Monday, December 11, 2006
Yes, we admit, we are now making steak tartare out of the dead horse.
But really, how could we resist, when the week's two most hotly debated topics in the inner sanctum of the television alcove at Withering Depths come together like this?
Take a look at Padma Lakshmi Rushdie in the flesh-colored (sandalwood? café au lait? Earl-Grey-and-cream?) bikini, and tell us, Why didn't she appear on the broadcast episode like this?
Raggaydy Andy of Bravo approved the top, and it was used, so why not the bottom? (If you're playing along at home, insert easy joke here. Speaking of which, before this, we hadn't really noticed the bits and bobs hanging from her cleavage, and Miss XaXa couldn't resist the "Padma's serving curry with the fringe on top" joke, but we tsk-tsked in her direction.)
Instead, as we have noted, Padma threw on a denim mini, a shearling vest, a cardigan, and Ugg boots. Don't try to tell us it was because she was cold. Padma herself goes on ad nauseam in her blog about how they filmed during a Biblical heat wave in L.A. Even if she had suffered from the teensy morning chill of what we know as "June gloom" (weathermen in California rhyme as badly as the Beatniks), why would she appear in this picture, sans cardigan, sans mini, and avec poofter? It's not just her outfit that's out there; the truth is, too.
Confidential to Marcel: Standing next to a woman, even a near-naked woman, will not make you straight. Heterosexuality is not contagious, or airborne (though it may be in the air), nor is it passed through osmosis. Further, posting pictures of yourself standing next to a near-naked woman isn't particularly effective in convincing people that you're straight (we tried that at 'varsity, but it didn't fool our room-mates either).
Which brings us to the rhetorical question of the day. Why is it that Padma's pose is exactly 3.7 times more butch than Marcel's? There is a similar wanton exposure of the belly button (albeit with a treasure trail) and aggressive thrust of the belly, but the just-so opening of the chef's coat, the low-slung pants, the "you go, girl" hands on hips, the meringue-peaked, wind-tossed tresses, and the coyly extended left ankle suggest an intimate familiarity on Marcel's part with the advice and instruction of Tyra Banks and Miss J from America's Next Top Brady-Bunch Has-Been War Bride. He is clearly ready for the Cook's Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.