TVgasm Recaps

Okay, okay -- so we haven't been recapping Top Chef, but that's not because we don't like it. We just don't have enough manpower to write about it. Nevertheless, we still want to see the show grow and prosper, and thankfully, Bravo has greenlit season two of the hit show. It just so happens that our buddy is in charge of finding the next stable of haughty, pompous, and emotional chefs, and he wanted us to help get the word out about the various casting calls and whatnot. So in our never-ending quest to shamelessly shill for our friends, we present to you this information.

Open Casting Calls for Top Chef:
Las Vegas, NV - May 11 and May 12 at the Las Vegas Hilton
New York, NY - May 16 and May 18 at Prey Lounge & Bar 
Chicago, IL - May 24 at the Rock Bottom Brewery 
Los Angeles, CA -- TBD 
San Francisco, CA - June 4  

And of course, people can also download an application from BravoTV.com. You can thank us later, Bravo (you know -- maybe a free meal from one of these cooks? You know where to find us).

Season two of Top Chef premiered on Wednesday, and already, I've become slightly obsessed with new host PADMA LAKSHMI. Apologies -- her name just seems to beg for caps (at least the PADMA part). Sure, I did miss the awkward chirping of Katie Lee Joel, but how could anyone deny the exotic presence of PADMA and her curious arm scar?

Anyway, I will try my best to write recaps of this show; although, starting on Wednesday nights, I do wind up with a mild traffic jam of writing obligations: Laguna Beach, The Duel, Survivor, and I guess I have that one last episode of Two-A-Days to cover. Point is -- it'll be a little tricky. In the meantime, feel free to discuss the season premiere here in the comments section or in the forums.

By Flipit

Sometimes I can’t figure out if “Top Chef” is brilliant or retarded. It’s like the prettiest person in high school. You want to think they’re also the smartest and most talented, but their big boobs and charisma blind you to whatever the truth may be.  There were some interesting decisions made at the end of tonight’s episode, both by the contestants and Daddy Tom, that left me vacillating between two opinions: A. These people have built the most creative , interesting, thoughtful reality competition ever. B. This show is run by people who come into work drunk.   I’m fine with both options. Shit or shinola, this show is my friend. My fat, funny friend.

By Nikkibot

Last week’s episode focused on the masses and the need for widely appealing comfort food at TGIF Restaurants -- deep fried something with an annoyingly cutesy name. The challenge saw the ouster of ultra salty, kiddie-hating, nearly translucent Emily. Tears were shed for the sunshine of the bunch, leaving the rest of the chefs missing her pleasant disposition and knock-knock jokes. Yeah, sure…

Good thing Emily got the boot last week, because I’m afraid what would have happened if she had to cook at Fat Camp, uh, I mean Camp Glucose, to feed even more of those pesky kids -- those metabolically challenged children -- as they like to say over at Fat Ca--- shoot, uh, not again, I mean Camp Glucose.

"Flipit, there's a starving child in India who would kill for that pile of peas."

"Then do us all a favor and mail them to him, mother!"

I didn't want them when they were fresh, I hellaain't gonna eat 'em the next day all gussied (drowning in plastic-y cheese) up. Get those peas out of my face, woman. They are Left. Over. Ok?

This week on Top Chef, we learn that you can make truly beautiful art with food you didn't have the stomach for last night, but sometimes it's ok to just feed the unwanted filler to the dogs.

Just when my friends have me believing I'm good enough, smart enough, and that people like me, I'm forced to share a meal with relatives I spend all the other days of the year avoiding. The last Thursday in November is my family's annual chance to snark at my weight gain, hair loss, and general gayness. Ah, Thanksgiving. Nothing brings out the ugly out in people faster than forced "together time". I'm tempted to flake altogether this year, but a little friend named Bravo gave me some advice.

Dear Lord, thank you for this week's episode of Top Chef, which taught me that most people's best sides don't come out during the holidays, but your best bet is to make some effort and not be a big fat baby cryie pants.

