One of my new favorite games is to randomly hit PAUSE on my DVR while I'm watching bad Food Network programming (hey, I have to find some way of enduring that nonsense.) The results proved amusing enough for an entire post.
Today's target is Rachael Ray. An easy mark admittedly, but sometimes you don't screw with the classics
I have partaken of the second episode in this, the new season of Dinner: Impossible. The season that has resurrected Robert Irvine to his celebrity status. Our protagonist found himself at Yahoo! headquarters today, dealing with a randomly selected computer menu, and it was his job to assemble the menu in an attractive (and I presume edible) fashion. I'm not going to give too much away here, but let me at least say that my prediction was correct: Shit did indeed go boom.
Now many of you may think that I'm beating a dead horse here. "Yeah, okay so Irvine's not the stand up guy who got you on the road to foodstuffs like he used to be. We get it already." Well, I admit there is a little bit of that "I just learned my hero is human" disappointment to this new season. But it's more than that, really it is. Dinner: Impossible is not so much watching the hero fall a little short as it is watching him fall from grace. Watching Irvine drag through these last two episodes is kind of like watching Muhammad Ali suffering with Parkinson's Disease. Except without the integrity and conviction.
It just seems like Food Network is kind of changing the motif of the program. Now it's not so much about sending a skilled and capable chef into a difficult situation and producing top notch cuisine for high amounts of people. Now it's more akin to handing a control freak a steaming pile of crap and having him spray paint it in bright and vibrant colors. Everything is a disaster on the new Irvine Impossible. Equipment is constantly failing, food is spilling all over the place, tempers are flared beyond belief, and the standards? The standards have gone all to hell. No more elegant top tier food executed flawlessly, every single recipe I've seen in the past couple shows has been positively Rachael Ray. This man used to preach about his skills with world regional cuisine and making things gourmet, now he's become the guy who dumps barbecue sauce on everything.
So now it's completely about ridiculous and unreasonable challenges, done without any real kind of emphasis on quality, but painting a happy ending at the end of the program. That's FOX territory right there! Food Network's trying to play this off like their veiled attempt at Kitchen Nightmares (the American version, not the good one.) At least, that's what it looks like to these cynical eyes. British chef, ridiculous settings, big mistakes happening every five or so minutes, and very little talk about the actual food. In fact, the person who seems to talk about it the least, is the host. His job is apparently to either tell people that they cooked something wrong, or scream at everyone to hurry up. And the few times food talk does go on, he basically ruins it.
Here's one of my favorite moments on the Yahoo challenge. I can't quote it verbatim, but it went something like this. Robert says:
"These tuna sliders are too dry. We need to find some way to make them juicy."
Underling replies: "Well, I guess I can cook them to medium rare to retain a bit of moisture."
"I don't care what you do, just make it happen."
Ten minutes pass, Robert returns and samples the newly cooked tuna burgers and says:
"This is rare, nobody's gonna eat it when it's still pink inside. What were you thinking?"
And communication isn't the least of this season's problems.
To be fair, I think Robert did get a bit of a raw deal in his return. I can almost hear the meeting that took place at Food Network when they reenlisted him. "Alright Robert, despite our decision to terminate you due to falsification of your resume and so forth, the fans seem to like you, so we're gonna bring you back. But, just so you don't go out getting a big head about this, we're gonna make a few modifications to how Dinner: Impossible runs. I won't get into the specifics, but I will say this: Dance Monkey Dance!" And now we've got a guy who spends time slapping stuff together in dumb scenarios and pretending it works. The man's just doing the motions people.
And I think that's what makes it sad. He may be back on the air, but he was still beaten. I had hoped he would come back to television with a furious dedication to do it better. Better food, done more precise and more interesting then ever before. And I'm just not seeing it happen. It just seems like he's fallen more and more into Sunny Anderson/Sandra Lee land, which is a bit crippling.
But, I'll probably still watch. Mostly because the constant disasters and arguements make for good television, but hey I'm still watching. At the very least, it's become my textbook guide for how not to cook.
Sometimes I stare at my instruments or gaze upon the ridiculous pictures of myself streaming in the sidebar of this blog, and I have to chuckle a bit. I was really pushing the rock star bit pretty damn hard. I had studied the formula well, and knew that anytime a camera was abound that it was my job to look both distant and pissed. Deep set eyes filled with human suffering, well that’s good album cover material right there.
I suppose the most beneficial thing about switching gears and putting the music down for a spell is that it’s taught me to take myself less seriously. I certainly don’t feel like I have to prove any of my musical steeze to anyone, that’s for sure. And at the very least, I can certainly admit when I fuck up better than before. That’s the beautiful thing about food compared to music. When you fuck up in music, you can claim you meant to do it. I hit that wrong note as a means of expressing my angst and individuality. It’s art baby. Not so with the foodstuffs. You fuck up with food, it’s not self expression, it’s just burnt. So, I definitely am forced to man up and hide behind significantly less bullshit.
But beyond a little self realization, can being a cook benefit the die hard musician? Does all the burns and sliced finger tips actually make you better when you pick up your instrument of choice and create?
Surprisingly yes. More than you’d think.
