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?
Now that the season is over, Josh “Mr. Cutlets” Ozersky—lover of the Lucullan, heterosexualist high priest of the hamburger, and sybaritic singer of the porcine pleasures that the citizens of New York are heirs to—laments what the producers of Top Chef have done (or, rather, not done) to his city:
The biggest disappointment by far — by far! — was having the show in New York, and then not doing anything with the local resources. This season could just as easily have been shot in Moonachie. Where was the visit to Katz’s? Or Flushing Chinatown? Or the run-in with David Chang? Le Bernardin may well be the best restaurant in America, but it’s not what you would call a “New York restaurant.” Every week should have brought in a real New York chef and a real New York locale. How could Top Chef, which did such good work in Chicago and Miami, not know this?
Despite the new authority conferred on him by “the disease of kings,” we disagree with his assessment of the show’s use of Chicago, but as far as New York is concerned, he is spot on. For all we know, the show was probably shot in Toronto, which so often stands in for New York (but even there they have a great food scene). As for the rest of his criticisms and suggestions, read the full corrido de Cutlets and tell us what you think.
In what sounded to us at first like an ad from Craiglist's M4M section, Spike "Asshat" Mendelsohn is soliciting someone to help him during the Burger Bash at the 2009 Food Network South Beach Wine & Food Festival, an event hosted by none other than Rachael Ray. Just imagine it, possums: Rachael Ray, Spike, and his fedora and scruff, in the same room, at the same time. Wasn't there a plot point in Lost about preventing this exact confluence of events from taking place, lest the earth rotate off its axis and implode from such concentrated annoyance? (Of course, it should be no surprise that Spike got the date wrong; it's actually taking place tomorrow, February 19, and not March 19. But perhaps that is the earth's way of saving itself; if Spike shows up in March rather than tomorrow, maybe the apocalypse will be averted.)
Seriously, possums, this is a document for the ages. Spike:
* confirms that Jen Biesty and Zoi Antonitsas have broken up, that they had broken up by the time the reunion show came around, that Zoi was “more into the breakup” than Jen, and that, indeed, Zoi brought along a new girlfriend to the reunion! Quel scandale!
* says Ryan Scott has “quite a mouth on him”
* calls Lisa Fernandes “pretty miserable of a person.” He also says he “gave her [his] old restaurant.”
* does his best impression of a red-light district catamite, though Raggaydy Andy doesn’t rise to the bait, other than to say the Greeks are “AC/DC”; what could possibly have given him that idea, Spike? Surely not the pawing, the leering, the giggling, and the suggestive talk? Nah. Anyway, we simply figured that, unlike the blond Navy boy from The Bachelor, Spike simply wasn’t Andy’s type.
* says he hit on Padma during the show. Raggaydy Andy refuses to confirm that Padma is single. Very interesting.
Can it be true, possums? Is everyone's favorite crotch-grabbing, foul-mouthed, chipmunk-cheeked, locker-punching, Lisa-hating, vanity-belt-buckled, Littlest Gangsta really leaving the Big Apple for the Big Peach, or whatever Atlanta is calling itself these days?
These people seem to think so. According to them, Dale is going to be the new chef at Aja, an Asian restaurant opening later this year "in the former Emeril's restaurant in Alliance Center near Phipps Plaza." Apparently, the restaurant is owned by the same folks that own Home, where Richard Blais is running the kitchen and recently earned four stars. As much as we would like to believe this, we can't help but note that the source says Dale Levitski while using a picture of Dale Talde, which makes us a little uneasy; if they can't tell the Dales apart, how reliable can this information be? If you possums know anything more concrete, feel free to send in the details.
According to the New York Daily News, Stephanie Izard has written a memoir to be called Tasting Menu: Why Food Equals Life, Why Restaurants Equal Soul & Why Cheese Makes Me Happy. The book is supposed to provide a "female perspective" on Chicago's best restaurants.
Possums, we’re rather tickled to have stumbled upon this little clip, in which Lisa Fernandes plays television host at the Garden Party celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center of New York City. She’s personable, she’s charming, she makes a lesbian joke, and fittingly enough, professes her love for the “I’m not your bitch, bitch” catchphrase. She also catches up with Raggaydy Andy Cohen and Season 4 guest judges April Bloomfield, Johny Iuzzini and Ted Allen.
Ted commiserates with her, telling her, “Editing is a bitch,” which Miss XaXa says is the most house-music-worthy declaration since “Rhythm is a dancer.” And most interestingly, Ted tells us in no uncertain terms that he feels he is “a pawn in the hands of [Bravo’s] editors,” and that he is glad to be working on his new Food Detectives show, where he won’t be subject to such editing.
We hasten to add that, aside from his annoying overuse of the phrase and concept of things being “a play on” other things, we like and admire Richard Blais and his creativity and maturity. This makes it all the more wince-inducing to come across this passage in an interview he did with the Phoenix, Az., East Valley Tribune:
[I]s Atlanta the right city for you? Would your style be more accepted in a New York or San Francisco?
