An Amuse-Bouche from Amuse-Biatch

So why are we writing this blog? Well, we could say it's because we love food, and cooking, and restaurants, which is all true. We could say it's because every gourmet, gourmand, and glutton has a blog, so why not us--and that would also be true.

But really, our reason for starting this blog is as humble and as delicious as the lardo pizza at Otto. It was the fact that while we were watching the first season of "Top Chef," we realized that contestant Dave Martin, despite being our favorite, would never win. Why? Well, because the show is, after all, called "Top Chef."

Then we realized we had no one else to share such a bitchy and sophomoric joke with, no one else with whom to marvel at just how butch the scrappy Boston bisexual Tiffani was (as if Mildred Pierce had made her mark with Krispy Kreme bread pudding instead of pies), no one else with whom to swoon over Harold's straight-boy stubble or the bearishly hunky Tom Colicchio, no one else with whom to mock Katie Lee Joel's Bambi stare and pedestrian taste in shoes (and husbands), no one else with whom to engage in a psychosexual analysis of Stephen Asprinio's tie knots or the way he pronounced "Oaxaca," much less the effrontery and pedantry involved in his trying to cook Oaxacan food in the first place. And thus was Amuse-Biatch born.

So what can Amuse-Biatch bring to the potluck? Well, don't expect any screen caps, or video clips, or Photoshopping (the blog equivalent of Ferran Adrià foams). We're simply not that technically gifted. On the plus side, we have Laguiole knives instead of tongues, honed by Southern climes, Northern temperaments, and self-imposed starvation in the fight against avoirdupois. In fact, if we were to start a Colicchioesque restaurant, we'd call it Bitchcraft. So, with due deference to kinder, gentler sites, our slogan is more along the lines of this:

“They sauté; we fillet...

then chew the gristle, suck the marrow, and spit the bones out.”