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HELL'S KITCHEN: aka "DUNK BOZO"

by Bourdain

I liked last year's Hell's Kitchen. And I like a good fat joke as much as anybody. Making fun of the lame, the halt, the dim-witted--surely there's a place for it in comedy. But this season's HELL'S KITCHEN is--even for me--an exercise in pointless cruelty so ugly, cruel and squalid in its half-hearted, ritualized beat-downs as to shame all who take part--and all who watch.

I like Gordon Ramsay. I admire his 3 star Gordon Ramsay at Hospital Road--and (unlike many critics) find even his outposts excellent (if not always groundbreaking). I am a fan of his excellent and sympathetic Kitchen Nightmares and thought the Brit doc "Boiling Point" of a while back riveting and realistic television. But there's not even the pretense of real cooking--or anything resembling quality food on HK this year. Why do they even need a chef for this Springeresque freak show? It might as well be R Lee Ermey (in fact it SHOULD be), pretending to torment this crop of contestants--it being  blindingly obvious that all are unemployable in any capacity in ANY kind of busy restaurant. The challenge? WHAT challenge? They never seem to cook on HK! Their job appears to be to pretend to rush around in circles while Ramsay pretends to care. I've seen no more than a four top on the range at any one time. The rest of the time, they stand there or mill about  like mute sheep, waiting for the blow. Few finished plates are ever seen--and what is seen wouldn't pass muster at an Applebees. Pathetic, overaged, overweight, emotionally unsuitable and physically impaired Aaron was dragged, barely maintaining verticality, through two episodes, in the clear hope that it might be entertaining to poke a dead horse with a stick. It's like the old carny grift, "Dunk Bozo", in which  a barker invites the rubes to throw a ball at a clown on a diving board. Everyone knows the clown will fall in the water tank. The only question is when.

Really, the only suspense or drama on this show will come after the show, when the "winner's" new employers/backers have to figure out what to do with a cook who couldn't hold up a fry station at a 20 seat fish house.

While profitable in the short run, this freak show can't possibly be good for Ramsay in the larger scheme of things. It "damages the brand." It demeans. (Yeah. I said "demeans." And this is ME talking!) The millions who watch this carnival of feigned cruelty will not be customers of Gordon Ramsay restaurants. And those who might be customers cannot be encouraged by the cheesy artificiality of this season.

I'm all for hazing cooks. For hurling well-timed verbal abuse at them when appropriate (or even just amusing). I have enjoyed, in the past, Ramsay's Charlie Parkeresque use of invective and insult, as he can be a very funny guy. But everybody seems to be sleepwalking to the slaughterhouse this season, victims and executioner alike. I hope Gordon summons some REAL anger--and some REAL invective to ream great bleeding chunks out of the producers who selected this year's contestants. And that after a suitable interlude of skull-fucking, he separates himself loudly and publicly from a production team who clearly do not have his interests in mind.

Bourdain and Pekar

United in the land of milk and honey! [thanks bob del g for the leak]

It's Not About Gluttony!
This from a reader, AZ: “Today [6/20], angry response letters to Bruni appear in the NYT, bringing up national health care, animal cruelty, and heart attacks. Strong reminders of why supermarkets are full of lean pork, boneless, skinless chicken breasts, the prizing of lean meats, and turkey everything.”  I was amazed by the letters, too, and saddened by their superior tone. [here they are, scroll down to “Glorifying Gluttony.”]

Smoking Your Own Salmon (delicious but hard to keep lit!)
Posts like this always raise the spirit! Ronnie Suburban, well-known on food sites, a stalwart individual (he carted me all over Chicago on a hotdog quest for an article), has embraced Charcuterie and taken to curing salmon with a vengeance. Curing your own salmon is one of the easiest home curing methods there is and a way to get results better than what you can buy.  Ron takes his salmon further by smoking it (notice the exquisite color in the finished product on the bagel).  This is an excellent description of the process of curing and smoking your own salmon, and check out his cool cold-smoking contraption.

