For last night’s episode of Top Chef, the fiendish producers broke out an old chestnut — the blind tasting challenge — and then switched things up by having the cheftestants cook for Gail Simmons’s bridal shower. In the end, they did to Gail’s celebration (attended by Food & Wine editor Dana Cowin and her underlings) something akin to what the mean girls did to Carrie’s prom, even if they drenched it in peach-miso BBQ sauce rather than pig’s blood. As usual, we asked Adam Platt to help us assess the damage.
Platt: That was a fearsome group of beauties. Violet Gown was very impressive. Gail looked very bridal. And poor Danny handled his exit with quiet dignity, and not before he got off the immortal line: “I know Gail likes pickles.”
Maurer: You knew the guy was doomed when he said “When I think of new I think of pickles!”
Platt: The three worst chefs in the competition were unlucky to get stuck with each other. Their dish was a grisly trainwreck. But its instigator was Mr. Tattoos, and he should have been sent to the glue factory before Danny.
Maurer: It’s true, his deconstructed sushi looked like the work of a Dadaist maniac. And Stefan called it, in that special way of his: “Women don’t want to make their own food.” This from a guy who is twice divorced and determined to seduce a lesbian.
Platt: The producers must be clapping their hands with fiendish glee. He’s an inspired villain. He also uttered the other immortal line: “I don’t give a shit about these peoples.”
Maurer: He’s Stefannibal Lecter. By the way, as an esteemed critic with an impeccable palate, could you have held your own against Stefan the tasting machine?
Platt: I fear the evil genius would have smashed me into a pulp. That arcane palate Quickfire challenge showed him at his slimy best. But I don’t think he’ll win. He’ll become so hated that one of the kitchen slaves will fling him from that condo balcony.
Maurer: Or cut him. With a Calphalon knife, of course. What about the blue team — didn’t that Chilean sea bass look like a prehistoric hairball?
Platt: It looked like it had been rolled in cigarette ashes.
Maurer: On the other hand, it was awesome to watch Jamie pour out that giant vat of neon-yellow goop — the vadouvan carrot purée.
Platt: It gave off a vivid glow. She got robbed, by the way. Don Colicchio and the other judges have a bizarre fascination with Ariane. So, who’s next on the chopping block? Who will melt under the withering gaze of Martha Stewart?
Maurer: Eugene barely scraped by, and he’s more or less the anti-Martha. She’ll be appalled by his tattoos and piercings alone.
Platt: You’re not wrong, my friend! It’s either Mr. Tattoos or the blonde woman who always sports those goofy trucker caps, or friendly Carla, who’s way too pleasant and normal for this crowd of lunatics.
Maurer: Also, Carla’s thing seems to be pies. Martha may get competitive.
Platt: Martha will add some needed bite. Meanwhile, I ate too much butter tonight — I need to rest my weary buffalo head on a pillow.
Maurer: Sleep well, my friend. Until the next one.