His Name Was Dave Martin; He Was a Show, Girl!

We are, of course, delighted whenever we see news about Season 1 contestant Dave Martin, since, if you recall our very first post ever on this blog, he was the reason Amuse-Biatch was born in the first place. Well, that, and a quickie in the back seat of a Camry + a bottle of Shiraz + a broken condom + a Catholic grandmother who made us keep it.

But we digress.

We learned today from New York Magazine and Gawker that Lola, the New York restaurant for which walking gay tear duct Chef Dave will cook, has just gotten its liquor license, and will open in early February at its new, Soho location. We're not your bitch, bitch, but congratulations, Dave! Get us a Kleenex.

Lola, 15 Watts St., nr. Thompson St.; 212-675-6700.

99 Bottles of Beer, Off the Wall: Tom Colicchio's Subtle Argument for Repealing the 21st Amendment

Is it us, or is Tom Colicchio feeling a little contrite?

After the Thanksgiving episode, when a drunk, raging El Bully (what else is new?) threatened to beat Marcel so badly that his mother would not recognize him, all because Marcel had the temerity to move El Bully's toothbrush and make-up bag, Tom Colicchio wrote on his blog that Frank ought to be aware that physically threatening your staff could get you brought up on charges.

On this week's blog, however, Tom seems to be changing his tune a little, saying of the cheftestants, "Is it any wonder that they flip out when someone touches their toothbrush?"

Of course, to appreciate our point fully, you ought to read the whole thing:

The chefs have few pressure outlets; they’re allowed limited internet access in order to research food, but they aren’t allowed to disappear for a long walk, or hole themselves away with headphones, etc. since the show depends upon their engaging with one another. They can’t even listen to music, since this would interfere with recording dialogue! One of the only ways the chefs can blow off steam is by drinking -- which only contributes to the exhaustion. To top it all off, they have been, by necessity, divested of their money to discourage independent forays out into the world and are kept isolated from other people (except the judges, crew, and the people they feed) which gives their world a surreal, hermetic quality. Is it any wonder that they flip out when someone touches their toothbrush?

So let us get this straight. The cheftestants are required to "engag[e] with one another." They have been "divested of their money." But "[o]ne of the only ways [they] can blow off steam is by drinking." So if they've got no money, how is it they can always get their hands on alcohol? (We'll leave aside the resourceful Beer Bong, who took money from his Elimination Challenge budget to buy beer instead of cheese for his cheese steak sandwich.) Who could be giving them the booze? Could it be...Satan?

Some would call it hypocrisy. As it is Wednesday, and a new episode is promised (and one where Padma appears to look good!), we are feeling charitable, so we will call it contrition.

We have a suggestion. If the drama of the competition requires the cheftestants to be sozzled, why not incorporate this need for alcohol into the competition itself? Bring on an oenophile, sommelier, or lush as a guest judge, and as an Elimination Challenge have each cheftestant create his or her own bathtub moonshine from the remains of the Quickfire Challenge. That's definitely a show we would watch.

Julia Child's Public Drinking Exposed!

Exposed as a myth, that is.

As you have probably gathered by now, we are making our way, delicious mouthful by delicious mouthful, through David Kamp's The United States of Arugula: How We Became a Gourmet Nation, which is full of Julia tidbits. Today's finds are as follows:

"Child's antics and locutions were so alien that many viewers presumed she was drunk, respiratorily unwell, or actually French...In fact, Child was anything but sauced on the [French Chef] show. Due to budget constraints, she and the program's producers couldn't afford drinking wine for her closing toast of 'Bon appétit!' She saluted her audience not with a real glass of wine but with a glass of water darkened with GravyMaster, a coloring agent."

"Child could also be counted on to enliven that most dreaded of public-television events, the pledge drive. 'Hello, I'm Julia Child. If this goose could lay golden eggs, then we'd be all sitting pretty,' she said in one WGBH fund-raising appearance in the mid-sixties, propping up a plucked, headless bird. 'But it c-hhan't! And that's why we need your help...'"

Come to think of it, possums, it's not only the food world that owes Julia a great debt. We were musing this morning, and it came to us that Dame Edna Everage is simply inconceivable without Julia--the height, the legginess, the bouffant, the high-pitched voice, the locution, the zaniness.

Whenever we need a private chortle, we still think back to that time in the 80s when Dame Edna had Nana Mouskouri on her show. Asking the bespectacled Greek chanteuse about her divorce, Dame Edna said, "Had a Nana split, did you?" Who else would have asked that? Only Julia comes to mind.