Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Bravo Editors and the Art of the Reaction Shot

Amuse-Biatch Gallery of Bad Jews

Lest you think, possums, that this is a reference to Inglourious Basterds, we hasten to add that this is taken from Robin Leventhal’s statement, “Well, I’m a bad Jew, and pork would be my vice.” Bad Jews are, of course, our favorites. (In our youth, we had a Jewish boyfriend—uh, same-sex boyfriend, as Ash Fulk would put it—whose preferred Saturday morning breakfast item was a little sliced turkey with a lot of bacon on a bagel. Eating it in bed (1) on the Sabbath (2) with a Catholic (3) of the same sex made it a treyf trifecta plus two, but we digress.)

Speaking of which, didn’t you love it when, after Robin’s pronouncement, those sly Bravo editors cut to the chercest of the Chosen, the Lioness of the tribe of Judah, Ms. Gail Simmons herself? Gail, fresh from bathing in Michael Chiarello’s mushroom polenta on Top Chef Masters, tossed her head ever so slightly and laughed her “Song of Solomon”-inspiring, Wong Kar Wai-esque version of Anita Ekberg’s Trevi-fountained laughter in La Dolce Vita…uh, excuse us, possums, while we remind ourselves that we are gay.

So, without further ado, here are the shocking pictures of Eli Kirshtein promoting bacon and handling shrimp.

Top Chef “Yes, We Have No Bananas” Shocker: Lesbian Falls into Semiotic Trap!

Who, you? Yes, you.

It’s no use looking shocked and sheepish. You’ve been found out. How, Preeti, possum, how do you fall into these semiotic traps?

First came the encounter with the Sorting Hat at the start of the Quickfire Challenge, in which you showed the world just how lucky and satisfied your girlfriend—pardon us, your “lady”—must be.

Even your fellow member of this season’s Team Rainbow, who ought to know a thing or two about AshFulk-ing, looks impressed with your technique, the just-so curve of the hand.

Then came the Quickfire Challenge itself, during which you repeatedly admitted that you’d never opened a clam before, which prompted us to yell at the television, “Go on, pull the other one. It’s got bells on it.”

But it wasn’t until we reviewed the premiere episode carefully that we noticed how you’d slipped on a metaphorical banana peel and fallen into the biggest lesbian semiotic trap of all.

Oh, possum, how could you? Didn’t you know that there are cameras everywhere, and that those horrible, basement-dwelling bloggers, who suffer from dirty minds and compulsive screencapping, would be ever at the ready? On the other hand, it was your first day on the show, indeed your first hour, so we’ll cut you a little slack.

Confidential to Ash Fulk

Jesus Christ and Liza with a Z Almighty, what the hell kind of a gay are you? Just what sort of bowtie-wearing homosexual is unable to pronounce the word “palazzo”? We wuz mortified on your behalf. Shame on you, “pal.” No seersucker palazzo pants for you. And don’t try to claim that as some kind of bear you wouldn’t wear them anyway. Bears do not wear bowties. You wear a bowtie. Therefore you are not a bear. The syllogayism should suffice.