Howie & Joey: Can This Bearriage Be Saved?

It always starts with something small, doesn't it, possums?

On last week's episode, we thrilled when Sara Mair wanted to buy tricolor fusilli for the Bertolli challenge, and Howie had a mini (queeny) meltdown about how it was the "cheesiest, corniest" pasta that you would see "on buffet tables" in "every schlock house" in the country. Meow!

So what did Howie's Bear life-partner, Joey, insist on for his team? Why, tricolor fusilli, of course. That's when we knew this bearriage was in trouble.

(Naturally, Joey's teammate, Hung, wanted penne (yes, there's a cheap and easy bisexual joke in there about how "pene" is Italian for "penis," and yes, "penne" means "feathers," and let's not forget pájaros and The Birdcage, but we're too lazy to flesh it out).

Oh, and while we're at it, we were disheartened that italianissimo Joey couldn't even pronounce orecchiete, which he rendered as "oh-reh-CLEH-tee." Tsk, tsk, Giuseppe.

And since we're digressing, we must mention Miss XaXa's chortle when she heard 5'6" Howie saying, "It's a no-brainer for me that shrimp is the way to go, because everybody loves shrimp." Well, at least we know Joey does.)

We shuddered as we imagined the scenes that would take place when Howie & Joey invited Andrew & Aaron and Rob & Peter and Tom & Tony for Sunday brunch at their place and Joey insisted on serving pasta salad made with tricolor fusilli. Possums, the Fiesta Ware (Joey's, of course) would fly. And that would be part of the argument, too, Fiesta Ware vs. simple, sober plates from Armani Casa. Oh, and the doilies Joey would insist on for the couches ("But Howie, Pooh Bear, we can't have you sweatin' into the velour")! And Joey wanting to stay home and watch Beaches one more time while Howie wanted to go out and see The Bourne Ultimatum, or stay home but watch UFC death matches. It's too, too tragic to contemplate.

Has it really come to an end?

Our pals Doug and Maddy at the Miami Herald's Top Chef blog bring us the scoop. Maddy, who interviewed Joey, found him in a heartbreaking condition, "drinking a Gatorade and smoking a Newport." So that's what grief tastes like, Gatorade and Newports--why didn't The English Patient tell us this?

Maddy then discovered that Joey and Howie have not spoken at all and Joey asked for Howie's email address. Indeed, Joey, who lives in New York, didn't even know that Howie was in New York too! The outrage! Howie, of course, was consorting with Alfred Portale, the man Joey himself likened to Michelangelo, and we all know about Michelangelo, don't we?















Is it any wonder that, as Maddy reports, Joey may be turning into one of the Ungay?

First, Joey suggests, he may have tried sexually harassing Padma Lakshmi: "Padma is Padma. She is beautiful. And I said that on a few occasions. I'm not afraid to speak my mind. That's me - I'm very open. If you hold back, you're gonna tear your insides apart."

And now? The coup de grâce! "I just started dating a wonderful girl. She's in the insurance business." Madonna, ma come mai?!

First of all, this proves, if proof were needed, that straight women have lower, or at least different, standards than the Gays. Secondly, insurance business? Aren't these people supposed to know about risks?

But wait. Hope is not entirely lost. Joey "still ha[s]n't opened that bottle of red that Howie got from Maria Frumkin for winning the elimination challenge."















He hasn't opened the bottle. Doesn't that tell you everything, possums? It's as if that bottle held not delightfully rotten Argentinean grapes, but a message, a liquid billet doux. Insurance girls, Alfred Portale and Padma Lakshmi be damned. We still believe in love.

First Reaction, Part 2: America, Love It or Eat It

Possums, when last we left you, our beloved if interchangeable cheftestants were still reeling from having to catch and cook the catch of the day and from Alfred Portale’s unshaven prissiness. (Just what is it with the soul patch? we cried, resisting the temptation to rend our garments in two. Portale’s got one and Colicchio’s got one, so is a soul patch a requirement for, or a result of, working for Alfred Portale, like slender fingers and small hands? “Brian ‘Asshat’ Malarkey has one, too,” Miss XaXa reminded us, which rather made our point for us.)

(As a side note, it was clear that Padma’s jeans-and-vest outfit was from her own wardrobe, a throwback to last season’s questionable aesthetic, but, disappointingly, it wasn’t egregious enough to make a fuss about.)

