The Culling Continues. BAM!

Hail, Sandra. Hail, Guy.

Thank God there's one fewer thing to keep me from waiting for 2 Dudes Catering to come on.

New York media blog fishbowlNY is reporting that Chef Emeril Lagasse's Emeril Live will cease production when his contract expires on December 11.

This is, I'm sure, totally unrelated to the fact that, earlier this month, cool dude and reality show winner Guy Fieri's shows Guy's Big Bite--noted for such refined fare as Tater Tot Halibut--and Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives--which mercifully forgoes the cooking altogether--have been renewed for one and two more seasons, respectively.

Say what you will about the man Tony Bourdain called an Ewok. It's true that his cooking show ridiculously features a live audience and a band. Sure, he seems to unduly enjoy exclaiming various pseudo-words and ruminating on the dubious benefits of notch-kicking. Yes, he garners absurd amounts of applause whenever he moves near a head of garlic or a bottle of booze. When it comes down to it, though, Emeril Lagasse is a trained chef who cooks well and clearly loves food. This is something that certainly can't be said for most of the bobble heads on Food Network's air today.

A Frankenstein ultimately undone by the monster of popular appeal that he helped to create, Emeril was largely responsible for the rise of the channel, and for the country's renewed interest in real cuisine some ten years ago. For that latter contribution, anyone who cares about food should be thankful. Like Sara and Mario, this latest victim of Food Network's never-ending quest for mediocrity deserves better.

Allez cuisine!

The premiere of Next Iron Chef brought some wildly different results for my ponies, John Besh and odds-on favorite Traci des Jardins. While Chef Besh earned top accolades for his chocolate catfish truffles, Chef des Jardins was the first to be eliminated, vanquished by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, overwrought metaphor, and a salmon roe dessert salad.

The challenges were good ones, difficult without being impossible, and particularly suited to the specific demands placed on an Iron Chef versus those of being a successful executive chef and restaurateur. One notes that the "your purveyor didn't get you that shipment of escarole, your sous chef is screwing a waitress in the walk-in, and, oh yeah, the toilet's overflowing" challenge was appropriately, if unfortunately, absent.

The prep challenge was a good test of basic skills, and des Jardins said what I'm sure most of the chefs were thinking: I hope I can still do this stuff. And for the most part, they could. Besh was impressive, and it was hard not to be caught up in Morou's enthusiasm. Where a Food Network talking head would have panicked, he did the chefly thing and cooked on, bleeding in his food all the while. This, of course, begs the question: when's the pay per view "Sandra Lee, Rachael Ray, and Ingrid Hoffmann Play With Sharp Knives" special?

The second challenge was a good idea that tested a format specific skill while giving a knowing wink to longtime fans. Now, normally I would be among the first to call bullshit on a zany protein pastry challenge--as most chefs will be sure to tell you, they aren't pâtissiers. But unlike an ordinary, carbon-based chef, Iron Chefs are built on sterner stuff: cured plum jelly with umeboshi, turkey and bourbon sorbet, swallow's nest ice cream. A few of the chefs embraced their ferrous aspirations. Besh, of course, excelled with a difficult ingredient that was indicative of his New Orleans style. Better yet, offal aficionado Chris Cosentino used his advantage to select -- oh baby -- tripe. Impressively, his fried honeycomb tripe panzanella actually sounded pretty good. (If this whole Iron Chef gig doesn't work out, maybe Cosentino will follow in Tyler Florence's steps. I expect to see that panzanella at Cheesecake Factory or TGI Friday's next spring.)



Chef des Jardins shouldn't feel too bad. Iron Chef Hiroyuki Sakai was notoriously foiled by his trout ice cream, and her own victory over Iron Chef Mario Batali came in no small part due to his woefully misguided parfait of shrimp remoulade. Truly the savory dessert is the hobgoblin of many a humbled Kitchen Stadium contestant.

I did take minor issue with the fact that the kitchen seemed unprepared for the chefs -- while succeeding as a chef demands the ability to adapt to adverse situations, there were enough artificial roadblocks in place that Chef Symon shouldn't have had to deal with a forty degree freezer midway through a competition. Unlike the appropriately weird restrictions of the task, an Iron Chef shouldn't have to deal with a nonfunctional work environment.

Altogether, I found the program entertaining, even if this was due in part to the skill disparity of the contestants here and those on The Next Food Network Star. As expected, there was a lot of talent on display, and it was fun to imagine Rory struggling to puzzle her way through opening an oyster or coconut. It was also enjoyable to see the ostentatious presentation so beloved to Iron Chef fans in the introductory flourishes of the Chairman. On the other hand, that same pageantry felt a bit peculiar within the context of what was, aside from the caliber of contestant, a fairly typical cooking competition. And indeed, the fact that Food Network essentially duplicated Top Chef's model of a quick test followed by an elimination challenge was itself disappointing. Worst of all, though, there wasn't enough focus on the food. Granted, there's only so much that can be done in a limited time frame with eight contestants, but I'd prefer more emphasis on the dishes and less on coconut technique; that virtually no time was given to the contestants' free form desserts is real pity.

