The Reality Of Cooking

Reality shows, as a general rule, don't really do it for me. Which is not to say that I think I'm better than reality shows; I believe it was Socrates who said, "He who has a deep, unabiding love for the early films of Adam Sandler shouldn't throw stones, entertainment-wise." Wise words, truly. No, it's not that I find reality shows beneath me... it's actually that I find them, for the most part, boring.

Who's the best at being a tall, thin girl with no discernible personality? What happens when we switch two families' Moms around (besides fucking up their kids for life, of course)? Don't you find it shocking that, after we put a bunch viciously egocentric, Type-A personalities in a house together, all they did was fight and screw???

Meh. Who cares? I mean, I get it... it's cathartic and funny to see a bunch of jerkwads slam into each other (naked or otherwise), and there's nothing wrong with watching a show that, at it's end, leaves you with a feeling of moral superiority because even though you may be a bit of a mess, at least you're not like those assholes. That's fine. To me, though, that gets old. This, I suppose, could be contributed to the fact that I walk around all the time with a hyper-inflated feeling of moral superiority and that I'm always grateful that I'm not like that asshole, or that asshole, or really any of the millions of assholes that make up our great and mighty species (it should be noted that, in addition to humans, I also feel superior to walruses, geese and dairy cows). Come to think of it, this, shall we say, "over-abundance" of self-worth probably makes me the perfect candidate to be a contestant on a reality show. Sadly I'll never get the chance to walk the halls of the Big Brother house because, quite frankly, I'm closer in physical appearance to one of the squatter, hairier citizens of Middle Earth than anything else. My chunky butt doesn't exactly translate into ratings gold.

But I digress.

My point is that, generally, I don't like reality shows (which I guess I could have just said flat-out, as opposed to talking around the issue like a White House Press Secretary). There is, however, an exception to that rule and it's this: Reality shows that are cooking-themed. Specifically, Top Chef and Hell's Kitchen; two shows that, while both set in kitchens, are about as different as The Beatles and a crazy, homeless guy that plays guitar under a bridge for spare change. And yet I love them both equally, just as I love The Beatles and that crazy homeless guy, whom as of today is Girlfriend and I's new roommate. Should probably tell her about that before she gets home and finds him rinsing out his socks in our toilet....

Anyway, the shows:

TOP CHEF

Mostly class, particularly when you're talking about the first season. Their rep as one of the least trashy reality shows in existence was tarnished a bit in season two, thanks largely to most of the cast turning into mean, hateful bullies halfway through it's run. Still, as far as the actual competition is concerned, it's all high-level drama. The challenges are creative and a true reflection of the contestant's abilities, the judging is fair and thoughtful, and the host, Padma Lakshmi, is interesting and engaging, if for no other reason than she until recently was bunking down with Salman Rushdie. It is, in short, everything a reality show should strive for, save for one exception: It lacks a lot of the catharsis, the schadenfreude if you will, of it's fellow, similarly-inclined programing. Which brings us to...

HELL'S KITCHEN

Mostly catharsis, with almost zero class. Which is great, actually, thanks in large part to the man on the left in the picture above: Gordon Ramsay. God, I love this man. He's everything I want to be as far as macho arrogance is concerned. Most people think he's this awful, evil monster who's sole mission for this show, as well as for life, is to torment his charges before breaking them over his knee. That's wrong. It's more that he is, like a lot of chefs, a psychotic perfectionist who's used to working in a classy, three-start dining establishment where everything is done correctly and with speed and skill. When things aren't done correctly, it's like a slap in his face; an ultimate disrespect. Now, because this is very much not Top Chef, the producers have intentionally loaded the deck, as it were, with a collection of knuckle-headed fuck-ups that seem to be mathematically engineered to illicit from Ramsay exactly one reaction: a volcanic meltdown. And it is goooood. The man, honestly, and to paraphrase A Christmas Story, works in swears the way other men work in oils. Watching him rip into a lazy, petulant contestant who you yourself would like to hit repeatedly with a ladle is satisfying in ways that sex with the partner of your choice could never be, and I say this with absolutely no shame.

So, yes... reality shows: Bad. Cooking-themed reality shows: Excellent at both ends of the spectrum. I'm glad we had this chat because, quite frankly, it's been a long time coming.