It’s time for Padma to announce the Elimination Challenge, or, as she puts it, to go “from very, very fresh to something stale,” which makes us wonder if it was prophetic. Padma and Portale wheel out trolleys of food, which, quite bizarrely, cause the cheftestants to gasp and gape, and roll their eyes, and utter, scandalized and despairing, “Oh my God,” as if someone had had the effrontery to fart during Princess Diana’s funeral.

However, labels show the dishes to be someone’s nostalgia- and condescension-addled projection of what homely and homespun American cookery is, Sloppy Joes and meatloaf and macaroni-and-cheese.

The challenge, Padma tells us, is to take these dishes, which are “old-fashioned” and “not healthy,” and create “modern,” “low-cholesterol” versions.

Judging from the cheftestants’ reactions (if they were, indeed, the reactions to the food rather than to the challenge), one would think that, instead of fried chicken, Padma had wheeled out American hegemony on a plate in all its morbidly obese, Sansabelt-wearing glory. We’re second to none in our snobbery, but something about this didn’t quite smell right.

“Family classic for me is steamed fish, rice, and a lot of vegetables,” sneers Hung, “not fried chicken and creamy and buttery things. All these dishes look disgusting to me.”

Look, Hung, possum, we get it. You’re Asian, and you eat virtuously, and the Western diet is evil and artery-clogging, and you’ll outlive us all. D’accord. But, if you’re no fan of creamy and buttery things, what on earth are you doing working for Guy Savoy, master of the artichoke soup with black truffles, shaved Parmesan cheese, and warm mushroom brioche with truffle butter? Just askin’. Still, nice try at sneering Gay Villainy, o Great Eyebrow Plucker.

The cheftestants then get to pick which dish they will be reinterpreting. But! There’s a twist! They will pick in reverse order! And so the Gospels come to Top Chef, where he who was last shall be first. In this case, it was Casey, who chose the Sloppy Joe. “It must be nice to be sloppy firsts,” theorized Miss XaXa. CJ picks tuna casserole, and Lia opts for franks ‘n’ beans.

Howie picks pork chops and applesauce, and—wait, what’s that clanging of chains we hear? Is it Hamlet’s father? No, but it is the season’s second dead father, summoned by Howie to explain that the challenge resonates with him because heart disease runs in his family and his father passed away from a heart attack when Howie was young.

“Um,” Miss XaXa mused aloud, “if there’s heart disease in his family, and his dad died of a heart attack, shouldn’t he be a little less zaftig and a little more Zen? The guy’s a walking…”

“…sebaceous gland?” we suggested.

“No, a walking heart attack.” Or, as Hamlet might have put it, get thee to a gym and a shrink.

And speaking of Ophelia, here’s Micah “Fauxmicah” Edelstein, native-born U.S. citizen and product of the Bridgewater, Massachusetts, public school system: “I’m from South Africa. I’ve never eaten fried chicken. It’s just not something that interests me in the slightest. My reaction to American comfort food? Ugh!” Micah, possum, you’re perfectly entitled to your opinion, since you’re an American, and goodness knows we appreciate an internationalist point of view, but one of the things that being a world traveler is supposed to teach you is graciousness, and respect for other cultures, including your own.

Miss XaXa looked worried. “Are you alright? You’re starting to sound like a Republican: America, love it or eat it!”

Oh the dangers of falling asleep while watching Fox News!

But we digress.

Jamaica’s own Sara Mair picks chicken à la king, and then Hung, as the last to pick, opts for fried chicken and mac’ ‘n’ cheese. Now, this is important possums, because it means that the fried chicken and macaroni were available to Sara when she picked, and yet she didn’t choose them. The importance of this will be revealed later.

Then Padma reveals that the Elimination Challenge meal will be served at Miami Elks Club Lodge. Micah is brought in to disparage meat loaf, “I’m thinking that this can’t be too hard to improve upon.”

