I watched the season finale of Hell's Kitchen last night because I lead an exciting life. Believe it or not, I also had time to conceive a brilliant post yesterevening, but by this morning I'd forgotten the topic. It is that confluence of events that brings us both, you and I, to here.

From the get go I was a fan of Michael. He managed to come across as sympathetic while everyone else came off as pathetic. Plus, he has "Head Chef" tattooed on his knuckles, which I think is kind of funny. Anyway, I was pleased that he won, but I've got to express my dissatisfaction with his prize. For those of you who, like me, watch the show, you know that the premise was that Gordon Ramsey, British firebrand and chef of some reknown, claimed he could turn anyone into a world class chef. The person who best survived his training, which didn't seem much like training to me, would be endowed with a restaurant of his very own. It's a valuable prize, to be sure, if only for its auction value.

But yesterday, after Michael was declared the winner, Ramsey made him an offer: Either take a restaurant of his own or come to London and work at Ramsey's restaurant. As what? Ramsey didn't say. Could well be as an Assistant Rim Job Technician. Michael looked pained at the offer. In my gut I don't think it's because he thought it was a difficult choice, but because he didn't know how to say, "Fuck off, Ramsey. I want the restaurant." So, gentleman and fool that he is, Michael took the job. Idiot.

Then there's Dewberry. As the gentleman from mentioned in the comments here not too long ago, Dewberry is a really fat gay Southern contestant who walked off the show after being called "Fatberry" or something. Anyway, he was back last night. His moment in the spotlight came when he declared himself faint and took a break in the hall during the most intense period of the dinner service. Apparently having 100 pounds of lap fat makes working hard in a hot kitchen kind of a drag. In any case, the thing that bothered me is that he was met with backslaps and applause upon returning. That's bullshit in my book.

Let's say that I'm part of your connect the dots team. If I smoked a whole bunch of weed before the connect the dots contest then decide I need to sit out the second quarter 'cause the dots are bringing me down, you wouldn't given me a high five when I returned for the fourth quarter. Well it's the same with Dewberry and baked spaghetti.

Regardless, congrats Michael -- you really fucked up that prize thing.

Analogcabin @ 4:17 PM
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