As for the final weigh in, well, that was one drawn-out affair. Blue tallied up 2.41 pounds of fresh pasta, but Red... well, first we had to watch Gordon painstakingly sort out individual strands of spaghetti. Then weigh them. Then announce "Two point--" (cut to commercial). Grrrrrr... About three hours later, Red won by .04 pounds (2.45 lbs for you math flunkies). Their prize: a gondola ride. Um, the Los Angeles river isn't actually a... never mind. Blue, meanwhile, had to stay home and prepare all the pasta for the next evening's dinner service. Andrew was not happy, protesting that his team's spaghetti was "fluffy and beautiful!" Hey Andrew, stop staring at the bunny rabbit in the corner and make your pasta. Fluffy and beautiful...

While Andrew made more pasta with an emphasis on greater fluff and beauty, his rival team boarded a gondola in the Pacific Ocean. Ah, bellissima! Nothing captures the spirit of Venice like paddling amongst surfers and barges. And what a beautiful day too. That gray sky and chilly breeze really made this reward one to remember. Pssst. I just heard that next week's challenge winner gets a free trip to Auschwitz! Yay!

Well, even though the reward looked miserable, the chefs seemed happy to simply get out of the restaurant. Chris gloated, "Ralph's got flour caked in places I don't want to think about." I'm sorry, I can't help it. All I can think of is a flour-caked erection. Thanks, CHRIS!

After all this gondola mumbo-jumbo was over, we then cut to nighttime as all the burgeoning cooks slipped into their PJ's and got ready for bed. Roommates Michael and Chris babbled about how they'd love to be the final two and blah blah blah WAIT! Did I just see that? Did Michael just tuck Chris into bed? What the? Where the hell is that narrator??? I need some explanation! Is this an every-night occurrence? Does Michael ever read a bed time story first? Is there perchance an occasional lullaby? Is Michael's singing as angelic as I've always dreamed? ANSWER ME, NARRATOR!

Well, this sweet and cuddly bedside Michael turned out to be just a front for a more enjoyably demented personality. While everyone slept peacefully in their cots, Michael paced the courtyard and talked to himself. "Michael hasn't been Michael since day one. Michael's been quiet and watching and thinking and plotting and manipulating and waiting," he said with increasing rage. Okay. Everyone, quietly get out of bed and RUN! RUN LIKE HELL! This guy is psycho. You know how it is: one moment he's tucking you in, being the world's best nanny. Two seconds later he's slitting your throat. Michael might very well be reality TV's Rebecca De Mornay.

Enough of these shenanigans though. Let's get to dinner! The next day, G-Ram informed his funky bunch that there would be two dinner services that evening. One team would cook for the restaurant while the other served and vice versa. Exciting! It's almost like a real restaurant -- you know, with customers constantly coming in at different times. How novel!

Anyway, the first dinner service seemed to go decently at first, and I'm sure the diners were more than impressed with Ralph's colorful recommendations. After asking someone if she'd ever been to Tuscany, he promised, "I'm gonna take you there in a bowl." That's an odd choice of transport. Normally, I'd opt for an airplane. Rimshot! Yes, I'm here all night, ladies and gentlemen (wiping sweat from brow, sighing).

While Ralph tamed his Tuscany erection (and by the way ladies, don't ever touch one of Raph's bowls, even if it supposedly can take you to Northern Italy), chaos took over the kitchen. Meal tickets began piling up, causing Gordon to repeatedly yell "Lasagna!" or as he pronounces it, "Lissana!" Elsie and Jimmy struggled under pressure, but unlike previous weeks, Michael did not come to their aid. Instead, he doted on his desserts, hoping to stand out amongst his crappy peers. Hey, it's like the narrator said before, individuals are trying to shine. Thanks narrator!

With the kitchen sputtering to a near halt, the servers found themselves with hungry and angry customers. Jessica responded to the mess by simply handing out random entrees to random people. Oh that's really great. Why even bother with a menu then? It's called taking an order, LOOK INTO IT.

Finally it was time to swap out teams, but before Blue could take control of the kitchen, Michael had a little devious scheme up his sleeve. He and his cohorts were going to promote the lasagna at their tables, a strategy that would surely tie up the kitchen to no end. Michael then added, "Michael is very tricky. Michael will win what is rightfully his. My kitchen, my precious." Okay, so basically Michael is Gollum now.

Well, Michael's plan worked. He and his team managed to sell nearly everyone on the "lissana," causing a massive slowdown in the kitchen. The real fun, however, was out on the floor where Jimmy proved to be a complete disaster, as Donald Trump would say. First off, he was sweating like... like... ah shit, I forgot the rest of the expression. Hmmm... what sort of swine am I thinking of? "He's kind of sweating like a boar," said one woman. YES. BOAR. Wait, no. What the hell? Boar? Are you on crack, lady? Who says that? It's "pig," you dumbass.

Actually, according to Ramsey, Jimmy was more "like an inflated turd." Uh... yeah, let's just stick to the "plank" putdowns. Remember those days? "You're the plank, PLANK!" and "You put the PLANK in PLANKton!" Okay, I made those up, but I'm almost positive those were said off camera.

Posted by B-side on July 1, 2005 12:37 PM