On the competitive front, it was sad to see Traci go so early, but of course there's no Colombe or Mikey to throw into the grinder on this program. It was also good to see Ruhlman chew out his Cleveland homeboy Mike Symon for something that only he would know. Sanchez might not be long for the program, either; the editors, at least, would have us believe he's buckling. On the positive side, Jill Davie cooks well and has real charisma--the fact that she said (and I gratuitously paraphrase) "screw Michelin stars; it's every cook's dream to become an Iron Chef" without it sounding entirely laughable is some testament to her charm. Finally, it's going to be hard not to fall in love with Cosentino -- I know he's going to take the tripe for his dessert, but I still can't help cheer the audacity when he does.

$10.99 offal menu, Friday's. Don't let Olive Garden beat you to it.

Bizarro Food Network

Something is rotten in the state of the Food Network.

Of course, that's to be expected. For once, though, the rot is a metaphorical one, and not Sandra Lee's latest culinary abortion.

This is the channel that replaced Sara Moulton with a second daily dose of Rachael Ray and cut Molto Mario to free up airtime for Semi-Homemade Cooking. This is the channel that ran a supposed culinary competition in which the contestants grilled steak and poured nacho cheese onto store-bought tortilla chips, then made the bold-faced lie that it was "all about the food." This is the channel that brought us "BAM!", "Yumm-o!", and "EVOO," and realized that, unlike ambition, mediocrity wouldn't slip through the Cheeto-stained fingers of its target demographic, the despised "home cook."

Apparently, though, there exists a melancholy executive. A man or woman who, on a late, moonless night on the battlements above the Food Network cubicles, was visited by the vengeful spectre of Julia Child, and has chosen to suffer the slings and arrows of Bob and Suz.
There is no other explanation for The Next Iron Chef, which premieres a week from today and, miraculously, looks watchable. And I don't just mean watchable in the sense of The Next Food Network Star, a cynically honest behind-the-scenes look which demanded attention as would a train wreck. For the first time in a long while, it looks like there may be a Food Network show that is really about the food (and, of course, overwrought Japan-inspired spectacle, a must in our post-Godzilla culinary world).

First, as host, we have Alton Brown, whose likability and geek appeal have somehow managed to save him from the Coalition replacing him with a large-breasted "personality" like Ingrid Hoffman. The judges look good, too. We have Bon Appetit editor Andrew Knowlton, restaurateur Donatella Arpaia, and, best of all, classically trained author and blogger Michael Ruhlman. Not only did he help write The French Laundry Cookbook, but he's also a Bourdain associate and all around ne'er-do-well.

Of course, none of this matters if the contestants suck. Apparently, though, Food Network still has enough clout--or offers enough publicity--to draw some serious talent and, in a novel twist, has elected to choose contestants who can actually cook. My jaw dropped when I read the list. After the network's history of abusing real chefs, it's a stable far better than the network deserves.

There's Gavin Kaysen, formerly of the Michelin-starred L'Escargot in London, now of El Bizcocho (I'm there in a few months when the temperature here is twenty below -- my sister lives in San Diego).

Aarón Sanchez of Paladar and Centrico in New York, son of Mexican culinary authority Zarela Martinez.

Michael Symon of Lola in Cleveland. A Beard nominee who's been featured in Gourmet, Bon Appetit, Food & Wine, and Saveur.

There's John Besh of Restaurant August, a CIA graduate who's been praised by Gourmet, Food & Wine, and the Zagat guide. 2006 Beard Award for Best Chef of the Southeast.

Jill Davie, another CIA grad -- Charlie Trotter's and Tru in Chicago, Josie in LA.

Chris Cosentino, alum of Red Sage and Chez Panisse.

There's Traci fucking des Jardins. San Francisco Magazine's "Chef of the Year." Food & Wine "Best New Chef." Two Beard Awards. Rubicon. Jardinière. She's headed kitchens in restaurants that Sandra Lee couldn't pronounce if they were printed on the back of a flavoring packet.

(Okay, so I've never heard of Morou Ouattara, but in this company I'll give the guy the benefit of the doubt.)



Will Food Network manage to screw this up, too? Will we be allowed to actually watch our intrepid heroes cook? Will the Shakespearean finale result in a pile of corpses, the result of Guy Fieri's tater tots and Sandra Lee's supposed Steak Diane?

Heck, they might even draw a few foodies. After all, they had the sense to wait until the conclusion of Top Chef.