A long, long time ago, when I was a wee young Kiddie Flipit, I would refuse most days to go out and play with the neighborhood kids. I wasn't an outcast, really. I was just very, very lazy. Those kids ran around and jumped and yelled. No, thank you. I would watch them from the living room window like they were animals in a zoo.

There was this one badass kid, Rusty. Rusty would build ramps in the culdisac with plywood and bricks and fly off of them on his dirt bike. It was amazing to see the jumps this guy could make! Well, those ramps kept getting higher and higher, and Rusty would just smirk at the other kids and jump higher and higher. One day, he was dared to jump a couple of trash cans. I stood there in my living room window, peanut butter jar in hand, watching and waiting. BAM! Rusty fell face down on the street. Hard. Everyone froze. A couple minutes passed before Rusty got up again and everyone breathed. As he stumbled around, you could tell that there was something different about him. I mean besides the bloody broken face and the concussion. He had failed. He had been humbled. As I finished off the jar of peanut butter, I told myself I was smiling because I was happy Rusty was ok.

This week, Top Chef taught us that you can walk the walk all you want, but you have just as good a chance as anyone else of getting paralyzed in a car crash. Oooh, my pizza just got here!

When I was 19 years old, I participated in a year-long "performance" internship at the Burt Reynolds Dinner Theatre in Jupiter, Florida. I learned how to clean, build, tap dance (disaster) and fight at that Dinner Theatre. For Christmas and New Years, they pulled out the big guns and booked Robert Goulet. In the Dinner Theater world, that's like landing Madonna. I fought tooth and nail to be assigned as his personal assistant for the week, and I beat out Nathaniel, who was a fellow intern and a major shit head. The year's toilet scrubbing and tap dancing was all leading to this moment. Robert Goulet was gonna make me a star!

I only had to spend five minutes in his dressing room to see that dream die. He handed me a two page to do list and refused to speak as he walked around in his tightie whities (yikes) and hummed. I got the balls to hum along with him and he "playfully" (kiddin', kid) threw a slipper at my head. One night, he stared at himself in the already clean mirror I was windexing and said "I'm hungry," as if performing a mouth warm up. I silently brought him a can of Planter's Mixed Nuts from his list. He slammed them down on the sink. "These are salted! Change 'em!" Was this a test I had to pass for him to trust me and make me famous? I scrubbed those f***ers like they had cancer on them. By the time he got back from sound check, the unsalted nuts were waiting for him in a candy dish. They were still a little damp, but when he ate them he wasn't upset. He smiled sadistically at me, and I realized Robert Goulet just schooled me on what a piece of shit I am. To this day, I have never felt as worthless as I did the Christmas I was forced to wash Robert Goulet's nuts.

This week, Top Chef taught us that silence is deadly, more is more, and if you can't stand the nuts, go down bitchin'.

As I sat in Mrs. Shassi's office, I couldn't figure out why I was filled with such dread. She seemed nice enough. Big smile, light Texas accent, huge hair...nothing abnormal here. Still, I wanted to cry. "Flipit, I called you in here today because you seem like an interesting kid and I wanted to get to know you." Humongous smile. Alarm bells were screeching non-stop in my head. No school counselor had ever wanted to just "get to know me". Was I about to get my wish and get kicked out of PE forever? Please, LORD!!!

"You've been skipping Physical Education, huh, Flipit? I used to want to skip class, Flipit. I really did. Especially home-ec with the sewing and what not. I just dreamed all day of skipping class." The enormous, intense, toothy grin was still plastered to her scraggly face. I was sure she was going to pull out a pen knife and slice me to bits, but I couldn't run. I'd been ditching PE.

"But I went to class every single day. Except for when I had mono. Am I blushing? I still to this day find mono embarrassing, don't you?" I sat silent. "I went to class, Flipit, because anything else would be a down right sin." Intense toothy grin. "I do not commit sins, Flipit, and that's why I'm a happy person. I have a family who loves me, a job that needs me, and a Lord who guides me." She walked me to the gym to make sure I wouldn't run and bent down to look me in the eye. "PE won't hurt you, Flipit. But I will."

