Possums, Charlus is understandably in seclusion and it was fitting for me to pay tribute to my namesake, Our Lady of the XaXa Heels, the ever fashionably "late," Ms.Eartha.Fucking.Kitt. Long may she reign in a sable lined Heaven...
Monday, December 29, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Amuse-Biatch Mascot Brings You Season’s Greetings
Well, possums, we’ll be off for a couple of days, sharpening and tempering our claws in a fire fed by Yule logs, lost illusions and curdled bonhomie, i.e., just what’s needed to do justice to last week’s holiday episode.
À bientôt, hasta luego, and catch y’all real soon, possums.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: José Feliciano May Be Blind, But Even He Can See That Jarocha Salma Hayek Is Wishing Us, “¡Feliz Navidad!”
Friday, December 19, 2008
Fauxhawked amfAR TwinkleGay: Fabio Viviani Will Flirt with Anything That Moves; Stefan Richter, However, Appears to Have a “No Fats or Fems” Policy
We find it hard to believe, possums, that we had to wait until the season’s sixth episode of Top Chef before we saw a fauxhawk.
It came courtesy of amfAR employee Barry Brown, whose post on the Natasha Richardson-hosted reception we were delighted to find.
The post served only to augment our distrust of the Bravo editors, for—what do you know?—Barry, like Cheyenne Jackson, is another gay who doesn’t, um, like seafood (duh), but who nonetheless liked Jamie Lauren’s scallop dish. It’s a conspiracy, we tell ya. F’agcuse!
Most interesting of all, Barry had these tidbits to share:
“…Fabio's real talent lies in schmoozing people. He likes to flirt...[sic] with boys and girls. And that's probably how he does well in life. The food? Merely adequate.”
Oh possum, even E.M. Forster could have told you that.
Stefan’s chicken pot pie was a “[v]ery creative use of his inspiration. Too bad he didn't seem like he wanted to talk to me at all when I was tasting his dish. I obviously wasn't important enough. It just turned me off. His food was good. But again, it was nothing special. I could have made that at home and it would have been just as good.”
Meow!
We must say that we’re a little surprised. After all, we have the photo of Stefan kissing Danny Gagnon, who’s both a fat and a “phlegm.”
So, what’s the lesson to be learned, possums? Never piss off a gay in a red velvet jacket (especially Santa).
It’s a Hanukkah Miracle! Gail Simmons a Member of the Tribe!
Mazel tov, oh fortunate Jews of the world! Behold the Lioness of the tribe of Judah!
Of course it ought not have been a surprise that radiant, lissome, buxom, leonine, McGill summa cum laude graduate Gail Simmons should be the most alluring literary Jewess since the Biblical Esther, Rebecca in Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe and Rachel in Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past. Still, it’s nice to know.
It should have been Gail judging the Top Chef holiday episode (Michelle Bernstein is simply not an adequate replacement); on the other hand, given what an abomination the episode turned out to be, it was probably for the best that Gail not be tainted by it.
So, we didn’t get Gail in the holiday episode, but now we get to watch her make latkes, courtesy of WPIX. Enjoy, possums.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Amuse-Biatch Über-Homosexual Thursday: New Scallopgate Gets the Hung Jury It Deserves (So Sayeth Nathan Lane)
Scallopgate Redux: On Behalf of Cheyenne Jackson, a Framed Jamie Lauren, the Gays, and Honest People in General, Amuse-Biatch Cries, “Bullshit!”
Ok, now we’re just angry.
As any faithful viewer of Top Chef (including, and especially, cheftestants) ought to know by now, scallops are the devil’s playground, an ingredient fraught with peril and the sweet but briny foretaste of doom. And so, on some level, our girl Jamie Lauren ought to know, and ought to have known, better.
Still, what Bravo’s editors have done amounts to prosecutorial misconduct.
In building their case against the scallop dish Jamie made for the Seven Swans A-Swimming component of the skull-numbingly numbskull “12 Days of Christmas” Elimination Challenge, the editors showed 6’4”, blue-eyes-and-calves-of-death gay grointhrob (much better than heartthrob) Cheyenne Jackson saying, “I just tried the Seven Swans A-Swimming. A little too slimy.” Case closed; bring in the guilty verdict.
