Amuse-Biatch Beats a Dead Horse Good, and Raggaydy Andy Tackles the Whole Truth About the Paradoxical "Integrity" of Editing

In the latest edition of his daily blog, and in apparent response to viewer feedback, Bravo VP Raggaydy Andy Cohen once again tackles Clippergate, why there wasn't a reunion show, and how Top Chef became unbalanced:

The lingering question that y'all want to re-address is one that I answered on Watch What Happens several weeks ago, the Elia/head shaving question. On almost every show we do ... we condense material that takes place over hours and hours of time (like cooking and judges' table) into minutes. The night in question was no different and we did not alter the integrity of what happened, which is that Marcel was bullied. That was the focus of what occured that night and what led to Cliff's dismissal the next morning.

Another question that I have been asked a lot is why Marcel was not disqualified for tackling Elia on the beach. There is not a person on the production team who equated that with Cliff's incident with Marcel weeks later. It was plain frollicking by the beach between friends, which at that point they were.

In the big picture "listening to viewers" category, we are constantly striving to find the balance between the drama and the cooking, and many of you felt we didn't hit it right this season. It IS a show about cooking but it's always a tough call in the edit room when there is drama that is informing what's going on in the kitchen between the chefs. You feel we missed the mark on that BIG TIME and I hear that loud and clear.

One of several reasons we didn't do a reunion show this season was because of your feeling that the show was too negative and the drama too intense. See season one's reunion show if you want a refresher on how a cooking reunion show can turn into an episode of "Jerry Springer" and that will further clue you in about our thoughts this year. You weren't crazy about that show, either.

We have something much better planned for the chefs this year, so watch what happens for more on that!

Now, we're going to be serious for a few minutes, so just bear with us.

While we appreciate Raggaydy Andy's addressing the question more fully than before, if we may be so presumptuous as to offer advice, part of the problem may lie in the repeated use of the word "integrity."

Take a look at how Merriam-Webster defines it:

Main Entry: in·teg·ri·ty
Pronunciation: \in-ˈte-grə-tē\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English integrite, from Middle French & Latin; Middle French integrité, from Latin integritat-, integritas, from integr-, integer entire
Date: 14th century
1 : firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values : incorruptibility
2 : an unimpaired condition : soundness
3 : the quality or state of being complete or undivided : completeness
synonyms see honesty

Now, when a thing is edited, it by definition lacks "integrity," because it is not whole or complete. But let's leave that aside for a moment. Instead, let's focus on what Raggaydy Andy says, namely, that Bravo "condense[s] material that takes place over hours and hours of time (like cooking and judges' table) into minutes." However, this, and the word "condense," seem to imply, at least to us, that the chronology of an event is preserved, e.g., if it takes a cheftestant two hours to bake a cake, the "condensation" may show it happening in two minutes, but it doesn't first show the cake being put in the oven and then the flour being mixed with the eggs. No matter how "condensed" the time, things are still shown in the order in which they occurred.

But, as we know all too well, this is not what happened in Clippergate. Bravo altered the chronology of events, and both Elia and Marcel have confirmed that Cliff and Ilan attempted to shave Marcel's head first and only after that attempt was unsuccessful did Elia and Ilan shave their own heads. And yet Bravo can't seem to admit that, and won't say, "Yes, we altered the chronology, and Elia shaved her head after the attack on Marcel." It really would be that simple. But that's what makes viewers angry, this unwillingness to own up to a clumsy lie after it has been exposed as such. And so, until Bravo comes clean or releases the "integral" video of that night, the repeated use of the word "integrity" will continue to be so jarring and ring so false.

Now back to frivolity, bitchery, and Padma Lakshmi's clothes.

Amuse-Biatch Uncovers Evidence of a Padma Lakshmi Cover-Up

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.

Fugg Boots Are Made for Walkin': "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?" Edition

We may have many fetishes, but dead horse-beating isn't one of them.

Still, when, after being shot, the horse gets up and charges at you, nostrils flaring, cheap extensions in its tossing mane, what are you supposed to do if not reach for the Winchester '73 one more time?

Which is an oblique way of saying, Good God, why didn't anyone warn us? Raggaydy Andy Cohen of Bravo did put out a sort of Gay Surgeon General's Warning about Padma's bikini top, but no one said anything about how, to continue the horse metaphor, she would be shod.

We didn't notice it the first time, but... she's... wearing... Ugg boots! And that, possums, makes this a horse of a different color.

A reader and amateur semiotician had suggested that Padma's hodgepodge, Lindsay-Lohan-on-a-bender-at-Beyoncé's-house look was a cry for a help, a covert message to the world at large. We were skeptical at first, but the Ugg boots changed our mind.

After all, we reasoned, when it comes to wearing a bikini, Padma Lakshmi Rushdie can look like this.













So why on earth would she appear looking the way she did, echoing an underfed Jessica Simpson in the collective national embarrassment that was "The Dukes of Hazzard" (and which Miss XaXa, Southerner that she is, dubbed, ahem, "Puss in Boots")?

Naturally, we thought about burglar alarms. We had just heard that if a burglar comes upon you and tries to force his way inside your house, forcing you to disable the alarm, you can enter the alarm code backwards, which will indeed disable the alarm, but also send out a silent alert to the police, who, if you've picked the right ZIP code, paid your property taxes, and chosen the right skin color, will be there in a matter of minutes to rescue you.

So, we asked ourselves, could it be? Could Padma's bikini, 'do-rag and Ugg boots be a distress call, a giant sartorial Bat(ty) Signal launched into the darkening skies of basic cable?

We looked into the hanky code, trying to determine whether Padma was attempting to send secret messages through her choice of bandana. However, as we discovered, it makes a huge difference whether you think the bandana is "brown" or "sandalwood," a difference of the sort that we couldn't possibly print, even though we are a "family" publication (in that sly, Sly and the Family Stone sort of way).

(Still, if you'd like to know, e-mail us and we'll whisper it in your ear. And should any of you "don't ask, don't tell" Pentagon codebreakers, Lacanian grad students at Yale, or Umberto Eco disciples at the University of Bologna have any insights, please feel free to chime in.)

However, the more we looked at the original photograph, the more the conspiracy spun out. Look closely. Tom Colicchio, conscientious judge that he is, looks intently focused on the food. Gail Simmons, in her Gap gaucho capris (gaupris?), is distracted by guest chef Raphael Lunetta, he of the adorable "pott bellee" (as Maria de Medeiros pronounced it in Pulp Fiction), because really, who wouldn't be? And if Marcel couldn't resist him, why should Gail?

So....Tom, Gail, and Raphael are distracted. Now look at Padma. She's--could it be?--texting. She's seized her chance. Dear God, she's Sidekicking and screaming for help! How fast can she type "I'm a celebrity, get me out here!"? (Or was it something about Soylent Green and departed cheftestants?)