Spitball Army

Tonight is the first half of the “Top Chef” season finale on the Bravo channel.  I am addicted to this show, if only to vicariously experience those culinary wonders that I will likely never enjoy (and I’m not referring to the butterscotch scallops from two weeks ago!).  The creative challenges faced by these four chefs are going to be hair-raising, you can be sure, and the ranks will be whittled down to two (I think) tonight.  If there is a God, (Please, God!) rid us of Lisa, she of the sourpuss, greasy hair, and victim complex.  Last week’s fascinating focus on how to cook the perfect steak – from butchery to pan cooking – was terrific, and ended with the merciful expulsion of Chef Spike, he of the finger-pointing, frat-boy ‘tude, and stupid hats.  My virtual money is on Richard and Stephanie to face off in next week’s “final” finale.  That would be a good pairing of two very talented chefs and pleasant people.

The previews for tonight’s show hint that there will be pigs a-cookin’.  I thought of that as I read this article by Kim Severson in today’s New York Times.  This essay was tailor-made for my friend Elisa M., who is an avowed foodie.  Among its gems:

Melissa Steineger, a good cook I know in Portland, was long a slave to such recipe tyranny. It started with the Coyote Cafe cookbook from the Southwestern chef Mark Miller. She recalls recipes that required ingredients like “wild boar from the hills surrounding Santa Fe.” They went unmade until her cooking skills improved and she had an epiphany: she could substitute.

“That freed me,” she said.

I doubt there will be any substitutions on “Top Chef” tonight.

Coincidentally, I happened upon an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations” the other night, in which Chef Bourdain and a gathering of Romanian locals devour several roast suckling pigs.  It was a step-by-step television seminar on how to dismantle and eat this animal.  One key point: the pig’s snout is considered a delicacy.  Bourdain practically dove across the table to secure the snout as his own.  He just ripped it off the pig’s face, conjuring immediate thoughts of Hannibal Lecter.

And, in more food-related news, I am working my way through the original British version of “Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares,” courtesy of Netflix, one disc at a time.  Chef Gordon Ramsay comes off as a much more sympathetic and reasonable person than he does on that train wreck of a show called “Hell’s Kitchen.”  And the DVD company didn’t bother to edit the multitude of “fucks” out of the show.  As a result, the viewing experience is less noisy (fewer bleeps).  And Ramsay is a pretty savvy businessman – besides being a solid chef – so this show has a restauranteur angle to capably exploit.

Bon appetit, con aperitif!