And yet, on the “bonus footage” on Bravo’s website we get to see Cheyenne’s complete statement, which we are transcribing just in case the video mysteriously disappears (it starts at the 30-seconds-remaining mark): “I just tried the Seven Swans A-Swimming, um, and it was good, surprisingly. I’m not usually a scallops person. A little too slimy.”
See how that works? So Cheyenne Jackson doesn’t usually like scallops because they are a little too slimy, but Jamie’s scallops were good and not slimy (and, let us not forget, Miss Martha Stewart herself raved about Jamie’s earlier-in-the-episode scallop dish).
So, you wanna talk about a little too slimy? Talk about Bravo.
The 12 Days of Lame-Ass
Expect no further comment from us, possums, until we get over just how lame and stupid last night's episode was.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Does Martha Stewart Think Her Hands Are Too Wrinkly?
It’s a question we asked ourselves, possums, after reading this blind item in The New York Post:
“WHICH lifestyle diva used a hand model for close-up shots in her latest book? She deemed her own hands too wrinkled”
Let’s see, possums. The term “lifestyle diva” was invented for Ms. Stewart. She does have a new book, as you can see in the still from tonight’s episode. And she is of an age where, thanks to the nature of time and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, wrinkles (on one’s hands or elsewhere) are a distinct possibility. What say ye?
We, of course, refuse, absolutely refuse, to believe that she is such a perfectionist that she would deem any part of herself imperfect. Not our Martha, not ever.
Oh, and speaking of imperfections, what the fug is going on with Padma’s outfit? As we noted, for last week’s episode she brought out the cleavage in full force, even during the Quickfire Challenge, where she wore a brown t-shirt so tight and cleavage-enhancing that we thought that, rather than any cotton garment, she was simply sporting that Mexican mole sauce slathered all over her naked torso.
But now that Martha is here, she packs the bazooms away? Why, Padma, why? Surely you don’t fear that a Martha who has been in the slammer (and a West Virginia one at that) would go from Camp Cupcake to actually craving “cupcakes,” do you? Look, Padma, Martha will make you her bitch, just not in that way.
Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: For F&W Editor’s Guest Stint, Bravo Editors in Close-Ups Acknowledge “Top Chef” Is Really About T&A
Otherwise, why have these close-ups at all?
Poor Trail-“Blazering” Rocco DiSpirito Was Beaten Up by Hooligans as a Kid; Now That He’s 42 (!!), He Gets Beaten Up by Bloggers and Chefs
You’re in luck this morning, possums. The New York Times has published a delicious, bitchy, Schadenfreude-laden rum ball of an article on Rocco DiSpirito. Giggle or shake your head in sadness as you try to decide whether Rocco is trying to convince himself and people that he’s shallower than he is, or was once trying to convince himself and people that he was deeper than he really was.
Our favorite bit, though, is the emblematic disconnect between Rocco’s statements and his fashion statements. In the article, Rocco says, “I was the kid in the maroon blazer on the way to Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary Catholic school, in between one gang and another gang, and it was like, How did I want to get beat up today?” And so, of course, on his first trip back to Jamaica, Queens, in 20 years, what does he wear? As you can see from the picture above, a tweed blazer. Is Rocco secretly a masochist? Is he looking to get beaten up? Inquiring minds want to know.
Preview: Catering, Botulism, AIDS, Martha Stewart, Miss Universe, and Natasha Richardson’s Dead-Gay-Daddy Issues
Yes, possums, this is the episode in which the refrigerator doesn’t work, but human refrigerator Martha Stewart does; in which Fabio poses for clothed pics with a naked-pics-disgraced Miss Universe from Venezuela (beauty queens being the country’s top export along with oil and bad telenovelas), and the chefs cater an event for amfAR hosted by Natasha Richardson.
