Chef Tell: Savory's Finale a Little Sick, Sweet's Premiere a Little Sour

Categories: Screen Bites
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First of all, let's get something out of the way. We all need closure. After our lovely Tiffany Derry packed her knives and came home to Dallas to get hitched, I didn't recap the finales. Partly because I was heartbroken they sent Kelly home over Kevin or Angelo on Part 1 and partly because, well, there was no one from Dallas on there anymore. But I have to address who won the big show don't I?

It was he, the spongerdog. The guy who seemed like a total spare for a while. The guy who didn't practice using a wok before traveling to fricking Singapore for a cooking contest. The guy who, I'll admit, I did not want to win...until dinner service in last night's episode: Kevin Sbraga.

Ed, my favorite after Tiffany and Kelly, grew so unbelievably cocky and smug you could taste the bitterness through the screen. He used to be sarcastic and funny; last night he was an egotistical douche who actually responded to a criticism with "What'd you want me to do?" like he was a Real Housewife of New Jersey. Fuckin' Ed with his complex veggie cockles, duck two ways, fish eight-gazillion ways and his lame cake with salt cream.

Angelo -- with his troubling, intense sickness and shots in the ass from a tall, smiling doctor -- rallied to compete, and I liked him for it. I had actually started rooting for him a bit more when he teared up at Kelly's departure. I forgot about his whole Tony Robbins thing since I hadn't seen him speak mantras into his cereal bowl for several episodes. He's so strange, and yes, cocky, but when he said he was happy for Kevin, I absolutely believed him.

And so Kevin was named Top Chef. And Eric Ripert looked absolutely gorgeous. But it was a little anti-climactic. The teaser for the reunion next week, however, wasn't. It showed T-Derr calling out Creepy Bald Dude for pea thievery and Padma alluding to crazy-big changes for the next season. Care to take a guess? I want Bourdain and Ripert with Tom in the middle...and a new journal for my slashfic.

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Then came the premiere episode of Top Chef: Just Desserts. And if you think that during the show they might say Top Chef just to save time and effort, think again. All four words. Every time. It was a bit much.

Anyway, the contestants arrived at the airport and such pretending to be happy to meet one another, scanning for potential shower hook-ups, scanning for weaklings, bad clothes, messy hair, weak handshakes, purty mouths and all the things one might look at when one knows there will be a time in the near future when one must establish a roommate situation.

They all boarded a double-decker red touring bus and sat on top where everyone's hair would be sure to stay really awesome as they drove around and picked up more cheftestants and finally, host Gail Simmons, head judge Johnny Iuzzini and Iuzzini's pompadour.

Dallas's own Morgan Wilson, of the Ritz-Carlton, commented that he thinks pastry chefs can do a savory chefs job but a savory chef could only be a mediocre pastry chef. I heard a weird sound that was a little like knife sharpening coming from the direction of the Ritz-Carlton, but it could've also been sprinklers or something.




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