Dale is thrilled with a challenge, since updating classics is his whole shtick, and the more we see of him, the more we like him. As Miss XaXa puts it, he seems like a “dirty, dirty boy.” There’s something of a gurgling Gerber baby with a new tooth about him, but he also has an allure like a twinkling, depraved, very buff garden gnome from Amélie. In other words, Grrrrrrr. And he’s single. And he says later that he’s half Russian Lithuanian. Our math skills are as good as Sara Nguyen’s, so we’re confused; doesn’t that mean he’s a quarter Russian and a quarter Lithuanian? (Well, the manpris are unfortunate, but, as Miss XaXa is quick to point out, that’s easily remedied with a quick trip to Nordstrom.)

Talking head CJ is playing town crier tattletale again: People are incorporating cheese! That’s fat! He hopes the judges see it!

Miss XaXa notes that he looks oddly jowly during these interview segments. He’s freakishly tall and a volleyball player; whence the second chin?

When they go shopping for ingredients, our hot little Russo-Lithuanian baby Troll Doll imp buys a rotisserie chicken and instant mashed potatoes, and CJ is town crying and tattling again.

Alfred Portale's Big Night Requires a Man with a Small Hand; He Wants a Sous-Chef with a Tender Touch

As you know, possums, we like to be as thorough as possible in scrounging up bits about the judges and contestants on Top Chef.
Naturally, then, we did a spot of research on this week's guest judge, prissy, précieux erstwhile Tom Colicchio boss and Stanley Tucci lookalike, Alfred Portale. Imagine, then, to what degree we cocked an eyebrow when we came across the following semi-precious statement from the jewelry designer turned chef:

"Cooking is an intellectual thing," says Portale, "but it's also very physical." Like a baseball scout, he became a shrewd spotter of potential by observing his young protégés moving around the kitchen: "I look for a certain kind of grace and balance and speed. I look at people's hands, the way they're built. Big hands are not good. Hands like a musician—long fingers and slender hands—are."

"He sounds like a lesbian," harrumphed Miss XaXa. "I'm surprised he doesn't mention keeping your fingernails trimmed."

How, then, to explain Tom Colicchio's double tenure at Portale's restaurant, Gotham Bar and Grill? There are many things we picture when we think of Tom Colicchio, but small hands ain't one of 'em. In fact, as Miss XaXa points out, his big, meaty man-mitts are part of the attraction, the tools to deliver on what those blazing blue eyes can only promise.

Just as puzzling was Portale's choice of Howie Kleinberg as winner of the Elimination Challenge, with a stage at Gotham Bar and Grill as a prize. Whatever his virtues, Howie's not part of the Musician's Hands Club.

Finally, the whole business made us think twice about the statement in New York Magazine that "[i]f you’re dining in almost any of the city’s top restaurants...Alfred Portale has had a hand in your meal." It makes us wonder whether Kelly Ripa would let him cover her mouth.

First Reaction, Part I: Dick Around the Conch Tonight (Apologies to Bill Haley and the Comets)

Oh possums, never, not even during the run of “Sprockets” on Saturday Night Live, have we wanted to touch anyone’s monkey less, and yet, following this week’s episode (which we have subtitled, “Elks and Whelks”), Hung Huynh’s monkey is all we can think about. As Miss XaXa put it, “Is it a rhesus piece or is it a macock?”

And yet, it was in part thanks to his monkey that Hung made another stab at transforming into Hatsuhomo, demonstrating that he’s still in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Potentially Gaysian Villain. (This made up somewhat for last week’s performance, where the self-anointed CPA, Certified Professional Asshole, acted more a like a real CPA and less like a real asshole as he helped Sara Nguyen figure out that 20 times 10 equals 200, and that she was using up her whole budget on meat, thus helping her into the top three during the Elimination Challenge.)

As Hatsuhomo, Hung finally answered the question, What Would Gong Li Do?

Well, for starters, how about hogging shellfish, leaving defenseless crayfish to die on the floor, turning off ovens, referencing your monkey, and dissing Beard Award-winning chef Alfred Portale as not getting the concept? In fact, as we learned, it takes big croutons to mock Alfred “Master Chef of the World” Portale.

We were introduced to Chef Portale during the Quickfire Challenge, announced by Padma as “catch and cook,” which unforgivably reminded us of that horrible Jennifer Garner movie. (We were extremely impressed by the flourish with which Lady Rushdie pulled the cover from the fish tank holding the live seafood; it suggests a history, or a future, in game shows and magic acts.) Upon seeing Chef Portale, we thought he looked vaguely familiar. “Doesn’t he look like Adam West’s gay, nerdy accountant brother?” we asked hesitantly. “Gayer than the original Batman?” scoffed Miss XaXa. “I don't think so. Besides, Alfred was the butler on Batman. Try Stanley Tucci in The Devil Wears Prada.” Why, of course!