After spending several weeks away from the studio, and ridiculous amounts of time in the kitchen practicing cooking times and getting my knife skills up to passable levels, I finally decided to take a day to tend to one of my guitars. My goal was to do a bit of work on the “bastardcaster,” my trusty fluorescent blue piece of crap featured in a few photos out on the web. Anyone who’s seen it knows it to be a heavily beaten, stripped of innards, barely functioning desecretation of a musical instrument. Mismatched components, beaten paint, chipped wood, and a big gaping hole where a pickguard and neck pickup used to be. And while many a punk like to make new and attractive instruments look like shit, that's not my bag. So, it's been my mission to at least get her looking a little better. And, after a day of cleaning, I finally found the original pickguard, which gave me all the emphasis I needed to get her looking sharp.
My original goal for that guitar to get a custom pearloid pickguard (the white sparkly one for those who don’t speak musician) and a big fat sassy humbuckler (the magnet things that are square in musician talk) in the neck. But budgets are tight, and frankly, I’d rather have me a new sharp gyuto and some cast iron goodness for my kitchen than happening equipment for a guitar I rarely play. So, the big mods have been on the backburner. But, I am quite fond of that instrument, the thing has character after all. So, I can at least get it looking moderately close to how it looked before I plundered it. The original neck pup sounded pretty decent, so why not go the easy route?
So, I cleaned up my tabletop, grabbed my soldering iron, and took a deep breath. I’ve never been a great at soldering. My hands shake a bit too much for such delicate work, and I’m an impatient bastard, which only complicates things further. But, I’m also a stubborn old fool who must do everything himself, so that’s the way the cookie crumbles. I grab my iron and start working.
And it was the best soldering job I’ve done in my life.
My hands were perfectly still, And I was breathing in a good relaxed rhythm that the job finished before I even realized it. It still wasn’t super pretty, and I’m sure most luthiers out there could probably do a far superior job than me. But, it didn’t completely suck either, which was a personal best.
And if that weren’t enough, when I finally plugged in the thing and let loose with a few licks, I noticed something else, my vibrato was fantastic! I could rock a string in a steady rhythm that was neither too fast nor too wide. My noise sounded clean baby!
I’m thinking that apparently all this time in the kitchen practicing my cuts, trying to get my dices uniform and precise, and trying to pare the skin off apples in one pass has made my hands steady. I trust my limbs a little more than I used to and don’t constantly stare at every motion my wrists making to ensure I don’t screw up what I’m doing. I’ve learned how to relax my movements a bit, which is never a bad thing.
Take note eager musicians of the world, food can not only sustain you, it can make you better. Now get the hell out there and cook something!
The voice of the people have spoken. After a shocking and underhanded move by the dark forces who rule Food Network to remove Robert Irvine from the lineup due to an "enhanced" resume, the protests of the masses have been heard. For those in the know who were tuned on Wednesday, Irvine has returned as host for Dinner Impossible after a yearlong absence from the program.
And admittedly, I'm feeling a bit iffy about it.
Yeah I know, I was an advocate for the guy way back when. I signed the petition, and spoke about the unfair treatment he got at great length. I am probably a very small infinitesimal part of the reason he is back on the air. And now that he is, I find myself conflicted.
Perhaps it's my development as a cook. Maybe getting a fundamental background in all things culinary has helped me to see the cracks in his armor. My philosophies about what happens to the food that ends up on my plate are definitely in a different category from Mr. Irvine's. Plus, I have spent a lot of time ingesting the fine works of both Anthony Bourdain and Gordon Ramsay over the past year. Possibly it has made me a more refined bastard. At the very least, a different class of bastard.
But then again, maybe it isn't me. Maybe it's him. And maybe it's the things I started to see in him.
Flash back to those last episodes of the season, when the announcement had already been made about his departure, and Food Network was just throwing them on the air to honor a contract. This was not the same guy who managed to not strangle Neil Patrick Harris, or whom cooked up a classly looking spread at Pixar. This was a different Irvine altogether.
And I for one did not like this Irvine. Watching those episodes left me shifting uncomfortably in my seat as though someone had dumped thumb tacks drenched in lemon juice on my seat. I've never denied that Robert Irvine was an ass, but those episodes definitely pushed the level up into ass-hole land. Not just being snappy and about the job, but just being downright mean. Even to people who didn't deserve it.
Remember that episode at the fire station? The one where he was relieving the regular cook for a day? He was snapping at everyone, even getting a little bitter to the woman whom he was supposed to be replacing. Then there was the whole business of the stove breaking. Robert stomped around ordering firefighters (firefighters people! A breed of civil servant worthy of a great deal of respect) to fix the damn things because, and I quote "It's not my job to fix stoves because I'm a cook."
Ummm, okay Robert. Perhaps I'm a little novice in my thinking here, but......don't you kind of need stoves to do cooking with? I know I use one all the time. Most folks I know use one too. And it seems to me that with all these years of training, you might know a thing or two about how stoves work. And being a military man where knowledge of your equipment is part of the job, it seems you'd have some background in the subject. But hey, maybe you don't. Maybe it's something you never did, or haven't done in a long while. That's alright by me. Had you said, "Can someone please fix this stove because I don't know how to," I'd have dismissed it without a second thought. But you didn't. Instead you barked orders at decent people instead of helping the process along, making it sound like you were better than maintaining a stove. Sounded kind of shitty to me.
