Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: The Ravages of Time, Hormones and Sugar; the Persistent Doucheyness of Wallet Chains and Thumbs in Pockets

Amuse-Biatch Het Thursday: The Man Says Yowza! The Gay Says, Didn't You Know Satin Wrinkles?!

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: Padma Lakshmi Contemplates the Spillage of Golden Seed

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: Padma Lakshmi Shows Us the Jewels of Denial

À la Recherche du Lundi Hétéro Perdu: Proustian Padma Lakshmi Tries to Turn La Puente, California, Into Combray by Way of Dazed and Confused

Top Chef Shocker: Padma Lakshmi Will Pose Nude at the Drop of a Hat, But Draws the Line at Wearing a Showgirl Costume

Amuse-Biatch Heterosexual Monday: “Show, Girl”: In Preparation for Top Chef: Las Vegas, Padma Lakshmi Shows Us How to Play the Slots

Though, given her penchant for billionaires, possums, it’s certain to take more than a nickel if you want to play.

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.

Top Chef: Masters and Margaritaville

Possums, it is with the sanity of bloggers as with Roquefort cheese—it’s a goodly spell in a nice, dark cave that does the trick.

In our case, you have only to imagine the salutary effects of 90-odd (and 90 odd) days with nary a thought about His Bearness or, um, Her Highness. Week upon glorious week neither knowing nor caring about Padma’s apartment, her burger commercial, or her wearing of silk charmeuse without a bra on noticeably cold nights at public events.

Day upon day unfolding without ever having to hear the phrase “throw under the bus,” or ponder the ominous portent of scallops, or come up with ursine metaphors, or decipher the semiotics of fauxhawks and t-shirts obviously chosen to attract attention.

Night upon night of sleep undisturbed by dark dreams of Bravo conspiracies bearing the suffix “-gate.” Rien de rien, possums.

By the end, we had very nearly returned to our customary, half-human state.

And then it occurred.

Suckling at the teat of cable television one afternoon, we landed on an oh-so-alliterative Food Network show titled Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives, hosted by preposterously peroxided putz Guy Fieri. Normally, we are as allergic to him as he is to long trousers and intellectual depth. Indeed, chez Amuse-Biatch the show is referred to as Douchebag, Dipshit, and Dumbass. This time, though, we cocked our head and said aloud to ourselves, “You know, he’s kind of charming.”

The Patsy Stone-like scream from Miss XaXa was blood-curdling. We cannot say whether it was “No, Eddie, nooooo!” or “No, Charlus, nooooo!” we heard before we lost consciousness. It was not sal volatile or booze that brought us round, but, rather, Miss XaXa’s perfectly manicured nails digging into our neck as she dragged us by the scruff to where our laptop lay in desuetude. “That’s it!” she kept saying, “Vacation over! It’s time!”

So, yes, possums, we are back to the venom, vim, and vitriol of the internet, and we will be blogging the bejeezus out of Top Chef: Masters. The show premieres Wednesday, June 10, at 10 p.m.

Despite Feeling Like a Deer in Some *Very* Nice Headlights, Amuse-Biatch Attempts to Stay Abreast of News and Rumors

Look, possums, we’re not blind (though, it must be said, we were very nearly blinded). We know all too well that the main issue on viewers’ minds during the Top Chef finale was not who would win, but, rather, what was up with Gail Simmons’ breasts?

Is she trying, singlehandedly and double-barreledly, to turn Bravo’s gay viewers straight? (There’s a frightening, but distinct, possibility that it might just do the trick for us. A de-Gailing?)

From far and wide (even our mother called to ask) came the purple-hued cry, Is Gail with child?

We think the answer is no. Here’s the evidence:

The Gail doth quaff. Indeed, as Raggaydy Andy recounts on his blog, after filming of the finale wrapped, early in the morning, Gail and the gang went out for drinks:

“…the entire crew and chefs went to a dive bar around the corner and celebrated the end of the season. We were surrounded by local NOLAholics, some who popped in around 7 a.m. for a nip in suits on their way to work. I took Gail out of there around 8 when a bar fight broke out. It was that kind of joint.”

As such, we think Ms. Gail is not with child. She does do a grand job of upstaging the Pads—how do you like that, Padma, how do you like that? In your face!

So what is the explanation for this recent fulsomeness and glow? We put it down to marriage.

