Possum Sighting: Nimma Osman Has a Job!

Possums, we got a note from faithful Amuse-Biatch reader Ryan (not that Ryan, obviously), who had a sighting to share with us:

While in Atlanta this past weekend we ate at our favorite breakfast spot Sun In My Belly (Kirkwood). Who should we see cooking but Top Chef contestant Nimma...remember her?

Indeed we do, Ryan, indeed we do. At any rate, we are glad to hear she is gainfully employed, as we had heard that she left her previous position a bit dramatically. If you'll pardon our lapse into the vulgate, it always sucks to be the first one kicked off. Perhaps Bravo could take a page from Tyra Banks and give the "firsties," Suyai, Clay, Nimma, and what's 'is name from Season 1, a chance at redemption.

At any rate, our thanks to Ryan for sending in the sighting. Please feel free to follow his example (pics much appreciated, bien sûr). And of course if you have yearbook photos of any of the cheftestants, you just know we'd love to hear from you.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Nikki Cascone Finally Remembers Where She Saved the Extra Onions and Peppers for the Judges

Though It Requires Every Last Ounce of Self-Control, Amuse-Biatch Has No Comment, Bites Forked Tongue Hard

From Ryan Scott's March 17, 2008, interview with our pals at YumSugar:

YS: Are you worried about how you're going to be perceived?
RS: Wow. Good question. How'd Andrew answer that? [Laughs] I guess I don't care. I was myself. I'm trying not to read all the freaking blogs. People critiquing you who don't know you, or they know you and worked with you in the past. . . . I went in there and knew I was truly myself all the way through. Editing is a beautiful thing. One of the blogs said I was the bad guy. How in the hell did I come off as the bad guy?


From Ryan Scott's April 18, 2008, interview with our pals at YumSugar:

YS: Sounds good, we can't wait to hear more about this. But now we have just one last question, have you been reading the blogs?
RS: No. Why what do you want to know? Is there something one of them says?
YS: Oh nothing in particular, we were just wondering if you've been reading what people have to say about you.
RS: No, Sam recommended that I don't read them, so I haven't been. Why is there something negative I should know about?

Little Mozart of the Fryolator Keeps Getting Younger and Younger

Possums, some people just don’t know when to stop.

Take, for instance, Ryan Scott, the Little Mozart of the Fryolator, who, as we detailed, described how his father allowed him to work as a line cook for several weeks as an 11-year-old. As Ryan put it, “At 11, I jumped on the line with my father, and my dad fired two people after the first two or three weeks because I outcooked them at 11.”

As our friend, Miss Upton Sinclairol, explained, if such a thing did actually happen, it was likely a gross violation of California’s child-labor laws that might well have resulted in fines of up to $10,000 and criminal prosecution. It seemed a bit of a sticky situation, for, in his bit of braggadocio, Ryan had, it appeared, either fibbed or exposed his father as a lawbreaker.

Our opinion tended toward the former option, because other statements from Ryan in a newspaper interview suggested that the grade schooler who “cook[ed] his family crazy concoctions, like sloppy chili melts and herb experiments from the garden,” which his family would then eat out of support for him, could not also be such a competent cook, and on a restaurant line, no less, that he was the equivalent of two adult line cooks.

Now, in one of his most recent interviews, Ryan is, as he might have put it on this week’s episode, going bigger, and possibly going from the Little Mozart to the Little Munchausen of the Fryolator. To wit:

“I started at a really young age, my parents had a restaurant [this is presumably the Chubby’s restaurant franchise that, per the newspaper account, Ryan’s family ‘briefly owned’ while he was in elementary school] and I started cooking there at age 8. My parents have always encouraged and supported me, they pushed me and never discouraged me even when I made some not so delicious food.”

Ah, let’s see. So he was working in the restaurant when he was eight, rather than when he was 11 (which would make the child-labor law violations even more egregious, while seeming also to implicate his mother) and he was not competent because he made “some not so delicious food.” That seems like a blending of both our theories. At any rate, that’s quite the hat trick (or some such sports metaphor; we’re not sports fans either).

As any self-avowed “metrosexual” should know, even if you can’t keep yourself straight, you do have to keep your story that way. We look forward to the next iteration of the story, wherein Ryan will delight us with tales of how, while still in the womb, he would poach pears in amniotic fluid.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: The Nip Slip That Almost Was

Possums, in many ways, the most suspenseful subplot of this week's episode was not who would be kicked out, or who would fall out, but whether Padma would fall out--of her stripey bar wench shirt and show the world her beer, er, mugs.

First, it was on the right.



















Then it was on the left.

















And then on the right again.

















And then on the left.














A real nail-biter, that. Alas, it came to naught (and not naughty).

