atlas said:Does Chef Tom's statement that the level of talent is so high mean that the level is so high, or that its so low that something needs to be said? I see some of these plates, and I bet that they taste great, but Brian's last night looked like hash, like something I'd cook and think look liked a mess on the plate. Dale makes a tart without a necessary ingredient. Casery Purees potatoes and then adds a hard, chewey ingredient to them in chunks.
Bush Legaue?
I gather that Hung won.
Of course, you saw the Olympian struggle, the final, mountain-top face-off before I did. Security was so sphincter-tight in Bravo-land that even a man of known virtue and impeccable reputation such as myself was not allowed an advance peek at the previously taped combat. And where I am, I couldn't catch the live bits. I'm writing this, days later, from my favorite pub in London, The Festering Ferret, where, in between pints -- and bites of meat pie, I finally laid eyes on this historic clash of the titans -- via bootleg download.
Hung won. Not a big surprise for me -- but for many viewers, apparently, a kick in the stomach. I think the right contestant won. And as importantly, I think that Hung's well deserved victory is a nice, stiff middle finger to all those boneheads who've been predicting that "The producers are setting it up so Casey will win," as well as the poor, deluded souls who feel they can somehow taste food through the television screen and who've been hanging on to a few heavily edited comments about "flavor" as "evidence" that Casey was the "better" competitor. What we saw in the finale did not support that hypothesis.
Complain all you want. It's like railing against the pounding surf. She only grows stronger and more powerful. Her ear-shattering tones louder and louder. We KNOW she can't cook. She shrewdly tells us so. So...what is she selling us? Really? She's selling us satisfaction, the smug reassurance that mediocrity is quite enough. She's a friendly, familiar face who appears regularly on our screens to tell us that "Even your dumb, lazy ass can cook this!" Wallowing in your own crapulence on your Cheeto-littered couch you watch her and think, "Hell...I could do that. I ain't gonna...but I could--if I wanted! Now where's my damn jug a Diet Pepsi?" Where the saintly Julia Child sought to raise expectations, to enlighten us, make us better--teach us--and in fact, did, Rachael uses her strange and terrible powers to narcotize her public with her hypnotic mantra of Yummo and Evoo and Sammys. "You're doing just fine. You don't even have to chop an onion--you can buy it already chopped. Aspire to nothing...Just sit there. Have another Triscuit..Sleep...sleep..."