Another example would be the Japanese festival. He had a good and knowledgeable staff, including a trained sushi chef with over 30 years experience in the field. Here is a man who has paid his dues and is typically treated with some degree of reverence by his colleagues. Apparently, that wasn't how Irvine rolled. Nope, instead of mutual respect and a proper collaboration, we got Robert playing "I'm The Better Chef" on a naturally syndicated show.
Oh wow Robert Irvine, you chopped celery much faster than an old man. Never mind that bits of celery were flying everywhere while your competitor managed to keep everything clean and uniform. And never mind that the knife your competitor was using was a delicate thing of beauty, designed for the precise cutting of seafood and sushi rolls. Nope, you beat a capable chef with great knowledge at wagging your prick. Yay you. And of course we can't forget that moment when he taught you how to make a sushi roll using the side of a pan. You remember that moment right? You stared wide eyed into the camera and said "I made sushi. It took him thirty years, me thirty seconds!" What a great moment that must have been.
And of course who could forget that bi-cultural wedding you did. Getting into a shit fit with the wedding planner had to have been a good moment for you. I literally slapped my head in frustration when you threatened to walk off the job. What were you thinking man? That somehow the catering staff have more say so than the wedding planner? Oh yeah, you're definitely more important than the person the couple hired to put their wedding together. Go ahead and piss her off because you want all kinds of fucked up flowers on the plates of food that don't jive with the couple's wishes, I'm sure that won't be a problem. The wedding won't start on time and nobody would be able to put that tent up to have a reception in, but that's cool. They can all stand around in the middle of the field eating food off your pretty plates. I'm sure they'll notice all those nicely colored flowers when they're freezing outside. And of course, wrap it all up by forgetting to make the bride her special dessert......which she did ask you to do.
Ahh, treasured moments eh Irvine? By the time those last episodes ran, I was starting to have doubts. Maybe this was someone who wasn't worth supporting. I stand by my statements regarding the whole resume thing, but the issue was more than just added fluff to his paper. The guy just wasn't nice to people. And I saw no justification in that.
At the same time, Michael Symon just wasn't cutting the mustard as host. I mean no disrespect to the guy, Symon is insanely competent. And he is, without a doubt, a very nice person. But he was also very much out of his element. Not to say he's inept, Symon knows how to run a restaurant. But Dinner: Impossible is a different skill set in itself. One Symon really didn't have a background in. So, the few episodes he was around, the poor guy looked very uncomfortable. Not to mention he actually failed a challenge, which kind of ruins the suspense. So, despite my issues with his attitude, part of me did miss the testosterone fury that was Irvine.
So, I watched this last Wednesday with more than a little skepticism. I didn't expect to be blown away anymore, but part of me was still hoping I would be. But my big hope in watching was to see him be a stand up guy. Before the challenge began, have him make a public address saying "Thank you for supporting me, It is because of you the viewers that I can make this program again. And I'll do my best to honor your commitment." Just something to make me feel like this experience has humbled him a bit. Like he's grown.
For anyone who hasn't seen it yet, I'm gonna spoil it for you: He never said that. In fact he never said anything close to that. He went on air acting like nothing ever happened. Like he was the same, dependable conceited ass. In fact the only thing he really did was find ways to squeeze the word "extreme" into as many sentences as possible. And if that doesn't sound impressive, it was even less so watching it.
The cooking wasn't all too spectacular either. I'd say roughly 80% of everything that got served spent time in a deep fryer. Admittedly it was an outdoor kitchen in the middle of winter, but still a man of his caliber should be able to come up with something more brilliant (Perhaps I am too much of a novice, but the first thing that came to my mind was, "how about some tarps?") The few things that managed to avoid the fat looked pretty unpleasant. The chicken looked cooked to shit, and swordfish with hot sauce? Really? I'd expect that from a barbeque pit or Bobby Flay, but you're supposed to be all about the gourmet.
But maybe this isn't what this program is about anymore. Based on that episode and the previews from tonight's episode, I'm getting the feeling that Dinner: Impossible is becoming less about making great food for lots of people within limited time, and more about how many things they can make go wrong. Trips and spills galore, things going wrong all over the place, major train wrecks people. The new DI is about watching things fall over, equipment breaking, stuff being forgotten, people hurting themselves, and having the host stare wide eyed at it all. Culinary excellence and skill may have gone right out the window people.
Of course, I am jumping the gun. It has only been the first episode after all, and I'll definitely watch a few more before I dismiss it as more dribble. Heck, it's possible the food will get better, and Robert will become a more interesting host, and not just a dick. I may even get the gratitude I've been hoping for.
At the very least, I'll be watching to see shit go boom.
I was flipping through the reading material I got from a local college tour, when I stumbled across something interesting.
A professional food guy of much notariety was talking about the future of food, the trends that were going to be big in the new year. His Nostradamus-esque predictions?
Leg meat, beef, pork, and lamb. Oh, and duck. Duck's gonna define the '09. Oh, and the big breakthrough? bacon wrapped anything. Anything wrapped in bacon is gonna be big. Big baby, big!
Umm.......I'm no specialist or anything, but isn't that always the case?