She grimaced and giggled like it was all a big joke, but as she squeezed the feeling out of my shoulders I knew she was dead serious. A month later, she was fired for slapping a janitor.

This week, Top Chef taught us that everything we know we learned in kindergarten, a smile can be scary as sin, and someone always loses in a gang bang. Craaaaaaaaaaaaccckkkk...

I sat in my car and looked myself over in the rearview mirror. Tonight was going to be a different kind of Friday night. No bingeing through Ghost Whisperer for me. I had been on Weight Watchers for three days, and the one pound I'd lost made me feel like a randy teenager. The burst of confidence had scored me a real, live, actual date.

I had on the huge lightly tinted sunglasses that make my gigantic face look smaller and I was freshly shaven, tooth-brushed and moisturized. I popped a Sweet Mint Orbit in my mouth and savored the moment. I was about to be naked in front of someone else and do the f word. It had been a looooong time. Ding-dong. The front door opened half way. Something was very wrong here, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Did I have an eye crap? Did I miss a nose hair and have a tiny Rapunzel trying to make it to the ground? Did that extra 11 points at breakfast (damn, you, two pump mocha!) bring back my pound?

"You forgot the wine." (sad horns)

That was not a happy face. It took me twelve more pounds and ten months to ever get that close to the f word again.

This week Top Chef taught us monkeys can't rhyme, if you got it spend it, and if you wanna get (a)head, don't forget the wine.

Every time my Aunt Kayla and Uncle Bruce show up to a family get-together, they're fighting. It gets pretty nasty, but the barbs they trade are so hilarious, we just all roll our eyes and figure there's someone for everyone. Well, on Valentine's day two years ago, Uncle Bruce got home an hour late from work, and Aunt Kayla was waiting for him with a bottle of Dom Perignon. Held over her head. As he walked through the door, she called him a cheating sumbitch and crashed the bottle down on him. Hard.

They often laugh about that night, but Uncle Bruce can still only move half his face and no one invites them over anymore because it's just awkward. Everyone can get behind name calling and public bickering as long as it amuses, but there are some lines you just don't cross.

This week, Top Chef taught us karma's a bitch, if you have an unflattering head don't shave it, and sometimes its better to let sleeping monkeys lie.

When I worked as a busboy at Applebee's in the early 90s, I became friends with a newly reformed stripper named Eve who worked as our hostess. Eve was what you'd call "porn star pretty", which means without strip club lighting and bare boobies, she was kinda busted. She knew this (she taught me the term) but she didn't care. She was gonna be an actress, natural beauty or not. She believed in herself, so I did too. I took her to audition after audition and ate pity cone after pity cone with her when she got rejected. Lots of ice cream was consumed.

One day I accompanied her to an audition for a local carpet company. Eve had been all out of sorts on the way there. The rejection was starting to wear on her. She was pissy at best, and I smelled booze on her breath. She cried a bit before we went in and I told her lots of cliche things like "be all you can be" and "honey! Just be yourself!" As she entered the audition room, she tripped on the rug. And didn't get up. Five to ten seconds of silence. Then, suddenly, she started rolling around on the rug drunkenly giggling and squealing. "This is the most comfortable carpet in the world! I LOOOOVE THIS CARPET!"

The other girls in the waiting room were prettier, smarter, and sober, but in the end, that's what made my friend a carpet-rolling icon. She's been El Paso Carpet's spokeswoman for sixteen years now ("I LOOOOVE THIS CARPET!") and every time I see someone trip on a rug I get choked up.

This week, Top Chef taught us you gotta get a gimmick, chemicals are good, and the only sure things in life are death and taxes.