Blogging Food Blogging
In case you missed Amateur Gourmet’s interesting remarks on the power of food bloggers, it’s worth reading.  I believe he’s right, food blogging is one of the most important changes in food journalism in a while—probably since Craig Claiborne raised it to the level of news—and I also believe that the future of food blogging is dependent on bloggers increasing the quality and focus of the work itself.  (And there’s this on the subject from ABC news, which accidental hedonist linked to and commented on.)

Excellent Oils
A while ago this company sent me three oils to try.  I’m not usually one for over-priced fancypants condiments and flavored vinegars etc., and I’m wary of nut oils because they’re so often rancid, but I’ve been using these oils a lot recently—walnut, pistachio and pecan—and they are outstanding.  Delicious, fresh, clean.  They’re especially good to have on hand now with all the fine lettuces available at growers markets.  They also make for good seasoning for desserts.

Next FN Star Update!

by Bourdain

I LOVE this show! Its brutal (if often accidental) honesty.. its unflinching  lifting of the rock and all the naked, wriggly, ugly and needy ambitions it reveals. Magnificent!  And Bob Tushman is the Best Reality Show judge EVER. His face pulled, Bush-like,  in two directions at once , as he delivers another crushing yet breathtakingly honest assessment of a contestant's chances for FN success, one can actually see the eternal struggle between the decent human impulse to reward virtue, ability and goodness--and the more pragamatic business of Feeding the FN Beast. You know that look he gets as he deftly smashes the hopes and dreams of yet another wannabe? As the nitrous/ether mix that has taken them this far finally drains out of the contestant's  punctured space suit? You just KNOW Sara Moulton has seen that look.

I made myself a pitcher of Negronis, booted some crystal meth, ordered out for pizza and some take-out uni and setttled in for another exciting week of Slaughterfest. And here's what happened:

Daryl Dawkins lumbered in as guest judge. The perfect candidate really..as he's about as irrelevent to the world of food and cooking as any human could be. Genius! Next week, it's Joe Piscopo.

The robotic Nikki having been previously dispatched, the show got down to the serious business of thinning the herd by TWO. ( I was breathless with excitement!) I called my bookie and put two grand on Linda Kasabian and the very lovable but completely hopeless lummox Tommy. Linda (aka Colombe--translation: "Dove") seemed to have had  a Sandra Lee epiphany since  the debut. She abandoned her "organic and healthy" principles with the breathtaking speed of a Vichy era shopkeeper, betrayed her fellow contestant Paul--by abandoning an unidentified shopping bag without remark--and rather than waste time cooking anything, proceeded to dump ready made nacho cheese sauce on a bag of chips. A winning FN strategy one might think..but NO! She was cut loose at the end--perhaps saving the network the expense and embarrassment of hosing red "Helter Skelter" off the carriage house walls. The sweet faced Tommy, already a blubbering mess, made the ill advised choice to serve meatball heros at the stadium venue.  Sadly, the sandwiches were larger than the human heads into which they were intended to fit.  They both got the chop. And I won--at 6-1 odds-- a nice chunk a change.

In further news: The hunky, dreamy Adrian/delivery dude stepped up his game making a very sensible, human mouth sized and winning offering . Definitely in the running now--if not a new favorite.  Michael stepped yet closer to the abyss--regardless of the smartest best offering of the ep, missing the camera entirely during the early "screen test" ( fatal lapse, I suspect). The toothy Rory skated by with a cheesesteak..."Scary Ethnic" JAG was lulled into a temporary state of false confidence by preparing good food. NOT a saving grace--regardless of Bob's lulling assurances. Only reason JAG's not gone is the Travis Bickle outfit he showed up with in ep one. They'll wait to whack him after they get the metal detectors installed.  Amy (is it Amy?) made the mistake of using fancy communiss ingredients like goat cheese and looking like a real, working woman and talking too fast. The judges hate her and her fancy-ass French ways. And poor Paul (my favorite) fell down HARD, narrowly avoiding the blade--after  a surprise "health inspection" from the  Last Year Winner and obliging Network Tool (whatever the fuck his name is). He's very "In Your Face and Pro-Active" by the way. The "kids today" LOVE him. He's got the hair, the drop earring..and the radio announcer voice! The vintage bowling shirt and the shorts. Kindofa younger, cheaper, "hipper"  Mario--assembled by committee from spare parts (after lengthy consultation with sponsors and focus groups). A shining example, I'd think--of the "Get Interesting Hair" Principle of TV Chefdom. (See Marcel Vigneron on TC2 and Dale on TC3). Like I always say--it's the fundamentals that are so important. 