(Natasha’s daddy, Oscar-winning director Tony Richardson, died of AIDS. Despite being married to Natasha’s mum, Vanessa Redgrave, and leaving her for Jeanne Moreau, the late Mr. Richardson liked bangers with his mash. Of course, it should have been no surprise; trailing after Vanessa Redgrave and Jeanne Moreau is the classy, European arthouse equivalent of marrying Judy Garland and Liza Minnelli (we’re looking at you, Vincente Minnelli, Peter Allen, David Gest). We should know; both Nessie and Jeanne are two of our supreme faves. Speaking of which, for God’s sake, the man was directing Diana bloody Ross in Mahogany (until Berry Gordy took over); can it get gayer than that?
And let us not forget to mention that Vanessa Redgrave’s father and Natasha’s grandfather, Sir Michael Redgrave, also sailed, as the French so charmingly put it, à voile et à vapeur. We remember reading with delight this anecdote in The Guardian: “The billboard outside the Odeon cinema, Leicester Square, said: ‘Michael Redgrave and Dirk Bogarde [another famously closeted British actor, if you’ll forgive all the redundant adjectives] in The Sea Shall Not Have Them.’ Passing by, Noel Coward said: ‘I don't see why not. Everyone else has.’”
Is it any surprise, then, that, perhaps unconsciously, Natasha Richardson herself has married an incredibly desirable man who is also the world’s least likely to go gay, i.e., Liam Neeson? We think not. It all makes sense, possums, and now you have a glimpse into how our minds work when we see Natasha Richardson holding a canapé on a Bravo catering show.)
Oh, and the ever constipated-looking, South Florida chef Michelle Bernstein also appears. Woman, please get some more fiber in your diet.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: In Extraordinary Display of Brand Loyalty, Padma Lakshmi Wears Glad Trash Bag to Nazi-Flick Premiere
Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Nativist Nimrod Allows Himself to Be Kissed by Arrogant European—a Dude!!—Twice!!
First There Was Topo Gigio, Then Roberto Benigni, and Now Fabio Viviani: Gesticulating with Fabio!!
In which we weekly devote ourselves to the impossible task of culling the best gesticulations of the most extravagant Italian import since Roberto Benigni and Topo Gigio:
Monday, December 15, 2008
Cleavage-Baring Padma Lakshmi Brazenly Flouts the Bosom Buddies Code of Ethics
Uh, Padma, no. And we mean, Non, nyet, nein. How could you?
Everyone knows that female guests at a wedding are not supposed to wear white, so as not to distract or draw attention from the bride. A corollary of this rule is that you are not supposed visually to scream for attention at the bride’s wedding shower. And yet, despite this, and despite referring to her as “a very dear friend of mine” (we could almost hear the air quotes), you hosted the wedding shower for Gail, a woman renowned for her buxom and leonine charm, in a dress down to there, and in retina-searing purple, no less. We’re pretty sure that Emily Post would back us on this: One does not draw attention from the bride’s cleavage to one’s own bazooms. What ever possessed you? Badly done, Padma, badly done.
Fabio Viviani Takes the “Something Blue” Requirement Seriously, Down to the Blue Thumb-Ring
Though we must confess, possums, that we were a tad disappointed he went with the blue of the sea rather than the blue of the sky. Didn’t anyone tell him just how stereotypically popular the cheesy Italian song “Volare” is at weddings? In fact, are we sure he didn’t sing it to Gail e le ragazze as part of his introduction?
After all, the lyrics are drowning in blue, all about flying in the sky, “nel blu dipinto di blu, felice di stare lassù.” Wouldn’t it have made for better patter? And it would have meant using birds of the air, which would have prevented the problem of using a putatively endangered fish and making it bland.
And while we’re on the subject of Fabio, we have to confess that we’re fascinated and amused by his Florentine accent. In “Two Gallants,” one of James Joyce’s stories in Dubliners, there is a description of the character Corley as “aspirat[ing] the first letter of his name after the manner of Florentines.” To aspirate means to pronounce a letter as if it were an “h,” which, for Joyce’s purpose, meant that Corley pronounced his name “Whorely.” Joycean epiphany and all that, vous voyez? For us, it is fascinating that this characteristic is still part of the Florentine accent a hundred years later. Listen as Fabio says “bahon” instead of “bacon” and “behause” instead of “because.” Whatever else may be true of him, Fabio certainly has aspirations.
Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: The Most Beloved Lioness Since Elsa in “Born Free” Retires Temporarily from the Reality-Television Serengeti
Yes, possums, it’s true. As Gail Simmons herself confirmed on her Bravo blog, “I will not appear on the next several episodes, as I took a break from taping after that fabulous evening to finish planning my wedding and finally get married….I will be back for the finale.”
And to top it all off, she is being replaced by someone Private Eye Magazine described as looking like “peeled quail’s egg dipped in celery salt.”
What are we to do, possums? What are we to do?
We suppose these photos of The Lioness will have to tide us over until the finale.
As a bonus, have a look at the trailer for Elsa the Lioness’ movie, Born Free. In the trailer you can hear what is one of our favorite lines in the history of cinema, a question that these photos of Gail inspire us to ponder: “You don’t believe that man-eating is an inherited trait, do you?”
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Heterosexual Woman’s Long National Nightmare Is Over: Sam Talbot Puts a Thumb-Ring On It
Well, possums, while the heterosexual women of America may have wept blue-cheese-and-watermelon tears, we were relieved to read the news that Colombian arepa Paola Guerrero has finally made an honest man out of Sam “Not That Guy” Talbot.
We remembered the time after the engagement was announced this past summer, when a “hell hath no fury,” bedroom-farce fecal storm erupted in the comments section chez nos potes at Eater, ended up on Page Six, and led a little bird to send us pics of a, um, little Talbot bird (tattoos are such handy identifiers). The whole thing reminded us of this ad for the Chanel men’s fragrance Égoïste, except without the Prokofiev score, and with more naked photos emailed to pun-named blogs.
And so, if this marriage at least means an end to all such tsuris, then we are all for it. Good luck to everyone involved.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Confidential to Stefan Richter: It’s “Top Chef,” Not “Project Runway” (Though Michael Kors Would Certainly Say the Crotch on Those Pants Is “Insane” )
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Gail Simmons’ Wedding-Gift Registry: You Can Still Get Her a Fish Spatula (Though Obviously Not for Chilean Sea Bass)
Well, possums, although WeddingChannel.com helpfully informs us that Gail Simmons and Jeremy Abrams have been married for 116 days, it is not too late to get our buxom and leonine McGill graduate a gift.
Gail and Jeremy registered at Bloomingdale’s and Williams-Sonoma, and there are a number of affordable items left (we’re eyeing a basting spoon). So go on, and have a look.
Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Tonight, on a Special Episode of “Cheaters,” Hosea Rosenberg “Happy” to See Leah Cohen
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Uxorious Dominican Wallflower Alex Eusebio: Pushy Bridezilla Chanteuse with Show Biz Aspirations Made Me Go on “Top Chef”!
Possums, what a cringe-inducing episode that was last week (and we’re not even counting Anita Bryant’s shrimp-spitting handmaiden).
We nearly clawed the antimacassars to bits while Alex Eusebio wept as he read Richard Sweeney’s letter (handwritten on lined notebook paper, like a note written in third-period algebra class and folded inside a Pee Chee folder; as Miss XaXa put it, “I bet Richard was the guy in high school who filled the entire page when you gave him your yearbook to sign”).
Good God, not since Arthur Hallam and Tennyson and In Memoriam has there been such a display:
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
Believe us, possums, we understand Alex’s sorrow. We really do. Indeed, it has taken us fully two weeks to process our grief (or, as Tennyson put it, for our “widowed race [to] be run.”)
Of course, it wasn’t always that way.
On the season’s inaugural episode, Richard had this to say of Tom Colicchio: “I think Tom’s really cute. And he’s got great eyes. He’s a cutie, what can I say? I’d buy him a drink if I saw him in the bar. Hell, I’d buy ‘im three.”
Naturally, our first, rather hotted up, reaction to that was: PAWS OFF, BITCH!!
But then, as we saw and heard more of him, how could we help but be smitten? He radiated likeability, and—at the risk of sounding like Sandra Dee—he was dreamy. Just look at him, possums.