It’s a tough question to answer as I’m walking around the parking lot of my restaurant here. I’m a New Yorker originally. I’m into college football, and a lot of college football coaches will have that one clause in their contract that’s like, “Here’s my contract, but if this one school comes calling, all bets are off.” I lived in San Francisco and I’m a new Yorker, and I love those two cities. And I love Atlanta because it’s put me on the map and there are so many people here that are great. Is it a place I can see three or four really creative restaurants surviving over a long period of time? Probably not.Just in general, if you think about the South, it takes them a long time to embrace things not as crazy as bacon ice cream, you know? Historically, it took the South a long time to embrace the civil rights movement, for example. So we’ll see where it goes.The difference is that Atlanta is a big metropolitan city and the South is almost disconnected from that. You know what I mean? I live in Atlanta. I don’t feel like I live in Georgia.
For what it’s worth, possums, we don’t think that Blais, despite his unfortunate and poorly chosen words to that effect, actually believes civil rights are “crazy.” We get what he was trying to say, but oh what a way to say it. Is a touch of megalomania (comparing his signature bacon ice cream and the civil rights movement in the first place) a more forgivable sin? Does molecular gastronomy have a recipe for foot in mouth?
*by which we mean, possums, not just that Stephanie Izard is the first female Top Chef, but, rather, that for the first time in memory, while taking a photo with a cheftestant, Miss XaXa did not show cleavage. (And sorry, Google pervs, Stephanie didn't show any cleavage either.)
At the reception in her honor, held a few hours ago at Chicago's Le Passage, Stephanie Izard proved as charming, earthy, and unaffected in person as she appeared onscreen. Rather than manifest abject terror when faced with one half of Amuse-Biatch, Stephanie got into the swing of things and had a good dish with the 'Xa. (Mind you, the 'Xa had been rendered perfectly harmless by two (or three?) of the Stephanie-created rhubarb bellinis.)
“…picking a winner sure wasn’t easy, Ted Allen told the Buzz at the James Beard Foundation awards. ‘This year, for the first time when we chose the winner, Tom [Colicchio] suggested as a part of making the decision we do some numerical models. It did help.’”
Very interesting, possums, n’est-ce pas? It suggests that the outcome was very close indeed, and that 30 Rock itself came very close to being dismantled brick by brick by angry Bravo viewers.
As you may remember, possums, last week’s elimination challenge in Puerto Rico was held at the Governor’s Palace and was hosted by the first lady, Luisa Gandara Acevedo, who made the briefest of appearances, just long enough for her name to flash onscreen.
Having seen the hostess, we wondered where the host was. We remembered having read about Governor Aníbal Acevedo Vilá in the newspaper recently, and when we went back and had a look, we began to get a better idea of why the governor may not have wanted to appear on t.v. with a whole pig.
Gov. Aníbal Acevedo Vilá of Puerto Rico, charged in a federal indictment…with campaign finance violations, denied any wrongdoing and vowed to remain in office and fight the charges. Among the 19 criminal counts he faces are tax fraud and using campaign money to pay for family vacations in Miami; Orlando, Fla.; and China; to pay for $57,000 worth of “high end” clothing; and to pay personal credit card bills….The indictment, from a grand jury investigation that lasted more than two years, also charged 12 associates of Mr. Acevedo on the island and in the United States mainland with participation in illegal fund-raising. Mr. Acevedo, 48, said he would surrender to the authorities on Friday. He faces up to 20 years if convicted on all counts, the authorities said.
Oh dear. Well, possums, you know what they say—pigs get fat, hogs get slaughtered.
Well, possums, it was quite a hectic weekend, we don’t mind telling you, at Amuse-Biatch headquarters as the Rules and Bylaws Committee (Miss XaXa and yours truly) met in a marathon session. Protesters wielding torches, pitchforks and frozen scallops amassed outside the gates of Withering Depths, our baronial seat, daring to brave the lashing rain of the Snarkshire Moors. Inside, Miss XaXa (ah, the importance of commas), having stood all day in her Louboutins, demanded to be seated.
Fortunately, following a well-lubricated, three-hour lunch, a compromise was reached.
Contrary to what you might imagine, the dispute was not about deciding between Richard Blais and Stephanie Izard, both competent and likable individuals. Miss XaXa argued (and continues to argue) that Stephanie is her favorite, the one she’d most like to take out for duck confit and wine. And yet, as likable as Stephanie and Richard are, there was another contender, and for the sake of blog unity we had to consider who had been the best for the blog. Who was the most fun to write about, who gave us the most material (just look at all the posts we wrote), who could not ever open his mouth without pearls—nay, entire pearl necklaces—of smarm falling out?
The choice was clear.
And so, sports fans—er, possums—even though we were not hisfavorite, he is ours. Amuse-Biatch is proud to endorse Ryan Scott for fan favorite.
