For my next Top Chef Masters Ketchup Edition, and in honor of the all-sausage lineup of "Pub Food", I would like to very masculinely recite for you a poem, in the meter of Robert Frost's Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening:

Six gather'd men from the show's past
Chefs whose first trip did not long last
Again before the critics go
Much dudely talent is amassed

Dufresne and Bowles, that ball of dough
Waxman is chef at Barbuto
Peel and Moonen, his evil twin
And Ludo--"impresario"?

The Quickfire gets a minor spin
Pick vodka pairings (I'd choose gin
But Stoli coughed up sponsor bucks
And Charlotte Voisey inspires sin)

Though Ludo's ego comes by truck,
And Moonen's shortcake doesn't suck,
Waxman's small bites have the good luck
Of pleasing Housewives (what the fuck?)


Elimination stays in-pub
And, further wearing down the nub,
Tasks the chefs to create cuisine
From humble British tavern grub

Dry bangers dull poor Wylie's sheen
Un-Irish stew makes Ludo mean
Peel's toad-in-hole sees pudding fail
Graham flails to keep his kidneys clean

With seafood skill to class up whale,
Rick's fish and chips were no tall tale
And calm like Gandalf or the Dude
Jon's shepherd's pie also prevails

With rhyme as just a passing mood
I know I gave short shrift to food
Lateness means my recaps are skewed
There's one to go; don't think me rude.

It's been a very busy last two weeks at the HQ. I'm only just now finishing "It's My Party," the Mekhi Phifer soul food episode of Top Chef Masters. Perhaps we'll move on to "Pub Food" tomorrow night, what with no LOST and all (grumble grumble).

So, in the interest of attempting to merge at close to highway speed, I'll be posting an abbreviated "Best Of" recap of TCM of weeks past.

Chefs:
Marcus Samuelsson, Aquavit, New York. Charity: UNICEF Tap
David Burke, David Burke Townhouse, New York. Charity: Table to Table
Monica Pope, Tafia, Houston. Charity: Recipe for Success
Carmen Gonzalez, (unaffiliated), New York. Charity: ASPCA
Thierry Rautureau, Rover's, Seattle. Charity: Food Lifeline

Quickfire Challenge: Grilled cheese.

Best grilled cheese (and winner of the QF): The Moroccan-inspired sandwich of Monica Pope.
Best fingertip wound care: Carmen Gonzalez.
Best use of interior ingredients on the outside of a sandwich: KFC's Double Down. Second best: Thierry Rautureau and his taleggio.

Elimination: Make a soul food dish for Mekhi Phifer's birthday party, catered.

Best reach at a network tie-in: Bravo, grasping at the hoary ghost of ER at every chance.
Best absurd inclusion of a speech impediment: Bravo, giving the hotelier exactly two sentences of meaningless lisping.
Best impersonation of Marcel's fish: Carmen's hotel pan of stew, sitting on the shelf in the Top Chef Kitchen until two hours before serving.
Best cold realism: David Burke, "I got a charity I want to make money for, and the charity's not named Carmen," who then decides to help her anyway.
Best attempt at running the wrong way up an escalator: Thierry, but only because he was the only doofus to try it.

Best confessional feud: Marcus Samuelsson and Monica, who have very different views on the value of lending a helping hand.
Best justification for overcomplication: Marcus, who defended his kicked-up-a-bunch-of-notches collard greens by saying that if you do it classically, you're going up against Grandma.
Best reason to make your own sausage if you're on any version of Top Chef: The judges always ding you on buying store-made sausage.
Best lack of shock: Jay Rayner, totally unsurprised at James Oseland's revelation that he liked Brussels sprouts as a child.

Best underdog win: Carmen, whose missing yucca bacon mash didn't keep the judges and diners from awarding her the highest star total out of an admittedly low-performing lineup.
Biggest dick move, if true: Marcus, the other victorious chef, telling Monica mid-hug "You know what the lesson is?" and then reminding her that she should have looked out for her own interests instead of helping Carmen.

See ya in a couple days for more Top Chef Masters!

Until recently, I was a follower of Roger Ebert on Twitter. His political jabs were just that: quick and painful for the recipient. And his essay on losing the ability to eat still stands as a testament to his skill as a writer. But after a while, it was like he turned into a social networking version of Humbert H. Humbert, unable to share in the endeavors of a younger generation, and only hoping to soak it in through his pores while he shuffled slowly through the crowd. He started engaging younger readers in a bizarrely juvenile fashion, and then just wouldn't. Stop. Posting. I had to cut him loose.

Now I see that Roger's gotten himself into hot water with that very same youngish crowd he'd been digitally communing with. He has published an essay titled, "Video Games Can Never Be Art," in which--well, you can guess what point it is that he's making. Video games aren't art because there's user choice; art demands a creative voice that is immutable by the observer. It's obvious he knows very little about video games, but it's his opinion to hold.