He became our favorite gay ever on Top Chef (for Miss XaXa, he was second only to Season 2’s Carlos Fernandez). We found out from Bravo’s website that he had a boyfriend, and an adorable one at that.
But then we happened across his *public* profile on BigMuscleBears.com, a website to which we once said Tom Colicchio ought to belong, and there we found hope.
To wit, Richard’s own words: “So, gots me a great guy now. But don’t get me wrong -- still out hunting for trouble, just no strings attached! we sometimes play together -- hey, who says three (or more?) is a crowd?!?!”
Well, if that’s the case, then we can all aspire to be a graham cracker (not the marshmallow) in that particular banana ‘Smore. Huzzah!
Alright, sure, so he’s not the next Alain Ducasse. Still, he’s off the market but not off the table. He’s really cute, and he’s got great eyes. He’s a cutie, what can we say? And furthermore, he quips like dream and is Mr. Nice Gay. Possums, what’s not to love?
So yes, we understood all too well Alex’s sorrow. And still we cringed when we saw him weep and, just like in high school, be comforted by the misfits—the lesbian and the tall, gawky black girl.
We cringed even more when we came across this bit from Alex’s interview with YumSugar:
My wife is the one who forced me to go on the show. I really didn't want to be on the show. I don't like being a public guy. She was like, “you have to do it, I will take care of the wedding.”
(He also told our pals at Grub Street, “My wife, a singer, wants to go back on Broadway, so we might go to New York!”)
But what do you want, Alex?
Miss XaXa urged us to take a gander at the video of Alex’s entrance into the sequester house. “Look how comfortable he looks.”
We had to inquire, “Are you saying marriage isn’t for him?”
Miss XaXa gave voice to her customary Delphic wisdom, “Alex, hon, if you’re gonna be pecked, wouldn’t you prefer a cock to a hen?”
She was referring, it need hardly be said, to poultry and poultry alone.
So there you have it; the wifey made him do it, and he didn’t stand up to her. In symbolism so hackneyed and obvious that we would have scoffed had we found it in a novel, Alex went out the same way he went in: a rose-scented custard that couldn’t be firm.
“Top Chef” or the First Ad in JDate’s National Television Campaign?
Of course, there’s a third possibility to explain the actions of Leah Cohen and Hosea Rosenberg in the interstitial, but we’ll get to that in a sec.
But first, possums, we call “bullshit.” The interstitial was broadcast after the obligatory Stew Room scenes and right before Alex Eusebio was euthani-pykagged by Padma. The strong implication, since the “tribal marking” session clearly took place in the Stew Room, was that it was happening the same night that bridegroom Alex was to be put out of his Miss-ery and launched into Mrs-ery.
This, however, doesn’t appear to be the case. As shown below, during the breakfast Quickfire Challenge, little hearts drawn by Hosea could be seen on Leah’s hand. This means that the love graffiti was inscribed the night before, i.e., the night that Richard was pykagged.
Why the deceit, and what was the point of this whole interstitial in the first place?
Certainly it could be part of the Leah-and-Hosea-sittin’-in-a-tree storyline, but we already had that in a previous episode, so this seems unnecessary. It’s apparent from the reaction of those around them that their antics have caused some amount of eye-rolling (except for the always understanding Carla, who chalks it up to sexual chemistry). We find something unsettling in this setting up of Leah as a needy, clingy Jezebel twining herself around a gap-toothed Rocky Mountain patriarch (and it isn’t just the name Hosea that makes us think this; his very features cry out for a Mennonite hat and a barn-raising, and Harrison Ford hiding out from the bad guys).
Indeed, when Alex went into the sequester house with the other misfit toys, he re-enacted that twining and referred to Leah as a “Ho fo’ Sho’” (leaving aside for just a second how sexist this is, wouldn’t it be more accurate to call her, in light of the object of her affection, “Ho for Ho”?). Would any self-respecting chef, especially someone who cooked under Anne Burrell, want to be portrayed on television as a cat in heat and called a “ho”? (Furthermore, given how proud a number of Asian-themed blogs and media outlets are of Leah (her mother is Filipina), it seems an added injury for the editors to trot out these suggestions of the old, sexualized, “me love you long time” image of Asian women in this portrayal of Leah.)
