Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Kelly Choi's Retina-Scarring Wardrobe Explained: She Uses a Blindfold While Dressing

The Bravery of Synergy

First, possums, may we say just one thing?

When, on the premiere episode of this season of Top Chef Masters, Kelly Choi announced that the band The Bravery would be judging the Quickfire Challenge, and Tony Mantuano allowed as how he had some songs by them on his iPod, we heard but one voice in our head.

It was our heavily accented mother, gimlet eye coming through the accent as she said, “Bool cheet.” Miss XaXa’s response was a more measured, “Yeah, right,” in reaction to which we tamped down our inner mother and said, “Pull the other leg; it’s got bells on it.”

Were we like Jill Zarin, we would immediately have demanded that Mantuano pull out his iPod for inspection. Fortunately, we are not like Jill Zarin, or maybe not entirely, for we did smell a fiery-Cheeto rat.

Why, possums, why would this particular band be called upon? With the Foo Fighters on Top Chef there was at least the excuse that they were fans of the show. The excuse here was that one band member has a culinary degree, a connection that is, shall we say, tenuous at best. (In our research, we discovered, as per Wikipedia, that a couple of the band members went to Vassar, and our eyes widened. We remembered a couple of galpals in college who had boyfriends attending Vassar, and oh the stories we heard! The theory was that it had something to do with the pressure of attending a former women’s college, the first of the Seven Sisters; how else to explain the crying jags and the penchant for cucumbers in intimate situations? And The Bravery do have lesbian haircuts and a song called “Hate Fuck.” But we digress.)

Possums, the fact of the matter is that The Bravery’s record label is Island Def Jam, which is owned by Universal Music Group. “Wait,” said Miss XaXa, her voice quivering with rapidly dying innocence, “Universal, as in NBC Universal, which is the parent company of…”

Yes, possum, Bravo.

We were shocked, shocked, nay, even gobsmacked. Who knew you could buy synergy at the gas station?

It’s right next to the pork rinds, we were informed by the gas station attendant. When we asked him, “Well, wouldn’t some kind of disclosure about The Bravery have been nice?,” the attendant only laughed and asked if we wanted our car washed.

So, Chef Mantuano, politeness and go-along-to-get-along-ness and Countless LuAnn good manners are all well and good, but what would you have done if Justin Bieber were the guest judge? Hmmmm? Consider yourself pardoned but narrowly escaped.

Oh wait, never mind. Justin Bieber is also part of Island Def Jam. Carry on, Chef Mantuano, carry on.

Amuse-Biatch and the Issue of Prejudgment Interest

Oh, possums, how our nonexistent little hearts have fluttered for weeks each time we heard the Bravo announcer jauntily intone, “From the producers of Top Chef….”

It’s just the sort of clarion call to which our hearts have previously responded. Indeed, who among us hasn’t experienced an expectant swoon upon hearing, “From the makers of Metamucil” or “From the producers of White Chicks”?

And so it is with great delight that we awoke today, knowing that tonight is the premiere of I’m a Celebrity Chef (I Wish!), Get Me Out There….

Ah, just a minute, possums, Miss XaXa is pointing to the press release and mouthing something. It appears the show is actually called Top Chef Masters.

Dang it, we think there ought to be a colon in there, the way there has been for Top Chef: Miami, etc. After all, without the colon, the show’s title seems redundant (if they’re top chefs, they’re also masters, n’est-ce pas?) or misleading (if they’re supposed to be the masters of Top Chef, then that arguably means only Harold Dieterle, (God spare us!) Ilan Hall, Hung Huyhn, Stephanie Izard, and, ahem, Hosea Rosenberg). And so, for as long as we’re blogging the show, we’re going to call it Top Chef: Masters. (See, possums? 90 days have not done away with our streak of pedantry.)

Not having seen the show, we will, for the next several hours, withhold judgment. We will admit, though, that there are troubling signs. The reviews we’ve read have focused on what a kinder, gentler version of Top Chef this is. No liquor, no bunk beds, no nookie, oy vey. Indeed, the New York Daily News refers to Top Chef: Masters as a “wade in the kiddie pool” (and means it as a compliment!). What has the world come to?

As for the replacements for Tommy, Pads, and the gang, well, we will know in due time (though we think it most unsporting and, again, potentially misleading, that the original teasers for Top Chef: Masters contained no indication that the Gang of Four would not be back in their roles). We will say this, though, based on the video below. Kelly “Padma Lite” Choi seems far too nice for the job. Dare we say we will miss the Pads, who can go from cannabimbo to ice princess in the flip of her Pantene’d locks? (Hey, we’re not knocking her Pantene gig; how else are you going to wash the smell of a Carl’s Jr. burger out of your hair?)


Apparently, Top Chef: Masters will be a “tournament-style” competition (we’re told by reliable jocks that this has something to do with the sports world) in which the 24 chefs (some of whom actually qualify for the title of “master”) will do their darnedest to score some scratch for charity while trying to prevent their (in some cases incipient) television careers from taking a hit. With that in mind, we have as of now established but one ground rule: We will not make fun of anyone’s chosen charity. Not, of course, because we’re incapable of it, but, rather, because who the hell wants to tickle the bony ankles of bad karma In Times Like These? As for everything else, it’s fair game. Gird your loins, luvs.