Seems to me restaurants and other kooky food peoples have been selling this kind of stuff for years, and will most likely continue to do so long after all of us are gone. I mean duck? Seriously? Seems to me there's an entire landmass just east of us that thrives on the stuff. And wrapping stuff in bacon is hardly new. Hell I know a weirdo who dipped he shit in chocolate, so you're gonna have to do better than that to impress me.
Food is like the other great maddening arts, like music and writing (of which I have some association,) it's not something that can be calculated into trends. It's unpredictable, which is the way it should be. Spontaneous primal creation meant to be savored on the moment, with as little dignity or poise as possible. It's savagery, that's kind of the point. I want to enjoy what I enjoy, when I want to enjoy it. If you told me tomorrow that next month, Salmon was supposed to be all the rage, then you can pretty much guarantee what exactly I won't be eating. I mean, if you wanna play the whole gypsy & crystal ball game, I can whip up some predictions that would make John Edwards shit himself.
Ummm........the universe tells me.........that people will still eat at Burger King and continue to pickle their guts. There, I just blew your mind didn't I?
Good food is good food. People are always gonna eat beef and pork because they taste good. And they'll always eat it made by people who make it taste even better. That's all the forward looking graphs and population patterns you need to know. Now, it's possible that only people like me considering the fields we do, are subject to this information. In which case, I'm really only talking to myself (something I do quite often on this blog.) However, if you've stumbled across any kind of similar statistic or theorizing, here's what I suggest you do:
Go to the most decadent, savory eatery you know. Have your favorite meal, and eat the hell out of it. And while you're sitting back with gristle and pleasure streaked across your face, remember that trends are made by people who have forgotten what eating a meal is all about.
Stuff your faces folks. Keep the professionals guessing.
After last weeks Top Chef show, we are officially down to the final four. And this, I'm sad to say, is about the only "Final Four" that a geeky little reject like me could ever be excited about. And what a way to get me psyched for the finals......by getting rid of the slut. Boy was that a load off! She should have been gone like 3-4 episodes ago. The whole romance thing was icky, and it seemed like the minute she messed up one of her meals during resteraunt wars, she just quit trying. And yet, they kept her onboard, in favor of other people who were trying much harder. So, sending her off was the best news of the night......especially since I was fairly convinced it would be Stefan who was going home. I guess he got lucky, or perhaps overcooking is less of a sin than slightly raw, who knows?
The most irritating thing about last weeks show had to have been Padme. Seriously, what the fuck was up with that dress? Skin tight, tiny, and having all the naughty bits poke out, it almost drove me to the point where I wanted to scream, "THINK OF THE CHILDREN!" There are many out there who find Padme to be an attractive woman, and to those people I wish happy daydreaming. But personally, she kind of gives me the willies.
Anyhow, here's my take on the final four:
STEFAN
My pick for winner of Top Chef, and goddamnit, I swear sometimes I could just smack him upside his bald head! He delivers the fucking goods time and time again, and nearly loses over the simplest stupid things. Last time it was underestimating his opponents skill, which you should never do, and now he's over-cooking his fish! How in the hell do you do that Mr. "Oh, I live by the sea, and know how to fillet and eel, and have been cooking for 25 years"? I'm not a professionally trained cook yet, but even I know to be fearful and of great respect when it comes to dealing with fucking seafood man! Get it together!
HOSEA
God, I can't wait for this guy to get sent home. The mouth on this guy is usually enough to get me in an anger-induced rage most nights. "Oh, I'm the seafood guy, everyone knows me as the seafood guy," blah de-fucking blah. Look, you may have a seafood resteraunt, but nobody acknowledges you as the "seafood guy." If I wanted to have an in-depth discussion on the bounty of the sea, I'm talking to the guys in my local sushi resteraunt long before I call you. You're a cook, just like everyone else on the program. The only one giving you this reputation is you buddy, and from what I've seen, you haven't delivered on your "seafood guy" credibilties. Hell, in the challenge before last, you didn't let your monkfish rest. Monkfish is supposed to rest man. Shit, I've never worked in a seafood resteraunt a day in my life, but all it took was an episode of The F Word to teach me this. And you've got all these years of experience on me and still made a dumbfuck mistake like that.
It would all be forgiveable if you didn't continue to make these loud statements about what an amazing and skilled cook you are, or how you're soooo much better than all these Euro guys. Get bent man. If you win, I'm never watching Top Chef again. Or, I'll continue to watch it after I bust Hosea in the kneecaps with a tire iron.
CARLA (aka Coco)
This is a woman I know I couldn't stand to be around for any length of time. The voice, the mannerisisms, the creepy way her eyes look like they're going to shoot out of her skull when she talks, it's all too much. If I had to spend an afternoon with her, I know that I'd be getting all kinds of angry and violent within the course of an hour. She is not someone I could ever acquaint myself with.
That said, I would have no problems eating her food. She's been cooking up some great dishes as of late, and I definitely appreciate the purist sensibilities in her dishes. If she won, I could probably be happy......so long as I don't have to hear her talk.