I compare this with sports commentator Tony Kornheiser. I've listened to Mr. Tony for years. Since he was on ESPN Radio proper, and not just on a local Washington, DC, affliate. And let me acknowledge: he was old then. But lately, with commentaries on how he doesn't trust ATMs, and how he never even keeps, much less uses, debit cards, and how self-checkout frightens him, and now his relentless ridicule of a science he doesn't understand and therefore cannot value (vulcanology)… Well, I'm not ready to unsubscribe from the podcast, but I'm getting close.

I suspect that Kornheiser would espouse the same sentiment as Ebert about video games. Kornheiser regularly rails against movies with blue people and furry short people, and cannot imagine that animated films could have anything to offer him. His default position, which takes much shaking to dislodge, is that anything drawn is for children. Anything colorful is for children. Anything with children, dare I say, is for children. He is working his way past the wisdom that comes with age, and is now setting up shop inside the unexamined life. It might still be worth living, but it's not as much fun to listen to.

As I sail farther into my 30's, I'm reminded that there's a lot more old ahead of me. I hope it doesn't sink its teeth into me like it appears to be gnawing at these two old newspapermen.

Last night was a cool LOST event at UW's Hillel, so I had to skip Top Chef Masters. Tonight is the Grilled Cheese Academy launch party, so it's quite possible that I won't have time to catch up with TC until this weekend.

Except that this weekend is the first outdoor Farmers' Market in Madison, and the in-laws are visiting, and maybe I can cram about 19 other things in there.

So hold tight! I haven't forgotten you already.

Is it just me, or does it feel like a really long time since we had any Top Chef to talk about? Knives down, hands up, let's do this.

Welcome back, dear readers, to another season of Top Chef Masters, the show that takes talented and established chefs and makes them cook with Clamato and Cheetos. I'll post this recap a little later than usual to accommodate all the stoners who were drawn in by the subject matter and are just waking up after watching last night's late-as-hell premiere. Thankfully, next week we won't have the very-important Shear Genius finale throwing our timeline for a loop; it's 10/9C from here on out.

For you new viewers, here's the concept. A bunch of "real" chefs get thrown in together, working toward the goal of making it to the championship round. After each week of the elimination round, one or two chefs are retained as the winner(s), while the rest are excused. In the elimination round, the competition moves forward like it does in the regular Top Chef, with one chef getting the boot each week until the final challenge. The winner gets $100,000 for the charity of his or her choice, and each week's winners get extra coin for those charities.

Our chefs and charities this week are Govind Armstrong (8 oz. Burger Bar; Los Angeles, CA; National Kidney Foundation), Susan Feniger (Street; Los Angeles; Scleroderma Research Foundation), Ana Sortun (Oleana; Cambridge, MA; Farm School), Jerry Traunfeld, (Poppy; Seattle, WA; International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission), Jimmy Bradley (The Red Cat; New York, NY; Charity:Water), and Tony Mantuano (Spiaggia; Chicago, IL; Feeding America).

Our Quickfire Challenge tonight is a 2-chef team affair, and a reprise of the gas station challenge from Top Chef Season 1. Our Masters get a bit of a rope-a-dope in being issued the challenge, and Govind Armstrong is none too pleased. Maybe it's his disdain that causes him to grab Flamin' Hot Cheetos for his mac and cheese dish instead of regular ones. I must admit: I noticed right away that they weren't standard issue Cheetos. Don't judge me.

The chefs will be serving the members of musical group The Bravery, one of whom apparently has a culinary degree. None appear to have a cosmetology degree, however; the shaved-side pompadour look a number of them are sporting is bizarre to say the least. The chefs' dishes are served, and the band is just happy to be there, eating. No one really says anything terrible--not that the chefs don't whine like Little Lord Fauntleroy when met with even the slightest critique.

Tony and Susan's maple bread pudding with caramelized bananas is sweet but flavorful, and uses a whole snack pack of fruit and nuts! Govind and Jimmy whip up a lurid red mac and cheese with grilled Slim Jims and tomato soup with Slim Jim breadcrumbs. The Bravery astutely notes that the soup tastes canned, but that there's a lot of flavor here, too. Last is the rice cake with Clamato romesco (or "clamesco") of Ana and Jerry. It's hailed as "restaurant quality" by some, but Hat Guy thinks its a bit bland. Jerry makes some pretty unfounded and stupid assumptions as to why he'd think so.