But what if the whole thing was about nothing more than product placement? It cannot have escaped anyone’s notice that Hosea was using a Sharpie to write on himself and on Leah. So wasn’t the entire Leahosea episode just an insidious Sharpie commercial? Can it be just a coincidence that Sharpie’s commercial tagline, “Write Out Loud,” is practically the same as “Live Out Loud,” the tagline for the Oxygen Network, which—wouldn’t you know it—is run by Bravo’s president, Lauren Zalaznick (indeed, as detailed in a New York Times story, she was instrumental in choosing the tagline)? And yet, we find no record in the end credits of Newell Rubbermaid paying any promotional consideration. We nonetheless find it hard to believe that Bravo would feature a product for nothing; it’s simply not in their corporate genes. On verra.
You know, possums, this rant originally had a point, though we’d be hard-pressed to find it now, so while we’re ranting, let us call “bullshit” on two more things:
* Padma saying in the previews for last week’s episode, very somberly and dramatically, “We have a situation,” of which nary a mention appeared once the episode aired. We say, “Bullshit” (and narrative cockteasery).
* Hoda Kotb making Kathie Lee Gifford faces while sampling Jeff McInnis’ malfouf roll, as if the flavors (including sumac) were so very exotic or unknown. Um, (C)Hoda Kotb is Egyptian-American, spent summers in Egypt while growing up, and worked extensively as a reporter in Egypt and Iraq. We say, “Bullshit.”
OK, possums, rant over. We’ll go lie down for a second to ponder how a harmless little post on cheftestant puppy love turned into a rant, and we will think of Gail Simmons to cool our fevered brow.
Janice Muppet Survives to Wreak Havoc with Colicchio’s Digestive Tract and Awkward-White-Girl-Dance Another Day
Miss XaXa has reproached us, and she may well have a point, for comparing Melissa Harrison to Janice Muppet. According to Miss XaXa, Janice—though made of cloth and pulled with strings and sticks—had infinitely more rhythm than Melissa. It’s difficult to argue with that. Her dance at the Foo Fighters concert on the Thanksgiving episode is habañero-seared into our consciousness as the Ur Dance of the Awkward White Girl. Sadly for her, the truth is that, apart from giving numbingly spicy food to a head judge who “can’t digest spicy food,” that dance was her most memorable action to date. Will we be lucky enough to get more of her terpsichorean stylings?
Amuse-Biatch Spelling Bee-atch: The Mistake That Wasn't
Loath though we are to admit it, possums, we are by no means infallible. We make mistakes aplenty. Fortunately, all the therapy has paid off, and we are able to acknowledge those errors.
As we have written about, last week’s episode was rife was spelling and other such mistakes. And so when we came across this—
—we said to ourselves, “Oh, another one. Poor guy! Look at how they mangled his name. Jawn?!?! Really?!?” Furthermore, his general demeanor and squeaky voice sent our gaydar to magenta-alert levels.
But we did a little checking, and possums, we were wrong. Jawn is, in fact, Jawn. As for the gay thing, it turns out he is married to renowned pastry chef Nicole Kaplan, with whom he has a couple of children.
And so, possums, we are suitably Chasteened.
Nip/Tuck: A Braless Padma Lakshmi Demystifies the Esoteric Art of Walking for Justin Tuck: “Just Put One Foot in Front of the Other”
Unsurprisingly, San Francisco Lesbian Jamie Lauren Is a Godless Heathen (and That’s Just How We Like Her)
Amuse-Biatch Medical Emergency: Are Those Lines We See? But We Thought the Restylane-Infused Crème Brûlée Had Set!!