 

RUHLMAN'S NIGHTMARE COME TRUE

by Bourdain

Yes. Of course I watched NEXT FOOD NETWORK STAR. It's your worst, most nightmarish vision of the future realized, isn't it, Ruhlman? Minimally talented wannabe cooks of negligable to moderate experience compete to become "Celebrity Chefs" based on a focus group-like criteria of "likeability" while food and cooking ability (such as it is) take a distant back seat. All to record breaking ratings for FN!

I love it. I think it's a useful window into the real heart and soul of the Food Network, a cautionary tale, morality play and case study of the kind of pathological narcissism and exhibitionism that drives people to grope strangers in hot tubs, vomit in public, share their cellulite with the world, bunk with a drunken Mini-Me and generally humiliate themselves utterly in the cause of Being On Television.  That the "food" mostly looks like bonobo-puke is entirely beside the point. The show gives us exactly what it promises: shows us  both the naked truth  about What It Takes to be the Next David Leiberman--and the terrible cost. (David, from what I understand, will "no longer be continuing with the network).

The egotism of the contestants--their touching blind faith that if they could just have a show on Food Network, everything in their lives will be okay, is almost..beautiful--if delusional.

"Being a Food Network Star, you've got to think on your feet," says one contestant in Ep One. Not really. You can pretty much read off cue cards, judging from Emeril's wisely phoned in appearance. Or sleepwalk through--like the obliging Bobby.

Patrick's heartfelt identification with "local, local, fresh fresh, fresh," for instance, put him right in the headlights of the network's raison d-etre: "Fast, Cheap, Easy and Available At Any SuperMarket." No surprise he gone.

The hopelessly inarticulate Tommy, too kind hearted to throw colleagues under the train (an essential TV skill)  is clearly dead meat.

Adrien, was too old and too Brazilian to get the gig. They don't even like GUESTS or SUBJECTS who have accents on FN. She "talks funny". The audience "won't understand her" . That they put her on in the first place was cruel. Cannon fodder. And the producers surely knew it. She was on there to get kicked off.

JAG is too threatening. Something Net Exec Bob Tushman candidly pointed out. They like personality on FN. Just not your own personality.

The spacy Colombe comes off like Squeaky Fromme. There's a tripped out messianic vibe to her Personal Mission to share the glory of Healthy and Organic food with the public that would NEVER sit well with an audience of Twizzler and Ho-Ho eaters. Hell, she scares ME. Her total disconnection from reality should make entertaining television however--right up until her psychotic break, when she comes in with her head shaved, a little "X" carved in her forehead and a butcher knife and takes a lunge at Tuschman.

Michael has no chance--as he's too capable, too professional and too experienced. Even if he GOT the gig, he'd no doubt quickly hang himself from shame when he got the Full Picture. ( "Michael! It's a Holiday Special! Our research shows that audiences want to see you nibbling corn nuts out of Sandra Lee's ass under the mistletoe!You have no problem with that, right?)

Amy is too capable, too hard, and waay too French-centric. As the judges--again--candidly and astutely pointed out. FN likes food their audience can pronounce.  Her Cordon Bleu experience, leadership skills and cooking ability--that she's clearly a strong, capable woman are HUGE liabilities. The judges hate her already--she's a painful rebuke to everything they stand for--and a painful reminder of their dead, hollow souls--how far over to the dark side they've strayed.

On the first episode, Of the heartbreakingly hopeless crop of aspiring stars--few of whom could hold up the fry station at Denny's, I saw only three who have a hope in Hell:

Rory has CIA training and a personality and looks a bit like Sandra Lee--so maybe, IF her first cooking performance was an abberation; than maybe she's got a shot.

Adrian, the hunky delivery man comes off okay, has good looks--and the kind of nearly insane certainty in his own wonderfulness which will serve him well in the FN vineyards. A possible winner.