Hands Up, Pencils Down: Self-Avowed “Metrosexual” Has a Spell

Possums, we might as well tell you. There's a plethora of Ryan Scott posts on the way. After our recent unexpected and unwanted hiatus, we've a lot of pent-up blogging urges, but also, we won't have Ryan around anymore after this week, so we're going to get it all out of our system now. Alors, brace yourselves.

At any rate, one of the (many, many) things we've wondered about Ryan as we watched him with repulsion, fascination and glee is why he always sported a pencil behind his ear. Did he think it made him look rakish? Was it a secret code, like green on Thursdays? Why not wear leeks, like the Welsh? Miss XaXa surmised that it might be so as to be able to slip his phone number to other non-"sports fans."

But on Wednesday's episode we saw him using it, as the editors gave us a quick glimpse of the list on which he tried to keep track of the “five-course meal with dessert, pastry, mignardise, mint on your pillow” that was to prove his downfall. Yet another instance of Bravo editors giving another small twist to the knife. One gets the sense that he really endeared himself to all and sundry.
















And wouldn't you know it, poor old Ryan couldn't even spell, unless it was a Freudian slip. "Hot Coco," possum, as you ought to know from living in San Francisco, is more likely to be a drag queen's name. Or Ice-T's wife.

"And what's the difference?" queried Miss XaXa.

Well, we had to admit she had us there.

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Self-Avowed “Metrosexual” Assumes Position

Confidential to Bravo editors: Zooming in on his crotch and superimposing Padma Lakshmi's name on it was a stroke of sheer fuck-you genius.

First Reaction: Not (the) Shit

Possums, we don’t know if it’s simply that absence makes the heart grow fonder, or that, after the difficult personal circumstances that necessitated our recent absence, our critical faculties have been dulled, but last night’s episode was fantastic: a pointless and irrelevant challenge serving as the background for a one-act opera about revenge, condescension, bitchiness, bears, and drunken orgies at the tubs—in other words, the gay world writ large (and small) by Bravo. Our only regret: we won’t have smarmy “metrosexual” (uh-huh) Ryan Scott to kick around anymore.

More analysis and bitchery as the day continues.

As Self-Proclaimed Asshole Dale Talde Learns, Lesbian-Bitch Karma's a Bitch

So let's get this straight, possums.

Dale Talde--a self-proclaimed asshole who, in his own words, has "no off button," and who, if the testimonials are to be believed, reduces servers to tears and makes them quit--went off on Lisa Fernandes because of her negative attitude? Oh how we cackled with glee.

For, you see, Little Dale was about to learn one of the basic rules of life. Never, ever--and we mean, ever!--piss off a lesbian. Normally gentle creatures, when angered they can hold a grudge--and a softball bat. End result? Broken kneecaps. Dale, Dale, Dale, tsk tsk. Lisa's resemblance to Rosie O'Donnell is no mere coincidence.

But let's be frank, shall we? Dale wasn't angry because of Lisa's "negativity." Pas du tout. Instead, Dale--who is Asian, works at Buddakan, and prides himself on his mastery of Asian cuisine--was out-Asianed by a white chick from Toronto. And Asian Asian-food expert Ming Tsai Tsaid so. As sports fan say, "That's gotta hurt."

So how did this shake out? Let's see. Lisa won the Elimination Challenge, the admiration of Ming Tsai, and an expensive and luxurious trip to Italy. Dale won the Elimination Challenge, and a Top Chef football jersey and a gas grill for his New York apartment. Need we say more? We hope you've learned your lesson, Dale.

Divinyl New Couple: Is Tom Colicchio Cheating on First Husband?

Possums, we saw it the first time, and we are seeing it again: when Tom Colicchio breaks out the gay hat, there's trouble a-brewin'. Remember this little gem from last season?
















As we said last year, the greatest problem with this look for Tom is that the hat, as Lisa Fernandes might have put it, squeals, "Great, bitch--have fun on the bottom."

Is the great subtextual narrative arc of Top Chef now about Colicchio's journey of self-acceptance? As with the zoo episode and the poll anointing the head judge as a bear, there's an argument to be made that Bravo conceived this particular episode only so that Tom Colicchio could sport a Bears jersey. Is it just, as Edina Monsoon used to say, "Mummy's little joke, darling," with Bravo having a snigger? (This week's most-ridiculous-ever, Divinyls-referencing poll--in a game of touch football, would you rather touch Padma, Tom, or yourself?--would seem to suggest as much. Mind you, it also suggests utter contempt for the audience.) Or is Bravo trying to nudge Colicchio over the edge? Of course, Tom does himself no favors by proclaiming Chicago as the kind of town where "sausage is like a religion."

Because, as Miss Xaxa is quick to point out, by way of warning, "In that case, you might well find God while on your knees."