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Padma Lakshmi Wears a Tight, Cleavage-Revealing Dress to Read The New York Times
The Gray Lady never looked so good. Why, oh why, possums, can't Padma always look like this on Top Chef? And we loved how her accent on this video miraculously became plummier, lilting, more elegant, with a touch of Indian, a step "up" from the Valley Girl stoner drawl we get on Top Chef. (We also love the idea of her reading, Lady Bountiful-like, bits from the Times to uninformed cheftestants and camera people, improving their little minds with news of the conflict in Ossetia and Cathy Horyn's musings on Lagerfeld.) What all of this seems impliedly to admit is that she considers Top Chef a bit of slumming. Who'd've thunk?
Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Tuesday: Nips and Buds, or Nipping in the Buds: A Tribute to Padma Lakshmi
"Padma…is sulking magnificently. (She…, like all fish-lovers, dislikes other people knowing anything she doesn’t. Padma: strong, jolly, a consolation for my last days. But definitely a bitch-in-the-manger.)…. ‘But what is so precious,’ Padma demands, her right hand slicing the air updownup in exasperation, ‘to need all this writing-shiting?’….Poor Padma. Things are always getting her goat. Perhaps even her name: understandably enough, since her mother told her, when she was only small, that she had been named after the lotus goddess, whose most common appellation amongst village folk is ‘The One Who Possesses Dung.’
….
[P]erhaps our Padma will be useful, because it’s impossible to stop her being a critic. She is particularly angry with my remarks about her name. ‘What do you know, city boy?’ she cried—hand slicing the air. ‘In my village there is no shame in being named for the Dung Goddess. Write at once that you are wrong, completely.’ In accordance with my lotus’s wishes, I insert, forthwith, a brief paean to Dung.
Dung, that fertilizes and causes the crops to grow! Dung, which is patted into thin chapati-like cakes when still fresh and moist, and is sold to the village builders, who use it to secure and strengthen the walls of kachcha buildings made of mud! Dung, whose arrival from the nether end of cattle goes a long way towards explaining their divine and sacred status! Oh, yes, I was wrong, I admit I was prejudiced, no doubt because its unfortunate odours do have a way of offending my sensitive nose—how wonderful, how ineffably lovely it must be to be named for the Purveyor of Dung!"
From pages 26 and 36 of the Everyman’s Library edition of Salman Rushdie’s Booker Prize-winning Midnight’s Children, published 18 years before Sir Salman met the future Lady Rushdie in, of all places, Liberty Island. Oh the prophecies of art, possums!
Monday, December 08, 2008
News from the Department of Now-We’ve-Heard-Everything: An Eric Ripert-Catered “Top Chef” Bat Mitzvah
Fish man and panty-dropper (redundant?) par excellence, sometime Top Chef guest judge Eric Ripert is visiting our fair shores while on a book tour. Our pal Lesley of Eater LA and Betty Hallock at the bankrupt L.A. Times both snagged interviews with Coquille St. Jacques the Ripert, and collected the French-accented pearls that fell from his pillowy, piscine lips. One bit from the Times interview left us just a teensy bit gobsmacked:
One guy rented out the entire restaurant for his daughter's bat mitzvah. His daughter is a big fan of "Top Chef" and we set her party up like the show. He flew in a chef from an obscure restaurant in Maryland and we did crab cakes. There were 15 girls on my team and 15 girls on his team. His crab cakes were phenomenal. He kicked my .... !
Miss XaXa’s first reaction: “Eric Ripert gave crabs to 15 teenaged girls?”
“They were probably Reform,” we tried to reassure her, not bothering to clarify the antecedent.
What struck us, aside from the whole Gilded Age excess of the thing (and which now seems so long ago), was Ms. Hallock’s delicacy. Go on, Betty; surely on the day that parent company Tribune filed for bankruptcy protection you can allow yourself a tiny three-letter word.
Besides, what with Ripert’s melted-Échiré-butter accent, it likely wasn’t even “ass.” Rather, we suspect he said, “aws,” or maybe “ahs,” as in oohs and ahs (or is it ooze and ahs?)
As it is, we can’t wait for the episode that will feature Ripert and Fabio Viviani going acento a acento in the lambent interior of Le Bernardin. Viewers will swoon, and knickers will fly.
Ridden Hard and Put Away Wet: What Is It with People on Bravo Reality Shows Claiming to Be in Their 20s?