Ana and Jerry: 3 stars
Govind and Jimmy: 3.5 stars
Tony and Susan: 4 stars

In the Elimination Challenge, the chefs are stuck in their teams of two; the general Twitter vibe on "game night" says that a lot of fans weren't crazy about this. I can live with it, but the producers risk locking themselves into a two-at-a-time format, and I don't think that would be right. Regardless, the chefs in the premiere are tasked with creating a duo dish for couples on their first dates. From a gas station parking lot to a romantic interlude: Meat Loaf would be right at home in this competition.

Ana and Jerry seem to be working together nicely, while Govind and Jimmy seem to regard each other with less than high esteem--when they're talking to the confessional. Tony and Susan are an odd couple, but jovial and creative. Plus, they've got the early lead. After spending their $350 at Whole Foods, the chefs get two hours to prep and cook. Out on the restaurant floor, James Oseland, Gael Greene, Jay Rayner and Kelly Choi await their plates.

Govind and Jimmy kick it off with a lamb duo. Govind serves a roasted chop with cauliflower couscous and a pomegranate reduction, while Jimmy skates by (Govind's opinion) with a seared lamb carpaccio over a baby arugula and herb salad. The carpaccio put the fear of lambiness into James, but he is pleasantly surprised by the flavor, as is Gael. The more-cooked chop, recommended as finger-food, is actually a bit tougher, but tasty. The pairing goes over well.

Ana and Jerry go for sweet and froofy with a duo of duck, both embellished with edible flowers: a lavender-rubbed seared duck breast with red cabbage, pomegranate, and beets (Jerry) and duck leg topped with vermicelli and cinnamon almonds in a broth of orange blossom water (Ana). Jerry's breast is a showstopper, with a tart and vibrant sauce. Ana's leg is expertly spiced but miserable to look at and laborious to actually consume. The two dishes are the true odd couple of the episode, poorly matched in tone and class.

Susan and Tony serve last, pairing Tony's taleggio-filled handmade ravioli, mushrooms and truffles with Susan's black pepper shrimp and scallops. The pasta is, predictably, a bit heavy; while James is on the fence, the rest of the panel appears to mostly enjoy them. Susan's broth is hot, spicy, and envigorating, but the shrimp have become a bit overcooked. The judges agree that the two halves create an intense experience, a good pairing despite perhaps not going hand-in-hand.

Our mid-commercial break vignette brought home a little more classic Top Chef flavor. Turns out Govind worked for Susan back in his mid-teens, and had a major crush on the punky, pink-haired chef. Unfortunately for him, she's playing for the other team; Govind smiles quietly and summarizes, "It didn't exactly work out for us." Stefan could learn a thing or two here about taking a hint.

Critics' Table, unlike the Judges' Table of the original series, is a fairly collegial and positive environment. There are too many carefully-crafted egos in the room for things to get really contentious. Thus, Govind and Jimmy get a more or less pleasant evaluation. Tony is taken to task, if you can call it that, for a "palate challenging" taleggio, but he's confident that it was mild enough to play nice with the rest of the dish. Ana gets hit pretty hard for the awkward presentation, and Jerry demonstrates a surprising lack of humility in accepting a compliment. Even Jay Rayner seemed surprised at the brusque reply.

Jerry and Ana: 3.5 (James), 4 (Gael), 3.5 (Jay) + 4 (diners) = 15 stars.
Jimmy and Govind: 3 (James), 3.5 (Gael), 3 (Jay) + 3 (diners) = 12 stars. See ya, Team Pissy!
Tony and Susan: 4 (James), 4.5 (Gael), 4 (Jay) + 4 (diners) = 16.5 stars, and the decisive victory.

Tony and Susan move on to the Championship Round, while the other four go back to their restaurants. It's kind of much ado about nothing, but the season promises to build a little momentum as we creep closer to the real competition. I was most surprised at how across-the-board the inability to take criticism was among this crowd. Only the very short, Harry Potter-esque Susan Feniger seemed to really take the whole thing in stride. Tell me, readers: is Top Chef Masters gonna do it for you this season?

Definitive Pigeons. Emu Sofa. Wallaby Junction. Owl City. Freelance Whales.

All insufferably precious. But only two of them are actual band names. The other three I just made up. (Although "Wallaby Junction" is in fact an online game.)

Owl City is responsible for perhaps the worst popular song of the last three to five years: "Fireflies." Completely incomprehensible. I mean, "Cause I'd get a thousand hugs/ From ten thousand lightning bugs/ As they tried to teach me how to dance"? What the hell does that even mean?

The worst crime of Owl City, however, is the one outlined by Pitchfork: the retroactive indictment-by-association of the musically terrific, if totally depressing at times, Death Cab for Cutie:

At this rate Death Cab are staking out Pearl Jam status in the 2010s, i.e., a band that gave many astute listeners an entry to more outré sounds but ultimately became reviled for the shitty music they, through no fault of their own, inspired.