FABIO
Shit man, delivering up what easily had to be the best looking meal of the night, all with a broken finger? The man's got gumpsion baby. I don't care what anyone says, I genuinely like the guy. Smug as he may seem, he's quick to make fun of himself. And though I know everyone's got the whole "Itallian man-whore" persona for him, I've never seen a situation where he wasn't quick to talk about and wax poetically about his wife and family. Plus, the guy's made some awesome looking eats. There are very few things he has done that I wouldn't have been happy to eat. No abstract and artistic looking dishes with interesting colors and what not. Nope, his stuff looks like things you can eat. I have my doubts that Fabio will win this, but I'd be plenty happy if he did.
And that's that. See you all on Tuesday.
I watch, and thoroughly enjoy, a lot of Top Chef. It serves as kind of a training ground for a lot of the weird shit I employ in my cooking. At the very least, the insane antics of the overly cocky contestants help to cement a few of the philosophies about food that I've developed.
That said, I know the program comes with a lot of cook patois and culinary terminology that, if you have no interest in learning, can make the program pretty much unwatchable. So, if you're someone who is now remotely interested in the program because I brought it up, or if you happen to be a follower of the program who was just curious on what my take on this season is, here is a brief synopsis for your viewing pleasure:
Leah's a slut, Hosea's borderline racist, and Carla looks like Coco from "Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends."
2009 is upon us and thank fucking god for it. I don't know about you folks, but '08 was hell on wheels for me. Walking disasters, consistent problems, and a fair amount more soul searching than a half-lunatic, failed musician should ever be expected to go through.
Well I'm not having my new year drag out in the same morbid fashion. I won't be dragging what's left of my sanity like some dead mule through two feet of snow, begging for December to end so that I can kiss the year away with strong drink and mischievous deeds. No, we're shooting for buoyant this time around.
And as such, I have made me resolutions accordingly. But I'm not taking the usual paths this time around. None of this "less of these things," and "no more of those things" nonsense. No sir, the big word of 2009 is "more."
MORE FOOD
Diet if you like. Deny yourself one of life's simple pleasures if you think it'll make you a better person, Me, I'm packing the eats in. High doses of grub, and not just more, but better. Higher quality eats, top notch dining that leads to nothing but glazed expressions and big fat poofy smiles. Boogie is out to eat like goddamned royalty people.
And I'm not talking fancy establishments or the gourmet stuff. Eating good doesn't mean dealing with the finicky. Nope, eating good is strictly about staring at an empty plate and saying to yourself "Fuck, that was awesome." This means I'll be searching for more of those taco stands I'm so fond of. I'll be trying out every beat to hell diner and greasy spoon I can find in search of quality food. And yeah, I'll hit the gourmet stuff from time to time, because it's good. And good is the goal here. I'm tired of the late night regret of pulling into some fast food place and having a bag of greasy styrofoam thrown at me. Boogie's gonna eat good, because he's a much more pleasant bastard to be around when he does.
Of course, one can't eat more without also tacking on......
MORE DRINK
'09 is not a year to play it easy. Times are tough, the world is in a tough place, and this calls for tougher countermeasures. Strong drink can sometimes be the only thing between you and a major mental and emotional collapse. Not to mention that it's quite awesome as a fuel for creativity (even if that creativity means spending an evening trying to find letters in my hand wrinkles.) Granted, I probably won't be purchasing $150 bottles of chardonnay this year (or ever possibly) but that won't stop me from indulging in the joys of altered state. Economic libation is still libation, and a little often goes a long way.
And with the addition of more drink also comes the inevitable.....
MORE ADVENTURES
'08 had it's moments of strangeness. I recall sitting in the hot tub of a hotel singing Sinatra's "Fly Me To The Moon" at the top of my lungs, while a family of four sat at the far end of the pool staring at me in terror. I set off fire alarms in huge buildings and then pinned the blame on small children (not my proudest moment, but the little bastards had it coming.) I willingly handled big ass snakes, spiders, and scorpions and only caused them to be slightly pissed at me. And of course, there is that whole "kidnapping and torturing Justin Timberlake" buisness that we've all been beat over the head with.
The goal for '09 is to load up on as much crazy as possible. Madcap antics, bizarre fondlings, life in peril, the good shit. We're taking in as much as possible because believe it or not, Boogie has played it way too safe. Spent way too many days tucked away in my little fortified compound here interacting with nothing but an LCD display and my sick sensibilities. Well damnit, that's no way to live. We're going out and meeting folks, making a few friends, and hopefully, starting a little shit. "Buy the ticket, take the ride."
MORE MUSIC
What does this mean? Could it mean more BGO associated goodness? Could it mean more projects involving the twisted bass player writing this crap? Could it be something new and amazing? The answer is....who cares? It's not like my body of work has been such a mind blowing success that anything I do brings the masses running curiously to the web. All I know is, I should be doing more of it.
'08 served as my quaint little "American Pie." And though I don't remember which day the music died in '07, I know I haven't really done much to resurrect it. Not a bad thing I suppose, this was the first time in thirteen years that I quit spending my every waking minute thinking I would be a huge genre-bending musician that changes the face of music as we know it. And you know what? The break has been nice. I've managed to think about things outside of the musical realm, that I can competently enjoy doing.
Still, I'd like to get back into it. Maybe not as hardcore as I once used to, but to at least dabble a bit. At the very least, to feel like I'm getting some use out of all that goddamned, overpriced equipment sitting in the basement.
And besides, more music doesn't have to mean I'm making the shit. Hell no, I can go out and hear someone else do it. And I probably should too, once upon a time I used to know a thing or two about this stuff.