Previews: Padma Plays Gail’s Friend, Danny Gagnon Allegedly Smarter Than He Looks, and Stefan Richter More Evil Than Satan
And yes, possums, the caption for the first video does say that a "palette" rather than a "palate" is "the most crucial tool a chef can possess." Should we just give up?
Despite Their Differences, Padma Lakshmi and Anthony Bourdain United by Their Love of Booze and Crystal (and Publicity)
Swarovski crystal, bien sûr, possums, as we learnt in a press release from Moët & Chandon (not that filthy Korbel stuff they product-place down cheftestants’ gullets on Top Chef).
Sure, Bourdain may not have a lot of respect for Padma’s intellectual abilities, but they both seem to agree on the wisdom of publicity. As the saying goes, either of them would show up to the opening of an envelope.
In this case, Moët & Chandon is launching a gimmick—“previously only available to A-list celebrities and VIPs” (like Padma and Bourdain?!?)—whereby poor saps, who no doubt need the job, will place a 14-character personalized message on a bottle of champagne, using Swarovski crystals and for a tidy sum. Och, the genius of it! Just what everyone needs in this economy! The website considerately allows you to preview your own labels, and here is the one we have chosen (and to be clear, we also made the one above):
Preview: European Stefan Richter Doesn’t Know the Meaning of the Word “Lesbian” (Hint: “Lesbierin” in German, “Lesbo” or “Lepakko” in Finnish)
Friday, December 05, 2008
Spelling Bee-atch: Talking Heads “Brûléeing” Down the House
Well, possums, them Bravo folks cain’t seem ta spell them damn furrin Eyetaleean and Frenchie words. And they sure do seem averse to hyphens, too.
At this rate, we are crossing our fingers and waiting for the day when they leave the second “i” out of the name of Jeff McInnis’ restaurant.
Ah, the Dildo Club.
And while we’re on the subject of Jeff McInnis, why is it that Jeff gets the “c” in his last name capitalized, whereas the first “i” in Rocco DiSpirito’s name is lower case?
Using “Mirroring” Technique, Former Anita Bryant Employee Kathie Lee Gifford Reflects Our Reaction Whenever We Are Unlucky Enough to Catch "Today"
Breaking News: Fabio Viviani Cleared of All Accusations of False Modesty; No Verdict Yet on Charge of False Advertising
For what it’s worth, possums, we think he is but a mere pony in comparison with the real stallion, Il Colicchio.
Which, we suppose, makes Rocco DiSpirito a gelding.
Amuse-Biatch Night Vision: In Stills from Unaired Episode of “Oz,” We Learn Who Takes the Top Bunk in the Pretty Boy Cell
Or do we really?
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Tequila Mockingbird: Real Housewife of New Jersey Meets Real Housewives of New York City (or Maybe Connecticut)
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
In Honor of Team Rainbow, “Prop. 8 – The Musical”
See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die
UPDATE...Christian group to "rotund" Jack Black: Jesus Wasn't Fat!!
What a Difference Today Makes: The Fateful Video in Which Kathie Lee Gifford Reveals Why Frank Gifford Cheated on Her
Amuse-Biatch Night Vision, or Is It Nightmares? We Spy with Our Little Jaundiced, Giggling, Insinuating Eye
Non Odiarlo Perch’È Bello e lo Sa: Fabio Viviani Beefcake Photos of the Week
Possums, don’t hate him because he’s beautiful and knows it. Just enjoy the bistecca fiorentina.
Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Just in Time for Thanksgiving, and Much to the Delight of the Teenage Boy by Her Side, Padma Lakshmi’s Cups Runneth Over
Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Worried About Missing His Hairdresser’s Appointment, Jeff McInnis Wears Two Watches
Amuse-Biatch Weekly Photoessay: Gesticulating with Fabio!!
Join us, possums, as we celebrate the joy of self-perpetuating stereotypes. We present our new weekly feature (well, until Fabio is eliminated; long may he reign), Gesticolando col Fabio!!
Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: This Wasn’t the Easter Episode, So Why Was Lanky, Constipated Jesus on the Show?
Monday, December 01, 2008
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