...then stay out of this spoiler. If you're hopelessly addicted to the guilty pleasure that is Bravo's Top Chef like yours truly, it definitely takes more than paprika to make you cry. So a minor detail like an inconsequential leak that can't be attributed to the Bush administration should be par for the course, right? Now that we're winding down to Part 2 of the grand finale that has already been mired by last-ditch allegations of cheating, Food & Wine magazine has put the exclamation point on a second season that will live in rerun infamy.

A minimum wager who now joins me on the unemployment line in F&W's public relations laid the mother of all goose eggs, "accidentally" leaking an online feature which inexplicably revealed who the big winner was before Bravo even had a chance to aggravate us all again with more product placement ads before the commercial break. Somehow I get the feeling Gail Simmons offered to use the culprit as a blood sacrifice. Does this put a damper on being excited for seeing the final cookoff in the comfort of my own bedroom with Haagen-Dazs as my companion? Hell to the no. My TiVo is programmed and ready to roll.

Just as long as Padma Lakshmi does in fact utter the melodious phrase of "please pack your knives and go" to Wolverine boy here... I'm good.

EDIT: The cat was already out the bag, but I still had a twinge of apprehension to make sure that the web rumblings did indeed come to pass. Maybe it was the Suriname cherries or the macadamia nut gazpacho with moi which sealed the deal, but yes Virginia, there is still justice on contrived cooking competitions. Two seasons in, two New Yorkers taking the crown. Congrats Ilan!

Labels: foodie, reality TV, Top Chef

Reality-TV shows these days are as plentiful as frizzy hair on a rainy day, and about as meaningful. I'm probably one of the lone souls out here who has never sat through an entire episode of American Idol, Dancing with the Stars or America's Next Top Model. Stop looking at me with the crooked eye, I'm not a weirdo. I just have a shorter attention span for network television as opposed to cable where I know if I miss an installment, it's usually not a problem because a repeat's right around the corner. Whereas with the old standbys, if you forget the airing's on, you're pretty much shit outta luck for continuity. However, I am an unabashed culinary junkie and Bravo's offered up just the right series to keep me company the past few weekends with balls to the wall entertainment on a race to reign supreme in the kitchen. Far lower on the Liberace scale than its predecessor Project Runway, Top Chef is still as entertaining as its fabulously flamboyant, stylishly sequined counterpart. On this show, the contestants battle each other for immunity in 15-30 min. battles aptly dubbed "Quick Fires" and an elimination challenge where the one contender has to pack their knives and hit the road.

Unlike last year, the scenery shifts from San Francisco to Hollyweird and is mercifully revamped with a new host in former supermodel, Padma Lakshmi. Last year's hostess Katie Lee Joel (b.k.a. Billy's fembot child bride) had all the personality of a doorknob. Thankfully not everything needed to be tweaked and the fabulous Tom Colicchio (he gives White men with baldies a good name) and Food & Wine's Gail Simmons reprise their roles as head judges. I got reeled into the furious pace of simmers and sautés with the memorable cast of season one (loved Lee Anne, Harold, Dave, Lisa & Miguel....loathed Ken & Tiffani) and it's back and as scandalous as ever the second time around. The majority of pros this time around don't seem to be nearly as focused as the inaugural crew, but in the eye candy department, ladies (and gents), we have liftoff!

Behold the tall, chocolaty drink of water that is the brother to the right. Cute, ain't he? Meet Cliff Crooks, executive chef at one of the city's best spots for serious Italian and fan favorites to land in the winner's circle. I mean, he wouldn't have to utter a single word and I'd be already in mid-swoon. But factor in that he's sidestepped (so far) the A.B.M. stereotype with ease (that's Angry Black Male for the acronymically challenged) by being the three H's: humble, hardworking and helpful. His even-tempered approach to some of the wackiest tasks at hand while still remaining in touch with flavors and having the skills to finesse both sushi and comfort food classics (how's that for diverse?) is damn impressive. And all acquired without formal training... oh yeah, and did I mention that he's fucking hot? Check out the interview stream below with Jersey's Restaurant Guys Radio to get to know the brawn behind the chef's coat.


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And while I'm foaming at the mouth in full-on foodie frenzy, can I just weep tears of joy for the long awaited Stateside return of the domestic goddess herself, Nigella Lawson. Finally, finally, FINALLY! After a few years being banished to ungodly hours (and eventual fade-out) on the Style network, the sultry Brit cheftress is finally back where she belongs. Cut from the Catherine Zeta-Jones cloth of bombshell but without the apron strings, Lawson has more sex appeal in her lower lip than all the women on the Food Network combined, and with Nigella Feasts (airs Sunday afternoons @ 1 p.m. EST), it's a welcome retread back to the format of her earlier show, Nigella Bites. And what's not to love? Her food makes you want to lick the TV and she tosses off refreshingly English phrases like "bung it in" that give her show a welcome Eurochic sensibility which stands out in a cookie-cutter lineup of wholesome smiles and caffeinated perkiness. (Here's looking at you, Rachael.)

Because she cooks real food, is more concerned that she makes dishes that comfort herself and her guests rather than the phoniness of how pretty the meal is distributed on the plate. And best yet, she's unapologetic in allowing the cameras to keep rolling while clad in satin pajamas to raid the fridge for a late night munch. Now that's my kind of broad. In the age of diet-drink swilling skeletons who look at each bite of food as if it were arsenic laden, she is a testament to real women with curves and a healthy appetite. For that alone that makes her utterly irresistible, but then, I'm just the sort of lazy cook who goes in for maximum pleasure and minimum effort.

And while Giada and Ina are still my go-to girls in the name of everyday gourmet, Nigella remains the undisputed queen of how to look fabulous without breaking a sweat. Bow down and worship at the Manolos, ladies.

Labels: foodie, Nigella Lawson, reality TV, Top Chef

"Bring it on. You want a dance-off, come on up here. I'll give you a dance-off." − Kelly Monaco

I don't know about ya'll, but in my neck of the woods − those are fighting words. If you thought the little soap star that could robbed crowd favorite John O'Hurley of his rightful place as winner of ABC's sleeper summer hit, Dancing With The Stars like I did, get ready because these two are back to settle the score.

This rhythmless hussy tried to be slick by camouflaging her less-than-impressive footwork by keeping the costumes short, the plastic pageant smile aflutter and recruiting every housewife and twitchy queen in General Hospital's fan base to cast their ballots in her favor. She'll have to 1,2 step her way to a repeat win without the help of the clueless judges who by some brain fart awarded three perfect 10's the last time around.

I'm thinking redemption is a-coming and J. Peterman has the lovable moxie to awaken the ghosts of Jennifer Grey's career to pull off a killer paso doble. Olé!

Labels: reality TV