MORE ACCOMPLISHMENTS
Here at the start of '09, I have something I've never had before: A certificate that says I can teach people how to save lives. Ye gods.
That's a pretty impressive thing I suppose. And it definitely looks good next to that Bachelor's of Science, which consequently has given me no use whatsoever. However, this is not nearly enough, Boogie craves more, much more.
And so, with a great deal of shock and terror, Boogie has decided to further his education. This crazed bastard is going back to school. I know, "Egads," and "Holy fuck!" And while no paperwork has been signed nor has no class schedule even been glanced at, I'm convinced this is going to happen. And believe me, I fought hard to keep it from happening. I had no interest into ever stepping into a place of higher learning again, once was more than enough for me. But, plans change and the game flips on you. And as such, I'm going to have to go back to do something I think I could be pretty good at. We'll see.
Anyhow, that's the big list for the new year. And I encourage you to make a list of similar stature. Quit regretting the bizaree and twisted things you did up until this point. Embrace excess, treat the strange moments like they may be your last. Life is hard, but it's also short. Make an ass of yourself from time to time, it makes the slow decay that much more bearable.
And a Happy New Year to you all.
I am currently typing this in a highly inebriated state in the southwest corner if the local Olive Garden. Outside, a fair strong snow falls across my fair bastard state, creating the perennial "White Christmas." The booze is slowly insuring that it's a happy one. I am in a desperate attempt to try and keep my neck still, because anytime the muscles flex, my brain functions go haywire. I'm fighting with every weakened fiber of my being to try and maintain some degree of composure here. People in this "America's excuse for Italian" are routinely squeezed into the building like sardines. And on a holiday during lunchtime, it only makes this fact more apparent. Being this close to perfectly sensible strangers makes one's descent into drunkenness much harder to disguise. Of course, since we were the only two lunatics in this place to order pomegranate flavored margaritas at one in the afternoon, we had already started this little trip into madness at
a disadvantage. Any second now, these people are going to see the obvious signs, the gradual slur of the voice, the glazed over staring into space, the desperate need to point aimlessly while talking, and when they do, all hell will break loose.
I'm glancing around nervously, trying to get a feel of the room. Trying to figure out which of these overpriced furry boot wearing white collars is going to rush me first. This is Olive Garden for fucks sake, during lunch time no less. Seating in here at this time is quite the hot ticket. Many folks were being turned away with hour long waits in uncomfortable waiting rooms, just to have a taste of safe elegance. There's no limit what they could have done just to get my seat. It matters not that I paid for soup, breadsticks, and stucco atmospherics just like everyone else. This is the place to be.
Soup's good today. Of course, the soup is always good. Breadsticks too. This is truly miracle bread we're dealing with. Always hot and perfect. We are dealing guaranteed satisfaction here. The fact is, walk into any Olive Garden, and you'll be eating pretty much the same degree of well. This is the stuff people eat when they want to feel like they're eating gourmet, but not take any actual risks. Independent resteraunts try new things with varied ingredients, done in different fashions. It can be touch or go for any person who wants to appear wealthy, since they may pay top dollar and look reputable for food that tastes funny. Not the O.G. There's an Olive Guarden in just about every city nowadays. They're not gonna risk the chain by serving crap. I vaguely remeber that this is what McDonalds used to be before everyone realized they were trying to kill us.
The vibe in Olive Garden is definitely changing. Men and women with dirt on their clothes and the sweat of hard work occupy much of this space. Tattoed and fuzzy faced patrons fill the seats to my north, looking nothing like the happy faced middle-classmen in all those commercials. Olive Garden's changed man. What used to be the height of commercialized snobbery has slowly been taken over by the everyman. Normally, I consider these my people. Brothers in arms with strong alliances. But I am in no condition to wage war today. I'm not even sure I can stand up at this point.
Frank Sinatra's voice keeps coming over the speakers.....or at least I think it does. After all, it's not like I haven't channelled Ol' Blue Eyes in altered states before. The Chairman and I are old friends when it comes to staggering craziness. Something I find myself in a lot of. The waitress is looking at us funny now. it's clear we're past any capacity for appearing rational. I let my thoughts drift to the snow falling outside. Damn, it's coming down. But, 'tis the season I suppose. As I suckle on my cheap chocolate after dinner mints that are apparently wishing me a "Happy Holidays," one thought crosses my mind:
How in the hell am I going to get home?
I'm a fan of the hardcore. Those tough and dedicated individuals who bust serious ass at the threat of life and limb to do what they do. I never cease to be impressed by these near-mystical, stone faced people who are committed to their craft and tend to it unflinching. This is my personal notion of superhuman. You can have your big breasted, steroid freaks who stand around in spandex and baby oil if you like, I'll stick to the heavily calloused, sleepless masses who do their thing rough, gritty, and well.