Last Season’s Top Chef, Stephanie Izard, on Whether Padma Lakshmi Follows the Acapulco Golden Rule

Possums, as much as we like and appreciate last season’s Top Chef winner, Stephanie Izard, we cannot help but concede that she, being a cautious and intelligent sort (drats!), hasn’t always given the most thrilling of interviews (although perhaps in these Caseygate times, that’s not such a bad thing). So it is with great pleasure that we perused one of the liveliest Izard interviews to date, where she discusses her soon-to-open restaurant in Chicago and how she is confident she will beat Hosea Rosenberg during their upcoming cook-off in Aspen. But our favorite exchange was this:

Q. Settle a rumor: Does Padma like to share her weed or no?
A. Does she seem like the type who shares? That would not be very diva would it?

Another Gay Falls for the Pads

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Do Padma and Madonna Have Something in Common?

Try if you can, possums, to ignore for just a moment the retina-searing outfit that Pads is wearing. Focus instead on her wrist. Is that one of them red stringy thingies from Kabbalah? Has she become a Padmaterial Girl?

Padma Lakshmi Tries to Get the Smell of Bacon Burgers Out of Her Hair with Pantene

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Perhaps Practicing for a Carl's Jr. Burger, Padma Lakshmi Opens Impressively Wide

She Shills by the Sea Shore: Padma Lakshmi Makes Her Bid at Paris Hilton-dom

Let’s see, possums. The same week that Tom Colicchio was revealed as a shill for Diet Coke, and the same night that Padma Lakshmi referred to Stefan Richter’s dessert as “pedestrian at best” (at which point we half expected a lightning bolt of irony to drop casually from Zeus’ hand and smite her), good ole Pads was herself revealed as the newest shill for Carl’s Jr., following in the stiletto-wearing footsteps of Paris Hilton.



According to People Magazine, Padma claims the television ad, directed by the same cinematic “genius” who did the Paris Hilton carwash ad, is “a beautiful love song to food….I think eating in itself is the act of great sensuality, so all you have to do is point the camera in the right direction.”

Pedestrian indeed. And what could possibly make Padma so hungry all the time?

First Reaction: Aw Shucks Oysters

Gail, Gail, Gail.

Even if nothing else during the episode had worked, the return of Gail Simmons would have been enough. In Hootie’s words, “Love ya, girl!”

But that was actually quite a tasty episode. We got: Carla winning the challenge (and a car, and bemoaning the unreliable character of men’s promises in a "Bessie Smith does Much Ado About Nothing" soliloquy); the return of Leah Cohen (who apparently learnt how to use make-up in the interim); Fabio's pink scarf and mohawk; Carla's new hair; our little longer-haired scallop Jamie Lauren (though she went a tad overboard on the Miss Clairol or the lemon juice); Jeff’s chance at redemption (sadly, no more treasure-trail shots by cameramen intent on objectifying him); “a butt-rubbing contest”; Stefabio forcibly separated; Carla's beautiful table manners; more phallocentric taunting of Hosea (just what does Stefan know? Did he see Hosea naked in the bathroom?); Padma looking like a mail-order whore in a Sergio Leone western; Fabio revealing that he’s watched masked porn; Jeff McInnis mispronouncing “chipotle”; Stefan as Mr. Grits; a patient, inoffensive, and understanding Emeril Lagasse; and Gail, Gail, Gail.

Oh, and as you can see from the picture above, Stefan actually did help Carla shuck her oysters. So much for the soulless villain.

Jeff McInnis: “In a Past Life, Padma [Lakshmi] Was a Cow and She Just Sat in a Salt Lick the Whole Time, Just [Licking]”

Wow, possums, just wow.

We don’t know where to start with Jeff’s statement (made in this video at the 5:40 mark): the Hindu thing (reincarnation, cow), the rather stinging if amusing notion of a bovine Padma, the connection between Padma and saltiness, or Jeff’s rather good impression of Padma as a cow or rather bad impression of a cunning linguist.

Well, as Jeff himself put it after his comment, “Jesus, I know that’s gonna burn me.”

Perhaps, but he seems only the latest in a long list of those speaking ill of Pads. Why, oh why, does no one seem to care for her? When did she became a not-so-sacred cow?

