest thoughts.

So if you’re interested, possums, do go and have a LOOK.

Our thanks to dB of FoodCandy for a wonderful experience.