When I was a kid, we had a maid named Romana. She was sweet, charming, and pretty cute, but she was nothing special in the cleaning department. My mom had been hearing stories from her friends about this amazing cleaning woman named Sofie and wanted to try her. Sofie could get wine stains out of anything and even had a magic, super secret technique to make sink fixtures look like new! Some called it voodoo, others called it brilliance. Either way, my mother was intrigued.

When Romana went home to her family one weekend, Sofie was snuck into the house. The stories were true. She insisted on being alone in the room while she worked, so all I can tell you is that in one day, she had our home looking like a shiny palace. And then she started talking. On and on in a tiny squeaky voice she went, only pausing to giggle like a little witch. She told me I was too fat (ok she was right) and she told my sister she had thin hair (sorry, but true again). She called my Father baldie and my Mom Anciana, which is Spanish for "ancient". She was teasing us, and I think it was her misguided way of trying to build camaraderie. It was sweet, in a way. Come Monday morning, Romana was back at work and we were forbidden to ever mention Sofie again. It didn't matter that the windows were so clean they weren't even visible. No one calls my mother old.

This week, Top Chef taught us it doesn't matter if you're good enough and smart enough. People have to like you.

It's time for another season of Top Chef! Wait. No, not yet. First, we have some unresolved bs to hash out. How in the hell did a wack hack like Ilan WIN this thing last year? My blood is still boiling. And what ever happened to Tiffani from Season 1? Did she recover from her loss and get her freckly, bitchy butt back on the horse and try again? This show has produced some of the most immature apes I've ever come across, and I want...no I NEED to know what happened to them.

Call Domino's, cuddle up with a bottle (or 3) of the finest (2 buck Chuck) vino, and binge like Nicole Richie without double doses of Trim Spa and massive amounts of coke. What? It's my free day! Welcome home! It's time for Top Chef: Miami!

The first episode of any reality competition is a bear to recap because there are so many new faces to get to know and rag on. The Season 3 opener of this show is no different, and as usual, the lessons are aplenty. This week, Top Chef taught us to always be on time, don't drink at work, and before you go on TV, make sure you see a shrink first because daddy issues have a way of manifesting themselves at severely inopportune times.

Family barbecues can be wonderful. They can also be bloody hell. I guess it depends on your family. Mine chooses to go to restaurants. If we're gonna spend uncomfortable time avoiding each other's gaze, we'd rather do it with air conditioners and waiters. Stress and confontation is easier to deal with without sun and burnt weenies. This week, Top Chef taught us not to copy loozahs, if you suck, compensate by being as loud as possible, and for chrissakes, follow instructions!

Time for fireworks, swimming pools and weenies! July 4th? Nope. Tonight my friends, Bravo brought us loyal fans together to celebrate freedom. Not from Great Britain (that's old news), but from another psychotic, neurotic, discombulatic freakshow. I'll celebrate The Declaration of Independence next Wednesday. For tonight, The Declaration of Pack Your Knives and Get the F Out will do just fine, thank you.

This week, Top Chef taught us that conch shells are a sign of doom, family dinners made you the fat ass you are, and if an old person gives you no reaction, they probably hate you.

Micah Crazy Pants was sent home in the last episode, and I was seriously worried that I'd be bored not having that psycho energy around anymore. Well, shame on me for not having faith. If there's not a fire, Bravo will light a match and start one. Did they reinduct Betty for another round? Nope! Did they bring suicide guy back for a final nudge off a bridge? Nope! Even better! They delivered the season's first team challenge, which turned normal, sweet players into complete wrecks in less than an hour! Burn, baby, burn!

This week, Top Chef taught us there's a club for everyone, bikinis can't cook, and you only have to be married for three years to get alimony.

This week, Top Chef taught us that it's not safe to run with knives, France and Argentina are two different countries, and if you aren't very pretty or worked out but you still want to act, learn Spanish.