Joey Pickles helpfully informs us that Chef Portale is known for his plating techniques, and references the Sistine Chapel, making this the second Michelangelo reference of the season. Given what happened to Micah, the first person to reference the old sonnet-penning, marmoreal poofter, we wonder about Joey’s fate in the next two weeks. Is there, as Carrie Bradshaw might type on a PowerBook filling the screen, a Michelangelo curse? (“Make that a Micahlangelo curse,” suggested Miss XaXa.)

The contestants had mere seconds to scoop up shellfish from the tank with a net. Hung went first (though we’re not quite sure why; is it because he won the last Quickfire?; if so, how was the rest of the order determined?), and demonstrated a thing or two about Vietnamese fishermen. Even Sara Nguyen was forced to say, “Save some for the rest of us.”

A crayfish plunged to the ground from Hung’s heaping bowl, or, as CJ puts it, the “crawfish falls awry.” (He’s got the oddest locutions; is it an Orange County thing? Linguists of the world, get to it.) Mr. “How You Walk, How You Talk, How You Approach the Ingredient Tells Me Who You Are” apparently doesn’t believe in the five-second rule, and, in a move designed to endear him to PETA, leaves the wee beastie gasping for air, shell(fish)-shocking and awing the other cheftestants. Hasn’t he ever seen The Little Mermaid, or Finding Nemo? Doesn’t he know? It’s the perfect Hatsuhomo move, demonstrating his contempt for crustacean life to his competitors (Hung the Merciless!) and creating a potential slip-and-fall, premises-liability issue to wipe one of them out. He’s almost like a villain in one of those godforsaken Jackie Chan-Chris Tucker movies.

Invisible Gay Dale Levitski takes off his Invisibility Cloak, giving us the best line of the night, “I don’t really have time to dick around with a conch,” which sounds better and gayer with a Chicago accent. Indeed, it almost sounds like his coming-out statement, or, as Kanye West might have put it, “I ain’t saying he a conch-dicker, but I never seen him with no clam-digger.”

“Actually,” Miss XaXa reminded us, “clam-diggers are all he seems to wear in the kitchen.” Well, we’ve never let truth stand in the way of a bad Kanye West pun.

Hatsuhomo dismisses his competitors for mixing shellfish with white wine because “my monkey can do that.” We can’t decide if this is of the “Aw, snap” or “Meow” variety. In any event, Hung still has a ways to go in the “cutting remarks” department of Gay Villainy. Where, oh where, is George Sanders when you need him?

Pretentiously-behatted, alliteration-and-assonance-addicted poseur Brian Malarkey tells us that he had better win this seafood Quickfire, since he works in a seafood restaurant. If he didn’t win, his employers would fire him and his whole world might dissolve. “Actually, Brian,” Miss XaXa snarled at the television, “my whole world might dissolve if you don’t take off that fucking hat. Asshat! You’re losing your hair, deal with it.”

Howie, who’s got the cockteasing Bravo Redemption Edit™, makes ceviche, and, since this is a Quickfire, speeds the “cooking” of the seafood in citrus juice by adding salty sweat dripping from the end of his nose to the dish. CJ serves “fruits de mer,” which he pronounces as “froots de mare,” which in turn positively gave us the vapors. CJ, possum, it’s pronounced “FROO-EE,” like “Phooey” with an “r”; hell, you could even get away with pronouncing it “free.” But “froots”? Froots?!? We sat there clutching and kneading an antimacassar for a good five minutes before we calmed down. We won’t go so far as to say that if you can’t pronounce the name of the dish, you probably can’t cook it, but we do say, If you can’t pronounce the name of the dish, why don’t you just call it what it is, e.g., “assortment of shellfish”?

In the end, though, Asshat, his soul patch, liberal use of white wine, and his fucking habit of giving cutesy names to everything (“eyes with fries,” “medusa,” “electric venom soup,” “tres rios” [WTF?]) prove too powerful, and he and Hung’s white-wine-addled monkey win the Quickfire Challenge, which, though it makes our world dissolve, grants him, alas, immunity from elimination.