I drove into the heart of downtown SLC this past weekend, while on a mission for high-grade comfort food. It had been a long day, and long days always call for decadent flavorings that remind one of home. It was around 25 degrees outside, and a substantial amount of snow had just graced my fair bastard city. This was, for all intensive purposes, a miserable fucking day. The kind of day where mortals lock themselves up in their houses, homes, apartments, and scullery basements and spend their day watching bad TV and eating easily accessible crap. And I don't fault them for it. When I stepped outside and found snow on my street, snow on my vehicle, and the bite of cold making my cheeks hurt, suddenly eating potato chips and watching Sex In The City reruns didn't seem like such a bad idea. And it took and extreme amount of effort and dedication just to get me out the door, and into a cold truck just to get some decent vittles. Still, I prevailed. And after five minutes of waiting for things to warm up enough in the vehicle, I was happy to be doing it.
And as I pulled off the interstate and into the heart of downtown SLC, I saw some of the roughest and toughest people I have ever seen in my life. Through the glaze of unmelted ice on a slightly foggy windshield, there they were. Their shops set up in the parking lot of a department store, the traces of steam coming off their carts as they stood in bitter fucking cold making tacos for seventy five cents a pop. On one of the coldest days of the year, the people manning the taco stands were standing there, stoic as ever, flipping corn tortillas and chopping vegetables.
Now I'm a big fan of my local taco stands. Some of the best food I've ever stuffed into my face has come from these arenas of culinary utopia. This is food done simple, and done right. And while the taco stands have had many detractors over the years, dropping nonsense of everything from lack of cleanliness to secretly serving you dog, I for one could die a happy man having nothing but a plate of street tacos before I go into the light.
The taco stand experience is not just about the excellent food, but also the people making it. Every stand I've been to has always had very warm and welcoming individuals, who have their own little stockpile of regular visitors coming for their own private taste of perfection. A good taco stand brings in people from a variety of races, creeds, and classes to sample the wares. It makes for a very social experience. But, for eyes like mine, looking past the succulence and courtesy, reveals a layer of true grit unheard of.
Taco stand cooks always seem to have grizzled, weather-beaten hands, awash with multitudes of cuts, scrapes, and burns. These hands have been serving tacos for so long, that they can take your order, plate, and serve you in under a minute flat. All without their eyes leaving the grill. The faces, although kind and friendly, have a worn quality to them. As though they've been tired for so long, they don't even feel it anymore. And I can imagine that exhaustion is a requisite for the job. Most taco stands keep near ridiculous hours. Ranging anywhere from 7am to midnight and beyond. All the while, searing the same cuts of meat over high heat while standing on hard concrete. There should be no question in anyone's mind that these people can outlast any of us in an endurance match.
And apparently, they can withstand sub 30 degree weather as well.
On a day when most normal rational mortals barricade themselves in their homes underneath blankets and a thin veil of burnt propane, these people were out there. Standing in bitter cold in someone else's parking lot. Parking lots with no trees, no way to retain heat, and no way to keep the cold breeze from sneaking into your nether regions and playing with your unmentionables. And they weren't there in hefty parkas and thick coats, oh no. From the road, you can see them in the white, stained uniform of a cook. No gloves and no hats either. They have the same dedicated look and drive to them on this cold ass day that they would on any other. And I have no doubt that when I got home, and slapped on warm snuggly comfort clothes and cranked up the heat, they were still out there selling tacos.
It doesn't get much tougher than this people.
I've spent the last few days sick and bedridden. In situations like those, when the mind is shot and the body in agony, there's really only one thing you can do; try and maintain on junk food and lots of television. So, that's what I did.
In the process of that, I noticed something unsettling brewing on one of my favorite sources of programming, the Food Network. Nothing within the actual content, mind you. Your average day is still filled with bakers proving their masculinity and women with many teeth. Par for the course for anyone who's devout. No, the problem lies under the surface...in the advertising.
It would appear that the celebrity chefs are starting to sell out.
I know this is nothing new. Emeril and Wolfgang have had their name on spices and stocks for a long time. I'm pretty sure Julia Child even had a line of stuff, don't quote me on that though. So, it's not uncommon for the culinary-minded to seek a little endorsing. But, this is a bit different.
I kept my mouth shut when "Rachael Ray EVOO" came out, which wasn't easy. Paying a premium for something that was already pricey just because her buck teeth were on the label is insane enough. But putting the stuff in the wrong kind of container? That goes way too far. Everybody knows that olive oil breaks down in excessive light and heat, and yet she approved packaging her oil in a clear glass bottle. And when good people put that newly acquired EVOO in their spice rack, as they are prone to do, they will find out that the quick decay of the stuff may force them to spend twice as much just to see her pearly whites again. For a woman who's made her career cooking food, you'd think she would've known better.
But hey, what do I know? I'm still an amateur at this. And besides, shhe's got her face on foodstuffs. It means people are gonna be using this stuff to prepare their own meals, which is what the programming is all about. If someone wants to spend the extra bucks to get Ray-approved olive oil, then goes home and makes a stellar meal for the family, all is right with me.
But this new wave of advertising is far uglier than any of this. We're no longer in the frontier of pretty people who can cook slapping their trademarks on barbecue rubs or seasoning mixes. Nope, now they're endorsing the enemy.
At first it was subtle. Rachael Ray did a brief ad for Ritz crackers. It was so well played that no one stopped to wonder why a person, who works for a network that spends a lot of time trying to avoid branding on their programs, would be promoting a brand name like Ritz. The world took no notice, paving the way for the second strike.