But MY choice for Big Winner is...Paul. Alone among contestants on the first show, he was consistently confident, self assured, reasonably capable..funny and likeable. He worked the food, the wedding crowd and the cameras with real skill. I admired his twin groom wedding cake. And even the Food Net might--at this point in history--be willing to defy their traditional, core audience "older Bible Belt" consituency with an openly gay host in the hopes of attracting newer, younger viewers. I hope so. A sense of humor is a good thing to have--both on camera and off. Paul seems to have one. He's shrewd (see the "polenta incident"), opportunistic (his preparing something for the bride and groom's small dog was brilliant), and he was working those won tons like a pro. His gayness--a history of being an outsider might be an asset; good armor against the soul-destroying chores ahead. He's the only guy I'm rooting for to win--and the only one who might be able to survive and thrive at the job should he get it.

Chicago foie ban upheld.

In the Food Pages

FAT IS GOOD
(unless you finish it with a cigarette chaser and your left anterior descending is 90 percent blocked from a lifetime of giddy indulgence and bad genes)

The two coastal heavyweight papers both open with pork belly today.  Bruni writes of fat happy times in the metropolis (we knew this already but it’s great to see it reaching the so a la mode city folk), and the sage Russ Parsons writes about the glories of DIY yakitori.  Perhaps he saw my euphoric description of my first yakitori experience (rare chicken hearts! grilled knee bones!).  I’m skeptical though about briefly grilling any old pork belly quickly.  Tasty no doubt, but it must be awfully tough.  I’ll bet it’s more unctuous and satisfying tender off the grill, which would require some sort of precooking.  Not that I'm doubting the redoubtable Russ—I've tried that before and it never works.  He also writes about something that gives me a pang of jealousy that I don’t live in the land of milk and honey—fresh garbonzo beans.

I write about the fat tipping point, also opening with a pork belly anecdote, in the current issue of restaurant hospitality (but the slackers don’t have it up yet that I can find—Sanson! Get off your ass, you’re losing readers!)

Countering all this FAT JOY, is a chef restaurateur’s story in the washpost about changing his diet after a heart attack. Alas, we do have to pay attention to blood cholesterol (but not so much to food cholesterol—waiter, more eggs please!)  Happily, even this paper, manages to slip in a pork belly story.

All hail the pig!

CCA Criticized For Misleading Students
A couple folks have alerted me to this piece in SFWeekly alledging that California Culinary Academy administrators deliberately mislead prospective students about the future prospects of the chef.  Certainly that would be reprehensible, but it doesn’t excuse students from their own responsibility to assess and evaluate a situation on their own.

Foie Inanity in the Liberty City
And other readers alerted me that the foie inanity has appeared in Philly.  It’s like an ignorance or ineptitude virus—unpleasant but it will go away.  The two dunderheads in this case are: 1) councilman Jack Kelly (not surprising since Chicago showed what the intelligence level of city council people can reach); but worse is 2) a restaurateur, Stephen Starr.  He says he believes gavage is ethically wrong.  Has he taken it off his NYC restaurant menus?  I don’t know.  I do hope though, as he cares so much for the treatment of animals, that all the beef, pork, chicken, veal, and lamb he serves comes from farms that raise animals humanely.  And I trust that councilman Kelly is working vigorously to ban the sale of factory raised beef pork and chicken in his fine city.

McGee at FCI
This has been noted elsewhere, but a reminder to those who want to learn in person from Hal McGee can do so at the FCI this summer.

If You're Passionate About Family Meal, You'll Be a Great Chef, Maybe...
And last, very much enjoyed this NYTimes mag article on Per Se back of the house, not because I’m so close to the restaurant but rather because it points up The Importance of Family Meal.  This is an article I hope cooks read.

Professional Chefs: The Chef as Artist

Usually I find this an incredibly tedious subject, but after Del Grosso’s post about it, with the Adria controversy linked, and the general fiery responses the debate evokes, I feel the need to say it again: food is not art, and chefs are not artists.  And I trust a chef who calls himself an artist about as far as I can throw him.  Cooking is a craft that can be raised to artful levels, but a craft only and always.

