We like to think of this episode as an after-school special, where we learned about the importance of choice and consequence, caring and sharing, and getting a good lab partner.
We also learned that Gail Simmons did listen to Miss XaXa’s advice. She was the most fabulous woman on last night’s show, and we saw her in a situation that involved swinging and chandeliers…earrings, that is.
We learned that Tom Colicchio is pro choice, and that he makes a terrible beat cop and probation officer. For him, it’s all about the execution.
We learned that our sweet Elia has been hanging around Madame de Pompadour for too long and has started to pick up his eye-roll and his ‘tude. We’ll explain later in more detail, but we think that, as with much else involving Madame de Pompadour, it involves hair products and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
We learned that sweetbreads are neither sweet nor bread. In consequence, we learned just how tasty lymph nodes can be, so tasty that they gave Sam the win in the Quickfire Challenge.
We learned, much to our shock, that Frankie the Bull doesn’t like “subtle.”
We learned that Madame de Pompadour apparently drinks pig’s blood and may, in fact, be a vampire. Most importantly, though, he had an on-camera therapeutic breakthrough, and we learned about the traumatic prom incident from his youth that led him to retreat into a world of hair gel and alliteration.
We learned that Jennifer Coolidge is a cultural, perhaps even sexual, litmus test. Miss XaXa’s first reaction: “Jennifer who?” Beer Bong’s first reaction: “Stifler’s mom!” Our first reaction: “The hairdresser from Legally Blonde! Snap and bend!”
We learned that, for perhaps the first time in his life, Miss XaXa’s Carlos was forced to bottom, but that he can take it like a man. And a gentleman.
We learned from Chef Michelle Bernstein that, contrary to popular belief, dark lip liner is not a Latin girl’s best friend.
And finally, after Tarte Titass and Josie were sent packing (omigawd, a double execution!), we learned, for the second time this season, that butch girls do cry. (Confidential to Padma: We have it on very good authority that if you keep making the butch girls cry, the Lesbians will make sure you never get within sniffing distance of Stephanie Seymour. If we were you, we wouldn’t go out alone after dusk in New York. You might find yourself in a dark alley with Rosie O’Donnell and a dental dam. If you see a hulking figure in a leather jacket from the Broadway revival of “Grease,” run the other way as fast as your Louboutins will carry you. That’s not the kind of “pink lady” you’re looking to meet.)