So Ray started promoting Dunkin' Donuts........Wait, what? This woman, who's been preaching the value of cooking at home, of making things simpler for people to enjoy home-cooking meals, is now promoting a fast food place? Donuts and breakfast sandwiches stuffed into an oven? What the hell is this? It not only goes against her supposed purpose, but against the mission statement of the very fucking network she works for! Didn't anyone stop and tell here that this might be considered a conflict of interests?
And now it's only gotten worse. Guy Fieri is off promoting TGI Fridays (which is a horrible restaurant filled with crappy food, I don't care what anyone says.) And Ingrid Hoffman is now calling Tostitos lard Cheese her "secret recipe."
This is only going to get worse people. With Emeril seeking retirement, Bourdain getting less an less airtime on the network, and the harsh treatment of Robert Irvine, it's clear that the studied and learned chefs are losing their place. The masses demanded people who were easier on the eyes, less gritty, and without all that fancy "chef jargon." Gone are the days of having good chefs work on TV, today it's the celebrity chef. Pretty people who are just so darn adorable that the fact they can barely cook is excusable. And unlike a real chef, who works hard to develop their name that they're a bit more cautious of what they endorse with it, these people have no qualms about selling out. Looking good and talking slow is really all they've got going for them. They're going to take anything out there.
And we're gonna suffer for it. Probably not today or even tomorrow, but soon. Food Network is already turning away from thought-provoking recipes and performance cooking, and going into promoting the restaurants of others. The interest is no longer in what you are capable of cooking, but at which locales your credit card can be accepted. And those who actually enjoy cooking their own meals will be out in the cold once again.
And for those of you who welcome this sort of thing be warned: It will not be long before your favorite cookster Rachael will be selling you underwear.
As many people have probably figured out, I am enamored with the Food Network. When I'm not writing mean things in the heat of anger, or strapped to an instrument making my latest masterpiece, I'm in the kitchen cooking. It's a great passion of mine, and when I'm in need of ideas, or some all-important understanding of what I'm throwing in the pan, you know where my cable box will be set. There are lazy days in front of the TV where I can watch a solid ten hours of cooking programs, fine dining experiences, and competitive culinary greatness.
For those who don't care much for the culinary arts, I would invite you to take in a little Food Network yourselves. It makes for an interesting case study in something we haven't seen on television in a long time: honesty. Yep, these people who provide entertainment and recipes are very honest. Hell, they have to be. People might actually cook this shit you know? Can't have things like bleach and motor oil on a recipe if it isn't going to enhance the flavor. Might kill someone if the doses aren't right.
So, the Food Network has earned quite the reputation with me for being straight and true. I respect their opinions and trust their word. Even when it comes to something so obviously asinine like putting tomato sauce on a pot roast (which works surprisingly well I might add,) I trust in the word. And they have yet to let me down.
Which makes a recent Food Network announcement that much harder to deal with. For they have decided to fire one of my all-time favorite chefs: Robert Irvine.
Yep, the host of Dinner: Impossible, one of the more interesting Food Network programs has been terminated. And why this outrage? Because the man lied. He falsified things on his resume to make it look more impressive, and got caught in the lie.
One of my newfound heroes is gone, and my Wednesdays are now empty and cold.
Make no mistake, the man was an ass. He had a major arrogant streak, was smug, and had no problem running over and stomping on anyone who caused him problems. I've never held it against him, frankly I think it's why I enjoyed the program so much. Watching him maintain his composure and not strangle Neil Patrick Harris definitely made for good television. Still, I never guessed he would forge anything to get ahead. The man's always seemed very capable and competent, and making stuff up to get ahead seemed ludicrous.
And I find myself conflicted in this. I mean, I agree with Food Network's decision. Having someone claim to do some amazing things only to find out they didn't actually do them would piss anyone off. Remember, Food Network thrives on honesty, half the reason I watch it. Keeping someone dishonest around goes against the very foundation of the station.
On the other hand, I like the program. And I like the guy. He's a complete prick, but an entertaining prick is never unequaled. And I know the nature our current economy. It's not always easy to get ahead in the world. Sometimes over-exaggerating things to get ahead turns out to be the name of the game. Hell, I know my resume tends to emphasize a few things that were minor in the grand scheme of things. And I do it without regret, hoping that said skill will result in opportunity. The man got opportunities, and did well with them. I'm not sure what he lied about, nor do I care all that much. The man put on a hell of a show. Whipped up some fantastic looking eats in ridiculous conditions, and did it without ever losing his cool (much to my dismay.)
I certainly was a fan, and can almost sympathize with his transgressions. I dare say, most of us have been there. Irvine did it, and got so big that there was no way he could back down. Nope, someone had to pop the bubble for him.
Would the show have been entertaining without the forgery? Damn right it would've. Would he be the host of said show without the forgery? I don't know. That's not for me to even speculate on.
In the end, I guess that the Food Network made the necessary decision given the circumstances. Irvine came out and admitted his fault, and acknowledged the actions of the station. There is no blame game here, no passing the buck. Simply a guy getting caught with the things he was trying to hide. The decision has its valid points, even if it does ruin Wednesday nights for me. So, I will stand by one of my favorite stations, and hope that when the steam dies down, they can cut my man Robert some slack.
However, if they screw with Alton Brown, violence will ensue.