On tonight's very special episode of Top Chef, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

I went to the freezer and pulled out my dinner. As I unscrewed the top from the bottle of Sapphire (come on, I'm on a diet!) I stared at my powered off TV with disdain. I am still pretty upset about last week's Watch What Happens When A Bunch of People You Didn't Like Very Much the First Time Get Together and Make You Miss Tim Gunn More Than Ever Special. I'm still having Bobblehead nightmares. Damn you, Bravo!

Well, it turns out my favorite show came back in top form. All is forgiven. Still, MISS YOU TIMMY G! This week, Top Chef taught us that Botox shouldn't just be for the ladies, IQF isn't a shopping network, and if you want a big stubborn lug to hear you, hit him on the head with a pan.

Don't cry! You're totally pretty!

This week, Top Chef taught us that Howie's a big stupid asshole who is never going to leave our TVs.

Can't cook? Try being a horrible person! MMMMMMmmmmmmm. Yummy!

This week, Top Chef taught us that the best chef in the world isn't the Kentucky Fried Chicken man, Men's Warehouse suits don't breathe easily, and there are no winners in WAR.

Stud alert!

This week, Top Chef taught us you can't lose if you don't play, wine can taste Tuscan and not be from Tuscany, and if you sucked the first time, you should probably change your game plan.

Get me a straw.

We're past the half way mark and now it's time to see our Chefs really shine! Right? RIGHT? Get your life vests, this is gonna get ugly.

This week on Top Chef, we learned all the drag queens in the world can't make Smurf Village a classy place, "beautiful people" can sometimes mean fat bald dudes and the hags that love them, and when in doubt, use puff pastry. Unless your Judge hates carbs. And excuses. And sweat.

Why you little devil!

This week, Top Chef taught us when in doubt, blend, New Jersey's not Manhattan, and Congress is responsible for sucky airplane food.

Scar gives props to the Bunny.

This week, Top Chef taught us that imitation isn't always the sincerest form of flattery, personality can carry you way further than actual talent, and French grandmas are liars.

Eh, a chicken's a chicken.

This week, Top Chef taught us trout isn't a fish, too many patterns are a bad sign, and if you wanna win a reality show, ya gotta have heart.

I vant to eat your zoul.

It's finally that time! This season, we've had weeks off, a filler episode starring Ilan (still haven't forgiven you, Bravo) and an unfulfilled double elimination. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted!

This week, Top Chef taught us you should never let a caveman touch your food, being really high changes everything, and a grandfather who escaped Vietnam trumps a boring old French grandmother any day.

Game on!!

Another season of Top Chef has come to an end, but there are still lots of questions left unanswered. Why did Cliff get so violent with Marcel? Why did Frank drink so much? And how in the HELL did Ilan win this thing? Wait. Sorry. That was last year. There wasn't too much drama this season, just a lot of passive aggression and, gasp, cooking. Don't worry, though. This cast may not have given us fireworks, but it's the most sensitive group to date which means there are lots of hurt feelings that need to be (quietly) talked out now that all's said and done. God, please let me see Baldhawk cry. Love, Flipit.

Aw, Dawson. Let it out.

Welcome, Gasmii, to Top Chef Season 4! I'm so excited to be recapping one of my favorite shows, and look forward to reveling in the talent, stupidity, and arrogance of these 16 chefs with y'all! I'll be the first to admit I don't know shit about the culinary arts - fine dining for me is eating at a real table instead of on my couch - but I do know what looks appetizing, and that when Colicchio looks like he's going to vomit, it's never a good sign. I think that's all the qualifications I need. With that out of the way, let's begin the show!

I've missed you, Scar!

Welcome, Gasmii, to Top Chef Season 4! I'm so excited to be recapping one of my favorite shows, and look forward to reveling in the talent, stupidity, and arrogance of these 16 chefs with y'all! I'll be the first to admit I don't know shit about the culinary arts - fine dining for me is eating at a real table instead of on my couch - but I do know what looks appetizing, and that when Colicchio looks like he's going to vomit, it's never a good sign. I think that's all the qualifications I need. With that out of the way, let's begin the show!

I've missed you, Scar!