However.  I offer from Reach of a Chef the chapter on Masa Takayama.  An artist.

Masa opened in the Time Warner Center in Manhattan to immediate controversy. It was rumored to be the most expensive in the United States—you had to fork over three bills just to sit down at the bar.  The place demanding this sum was not Alain Ducasse or Le Bernardin or Per Se, promising the elaborate preparations and expensive ingredients haute French cuisine was famous for, but rather raw fish and sauces often no more elaborate than a really good soy or a squeeze of a lime-like fruit called sudachi. Amanda Hesser, reviewing the restaurant in The New York Times gave it an unprecedented four question marks.  Bruni later gave it four stars.  The chef-owner, Masayoshi Takayama, had been in the States more than twenty years, but his English was limited and so it was hard for the public to get to know him—profiles and interviews of the man were  hardly revealing of why his skills as a chef were worth the astonishing prices.  The two restaurants where he’d made his reputation in Los Angeles sat ten people at the bar (and twelve more at three tables), so his business was physically restrictive in addition to being financially exclusionary. Finally, the chef didn’t want to be known outside his restaurant, he shunned attention, couldn’t care less about reviews.  In the age of the celebrity chef, Masa Takayama was an anomaly.

Click below to read the excerpt, which includes My Dinner there With Tony and answers the question why Masa prefers Krispy Kremes to sushi in Manhattan (note that the margin isn’t fixed so you can widen it if you wish). Photo of Masa cutting Tuna is by Carolyn Wang.

Continue reading "Professional Chefs: The Chef as Artist"

Professional Chefs: What will become of them?

The Reach of a Chef, paperback
In November, 2004, middle of service at the restaurant per se in Manhattan, a "60 Minutes" film crew was making a chaos of the normally quiet and orderly kitchen…and there was Thomas Keller sliding around on the tile floor in stocking feet.  He’d lost his shoes, and was in danger of losing his balance.  I opened Reach of a Chef with this moment because it symbolized for me the precarious point the chef had reached in our culture.

And since the book came out a year ago, I don’t think much has changed.  Critics say that I idolize chefs.  That may have been true of Soul of a Chef, but in Reach of a Chef, which has just been released in paperback, I’m skeptical of the chef, or rather much of what we think about chefs. Reach of a Chef does address all the silliness of celebrity, the unpleasantness of branding and the need for it, but it does portray some chefs appreciatively, without glorifying them.  Two of my favorite chapters in the book are favorable portraits of two different chefs.  Masa Takayama, sushi taisho and performance artist, and Melissa Kelly, bare knuckled cook and garden siren of Primo in Maine.  (The latter was excerpted in Best Food Writing 2006 and her kitchen was my favorite of all the kitchens I spent time in.  I try to stay in touch with her.  She wrote last week in an email, and this is indicative of her personality generally, “The gardens are amazing, Emily has taken it to another level...studied soil management this winter and have added lots of amendments to make our land healthier. She is testing the Brix in the vegetables with a refractometer and getting the most flavor and nutrition out of our food. Very exciting!  I find this so much more exciting than liquid nitrogen and foam!!”  If you’re in Maine this summer, check out her restaurant.  It’s perfect.)

I have a deep affection for The Culinary Institute of America because it’s a place that changed the course of my life, but returning to see how changes there reflected or forecasted changes in the industry was uneasy not because but the school had changed but rather the students had—they wanted TV shows, they wanted fame, and seemed less willing to work hard or take the blows, and it’s our fault, the food-addled, chef-glorifying masses, I think, because of the way we’ve turned food into fashion and entertainment diminishing our appreciation of food as sustenance and a giving and visceral pleasure.

With the paperback of Reach just out, I’d love to discuss it or answer any chef-related questions here.  Like what’s Rachael Ray really like, why did the publisher change the cover and subtitle  of the book, is $350 for a seat at a bar selling raw fish, Masa, really worth it, and did Keller ever find his shoes?

The work of the chef and what our culture thinks about the chef’s role in society is changing.  There’s probably never been a more exciting time to be a chef in America, but it comes with more dangers than ever as well.