Neener Neener Neener
Neener Neener Neener by Roxanne McDonald
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I was wondering when the nasty Nancies would begin. Now I kinda wish I hadn’t asked for it. |
God, SHUT upppp.
Cheftestants, Howie is not here to cater your pity parties. Sara N., there was a REASON he didn’t want you putting
effing ice in the milkshakes. You weren’t trying to work some roadside diner patrons for bonus bucks by using what is technically WATER as an extender. CJ, Howie doesn’t, as he very plainly told you, doesn’t need anybody to sign off on his methodology or social etiquette.
True, he doesn’t need us speaking up for him, either.
Okay, while I’m at it….
Hung, get over yourself and the overly ambitious, tendentious moves. Ben and Jerry’s has pretty much gotten away with every possible flavor combination already, and cauliflower is just, well, silly. Cauliflower ears, cauliflower cake, maybe…. But ew. Did you and Marcel not only study together but hang out in the treehouse between classes and come up with ways to reinvent the tried and true? Tempura flakes? You’re a tempura flake. Okay, that was uncalled for.
And while we’re in the ice cream segment, what the hell, Coldstone, was that commercial supposed to do, really, besides make us want to go back to the eighties so we could say, “Gag me with a spoon”? A primate out of control, a voiceover saying that maybe the strawberry blonde could soothe the savage beast, and the layover slogan, “Do you love it?” Gee, allude to Paris Hilton [or Nicole Ritchie, really, as Hilton is not strawberry but blanched blonde] much?
Okay, I’ll leave Casey alone for the time being, as the faux pas sriricha overload could have worked [like having Fireball (jawbreaker) icecream, I’m thinking], but has nothing on the prima donna I always separate work clothes from dress clothes to keep my cooks from knowing my bi-ness attitude.
The guest judge, Gavind Armstrong, will be horrified to watch what you do with the privilege of being a “Top Chef” contestant.
Not all of you, just, mostly, okay, mostly Sara N.
After Dale wins the immunity for serving up a refined peach cobbler and candied pecans Coldstone concept, and after being subjected to a stone cold trick—being told you all had the night off but finding, once you got all glam, that you would actually be working the party you had hoped to decompress with—you are now issued the Elimination Challenge:
300 bucks and thirty minutes to shop, and an hour and a half to prep and cook, the challenge is to feed and please the post-Nikki club partiers. Now, first, come ON, people. When you’re drunk, shit on a shingle will go down nicely. So the menu is no big deal, really. And Howie and CJ on the Orange Team get this, saying easy and fast. Fried food for drunkards. Okay.
Second, the clothing is not such an issue, as you will be covering with aprons, #1, and #2, Casey, your cooks are not here tonight, so your secret manner of dress is not an issue—or shouldn’t be—and I wonder if they even care all that much. Course what they will likely care more about once they watch this episode is what an odd little Jennifer Aniston lookalike thing you are with your quirky need to control how they see you thing.
But Casey’s scowls—which did little more than delight Padma further—aside, the little Miss Priss Sara N. just had to get a frying pan up side the head.
Since she was all giggly and goofy with her little boyfriend Dale (who jokingly called her his little girlfriend) as they prepared to go out and go nuts, the contrast of being told no-go set her off. Sulk. Then, to make it even sadder for her, Dale got exemption from the challenge altogether: HE got to go out. Pout. But having to wear heels to WALK in a store, even though she would have been on her feet a lot longer at the club, really…, THAT was cause for Demon Seed tantrum. Take it out on your teammates so you all will lose. THAT’ll teach em.
So, here is the foreshadowing of the bigtime behavioral problem on her way down the pot sink drain. [Hey, yeah, at least you didn’t have to do dishes, sister!]
Sara is heard in interview saying how they all felt like idiots being tricked into having to work yet another challenge instead of partying as they were so excitedly toasting to in the SUV Hummer thing.
In the planning menu stage, she wails how “Nobody is listening to ME….”
Since everybody logically takes on separate tasks, Sara gets to do beef sliders with carmelized onions and a side of
plantain chips. She also either gets wrangled into or decides to do the milkshakes. The burgers are dry. The milkshakes are no big deal. Though they could have been worse if you had flung frozen water in there.
Then the milkshake recipe announcement and a passive aggressive response to Howie saying absolutely not with the ice—just, just, first grade snack basics, silly girl, MILK and ICECREAM—a sniped okay, I will do it your way, Howie because after all they are your milkshakes.
Then, there was the still not over her better than everyone else in heels and disappointed faces long gone (as others are WORKing), she gets all pissy that she has to make a milkshake for Tom Colicchio…or that she WOULD but she, eh, tih, can’t find the top to the blender/machine….
But the topper, an elementary no-no for any contestant facing the very people who likely had a hand in coming up with what they likely think was a clever trick/challenge, was when Sara N. insulted the judges with a way hyperbolic description of how it felt to do a challenge instead of party.
She called the whole thing DEMORALIZING. Sniff.
Okay. Sara.
Consider the kid who has to shine shoes at six while his weekend warrior parents are drunk off their asses and threatening to put cigarettes out on his face if he cries one more time how hungry he is having not eaten for three days.
Consider being shackled and forced to work twenty-hour days, having your feet hobbled for trying to get the hell away or your eyes being burned out with blacksmith rods when you are caught trying to read a book.
Consider…, okay, consider just getting some damned perspective, hacking off the heels of your shoes if you must (we know you couldn’t just go barefooted, as that’s against the law in the kitchen), and getting on the task you signed up for.
Get in there and cook us some grub.
Too late. But not for us. Casey’s next. Then Hung.
But thanks for the show.
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