Amuse-Biatch Tries, and Fails, to Parse the Shadings of Regret: Leah Cohen in Her Own Words

People Magazine:

Everybody is wondering, what’s your relationship with Hosea like now?
We’re really good friends. He’s my boy. I love him like a friend. Just straight off the bat we just gravitated together, and it was one night where we kissed. We were drunk and we kissed. It just happened. Of course, I wouldn’t have cheated on my boyfriend on national television, which was probably the most f—-d up thing I did on the show. I can’t take that back. I’ll take full responsibility for my actions.

Do you regret what happened at all?
I definitely regret cheating on [my boyfriend] on national television. He’s not my boyfriend anymore because of what happened on the show and other things. Do I regret kissing Hosea? Um, yes — but no at the same time. I don’t know. It’s weird. Whatever it is, I did [it]. So, there’s nothing I can do to change it.

E! Online:

Well, what did happen between you and Hosea?
We were really good friends and we kissed one night, that was pretty much it. What they showed on TV was really the extent of our relationship beyond the friendship that happened. And that was it. We hung out all the time. But I also hung out with Stefan all the time, and they didn't put that in at all. I was predominately with Hosea, Stefan and Fabio for the entire time. I didn't hang out with the girls that much.

Did you tell your boyfriend what happened?
When I got home, I told my boyfriend what happened, and then it was three months later when it came on the show. It wasn't forgotten, but it was, like, it happened, whatever.

…

Let's go back to Toby Young. What did you think of him as Gail's replacement?
Toby Young is a douchebag. He was just, like, whatever. He didn't bring much to the show. He didn't bring much to me as a judge like Gail. You valued her opinion. I thought his witty banter didn't do much for constructive criticism. My friends are like, "Who is this f--king douchebag?"


Grub Street:

What about your interaction with Hosea?
Everyone paired off and gravitated towards whoever they got along with the best. With Jamie, it was Ariane and Carla. With Danny, it was Gene. And for me it was Hosea. Did they portray it accurately? No. But we did have a connection and a strong friendship.

Did that get out of hand?
Yeah. That episode where we kissed should have never happened.

Do you regret that?
Yeah, absolutely I regret that happening. It was silly and it was a mistake.

TV Guide

TVguide.com: Did you know that the cameras caught you and Hosea kissing?
Leah: Actually, I didn't. They usually leave when everyone is going to sleep.

TVguide.com: How did your boyfriend take the news?
Leah: I went home and told him right away. He was fine with it, and then he saw the actual footage and wasn't fine with it. I guess the way I said it was kind of like, "Oh, I kind of kissed a guy on TV." Then he saw it and was like, "No, you were flirting with this guy the entire show, and then on top of that, you made out with him." Needless to say, he was not cool about it, and we are not together anymore.

Endless Simmer

OK, enough with the softball questions. Let’s talk about Hosea. What happened?
Not much. Whatever you saw on TV was pretty much the extent of what went down. We hung out all the time, we’re really good friends, and then we kissed — on TV. Nothing else happened. We’re really just friends and it went a little too far. We’re just good friends, we’re not romantically involved, and I wouldn’t say that we were on the show. I see him as a friend.

Are you still with your bf?
No. Unfortunately not.

….

What about the judges?
Gail is awesome. She was really nice and spot-on, but really critiqued us in a postivie and constructive way. Padma, well Padma is Padma. There’s really nothing else to say. I don’t have anything nice to say about Padma, so I’m not goig to say anything. Toby, I didn’t get. He was just brought in to give his English wit and I just didn’t get it at all. Tom, I have a lot of respect for.

What did you think of Bravo’s portrayal of you?
I kind of stopped watching halfway through the season. I didn’t really like it. They made me seem like this clingy girl who was just throwing herself at Hosea, and that wasn’t how it went down at all. But that was a storyline that I guess was interesting, so whatever.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Padma Lakshmi Does Her Best with Wardrobe Choices to Make Sure That It *Is* Jacques Pépin’s Last Meal

No wonder the poor man kept looking to his left.

It reminds us of a terrible joke one of our high school teachers told us from his Mormon missionary days in France, and that Jacques might know: Pourquoi un soutien-gorge est-il comme le paradis? Parce que les seins y sont. (Why is a bra like Paradise? Because that’s where the breasts are.). It turns on the fact that the French word for saints, “saints” is pronounced very much like the French word for breasts, “seins.”

Anyway, Padma, for God’s sake, the man is 73. Oh wait, never mind, that’s her target age range.

Still, you’ll have to fight Carla, since she and Jacques are like this.