This week on Top Chef, the contestants learn to curb their potty mouths a bit, the ladies bone it big time, and Mutton and Richard fight for the affections of one sexy guest judge.

Fo' sho'

This week on Top Chef, Richard and Yoda continue to excel, Erik and Nikki continue to suck, and Zoi and Beast continue to be lesbians.

What's a neighborhood block party without your crazy, cracked out neighbor to scream threats and obscenities at your children?

This week on Top Chef, the leaders continue to distance themselves from the pack, Zoi lets loose her inner bitch, and the nice guy takes the fall.

Hmm, I see... now if you could turn your head and cough for me...

This week on Top Chef, the leaders continue to distance themselves from the pack, Zoi lets loose her inner bitch, and the nice guy takes the fall.

Hmm, I see... now if you could turn your head and cough for me...

This week on Top Chef, all hell breaks loose.

With Special Guest Stars Ming Tsai and Dale's Crotch

This week on Top Chef, the drama takes a backseat to beer, Bears, and bubble baths.

A disturbing look at Twitch's childhood.

This week on Top Chef, everyone's got their mind in the gutter.

So that bubble bath thing... could I get in on that, dude?

This week on Top Chef, I'm forced to reconsider all my previous assumptions as Nikki almost wins and Yoda almost goes home. Oy.

Due to popular demand, I hereby dub thee FLEASA

This week on Top Chef, the chefs compete in two all-time favorite challenges while both old (Twitch v. Richard, Fleasa v. soap) and new (Dale v. Evangelass) rivalries emerge.

"I only married you for your money!"
"I know. And once those start to sag, I'm trading you in for a younger model."

This week on Top Chef, Fleasa tries to blame her shitty cooking on sabotage, Evangelass plays dirty (and no, I don't mean with Fleasa), and Twitch becomes the latest chef sent home for not following the rules.

"Listen all of y'all, this is sabotage!"

This week on Top Chef, the other judges take advantage of Daddy Tom's absence to make a controversial decision that still has my jaw on the floor.

"I'm thinking I should grab my junk between the second and third course... thoughts?"

Here we are you guys -- the Top Chef episode that'll determine who will make it to the Final Four. Left in the running are Richard, Yoda, Antonia, Evangelass, and Fleasa. That means either Evangelass or Fleasa are going home this week, right? Right?! After last week's elimination, I've learned not to assume anything, but as a warning, I may have to boycott this show -- and these recaps -- if someone else other than one of those two gets eliminated this week. Mostly because I will have thrown my laptop through my TV, and won't be able to watch it or write about it.

Might I suggest you figure this out with a little game of Russian Roulette?

This week on Top Chef, the judges break into the Puerto Rican rum and make yet another baffling decision. <Sniff, sniff> Does anyone else smell that? Oh yes, it's the stink of producer intervention. And/or Fleasa. Or possibly Richard's eyebrow hair.

American liquor stores just saw a 91% spike in business.

This is it guys -- the Top Chef finale! Who will win it all? Will it be quietly arrogant Richard, lover of puns, fauxhawks and molecular gastronomy? Will it be fan favorite Yoda, who has overcome her often-horriffic Quick Fire showings with class, poise and the most Elimination Challenge high finishes? Or will it be conspiracy theorist Fleasa, hater of showers, soap and pleasant facial expressions? You all know who I'm rooting for, so without further ado, onto the recap!

If she wins, maybe Yoda can use the money to buy better-fitting pants.

This week on Top Chef, Daddy Tom's face says it all:

"Wake me up if something interesting happens..."

This week, Top Chef is baaaaaack!

Finally, lesbian prisoners are given a shot!

This week on Top Chef, Ariane's a weenie.

No, we don't deserve you. Please shut your pie hole, lady.

This week on a very special Thanksgiving Top Chef, Ariane doesn't cry, Prettyish Boy gets ugly, and Jamie starts to reveal her inner c word.

Damn. I was hoping for Huey Lewis and the News.