From the interview that our pals at YumSugar conducted with Spike Mendelsohn:
YS: So you were pretty familiar with the show [Top Chef]? SM: I had definitely watched the show. I had a couple friends who were on the show. [Season 2's] Marcel [Vigneron] was a good friend of mine from culinary school, and Harold [Dieterle] from season one I also got to know.
Andrew D'Ambrosi on why he didn't hit Lisa Fernandes: “I signed that contract; I’m not allowed to do things. Otherwise there would have been 400% more headbutts than any other season.”
Then, in the most tantalizing--and, alas, abruptly edited--bit, Andrew and Spike discuss how Andrew planned to throw Dale Talde out a window at the "Top Chef" house after the cameras left, presumably the same night as Dale's legendary, crotch-grabbing outburst.
Andrew: “That crazy night where he yelled at everybody, I told him to shut the f up, and he didn’t shut up, and I went away for a little bit. And I came back down and he was still crying, and I’m, like, ‘Dude, you have undeserved anger,’ and for some reason that set him off….He tried to, like, run at me, and Blais tried to, like, hold him…” And that’s where Bravo cuts the tape.
Ever since Season 2, our pal Lesley at Eater LA has been the undisputed Queen of Spoilers, and this year, possums, the crown sits ever more comfortably upon her locks. Once again, she has come up with the season finale spoilers. Proceed at your own risk.
Jean Cocteau once wrote that “les privilèges de la beauté sont immenses,” but no matter how great the privileges of beauty, we almost—and it may simply be old age, possums, or a touch of the black bile—feel sorry for the purtiest cheftestant of all time, San Franciscan Ryan Scott.
“Oh, come off it,” snapped Miss XaXa. “He certainly picked the right city to have such a purty mouth in. Not to mention those handle-ears. He’s like a soup mug.”
Well, so much for the Kelly LeBrock of the reality food television world.
As The Modesto Bee is only too immodesto to tell us, Ryan Scott was born in the titular city, but soon enough moved to Los Baños, which, should your Spanish fail you, possums, means, “The Baths.” Of course, it also means, “The Bathrooms.”
“Wait,” said Miss XaXa, who has personal experience with the Central Valley of California, “doesn’t that mean we can say he’s literally from the dumps?”
Oh dear, yet another strike against the shit-eating grin. And the bonnie lad already has so many strikes against him.
Eater SF, which has breathlessly and gleefully chronicled all things Ryan, dug up a “(more-than- ) slightly ridiculous video” in which Ryan, dubbed “Sexy Chef,” oleaginously discusses fish and brags about his time in Hawaii while cheesy porn music plays in the background. Eater SF also caught Ryan training as a waiter at Pier 23 Café, despite being the chef at Myth Café. And our pal Josh Ozersky of Grub Street, who watched an advance copy of the new season’s first episode, describes Ryan as possessed of “such surpassing smugness that [he is] already rooting against him.”
Add to that the porn-star name, the pink-flowered shirt, and the perfectly groomed hair—it’s hard to tell if it’s slicked with gel or self-regard—and it becomes hard to see the pretty boy for the strikes.
Not that it means anything, of course. In his Bravo profile video, Ryan is the only one who hastens to invoke his girlfriend: “I don’t take longer than a half an hour when I cook at home for my girlfriend and I [sic].”
Ok, Ryan, got it. Though you are the chef at Myth Café, your girlfriend is anything but mythical (though ours always were).
In a show of mock-humility that must have required a great deal of energy to perform, Ryan declares in the same Bravo video, “I’m a little hidden in the back, which is fine, actually; that’s the way I want it.” Oh, falsely modesto bee, no one who looks like you or grooms like you is fine with being hidden in the back.
But this, Ryan, possum, is exactly why we can’t wait to be entertained by you throughout the season. Now if we could only settle on a nickname for you.
We suggested the Immodesto Bee, but Miss XaXa favored Soup Mug, or “Mugs.” We countered with Little Pitcher, since, as you know, possums, little pitchers have big ears, but Miss XaXa responded, “Actually, he looks like a catcher.”
What are we to do? It may, in the end, come down to Ryan’s Hopeless.
As you know, possums, the old adage advises leaving the kitchen when the heat gets to be too much. Fortunately, our dear friends The Gals—epicurean adventuresses, Top Chefchroniqueuses, tongue-in-cheek PhotoShoppeuses, and incurable gourmandes with a deliciously telling fixation on the undergarment choices of the high, the mighty, and the merely notorious of the food-world establishment—are nothing if not cussed, strong-minded females, which, doggone it, is just how we like our women.
These karma chameleons have therefore built themselves a new kitchen and decided to crank up the heat. Their new abode is called The Karmic Kitchen, and you are invited to pull up a chair. The Gals will, naturally, still dish up their trademark LucullanTop Chef coverage, but will also discuss all things culinary, gustatory, and gastronomic.
The table is set, the oven is hot, so come on get some in The Karmic Kitchen. If you’re good, the Gals will even let you break the dishes.
