Ah, the Hamptons. Booming announcer guy tells us it's where the rich and famous go to play in the summertime. I suppose that's true, but he doesn't mention the real reason the Hamptons is important: it's Gay Disneyland.

Cinderfella, Jimminy Lickit, and Donald Suck

Needles to say, I have been looking forward to this episode all week. Could fate really be generous enough to hand me both the premier of Project Runway and the gayest Kitchen Nightmares ever on one night? Well, no. Unfortunately, what I didn't know was that in the wintertime, the park is closed and the uggo breeders come out for feeding.

Mommy, take me home! Waaahhhh!

We open in Finn McCool's pub, which has a lot of fat guys glued to their seat shouting "Heeey! Oooh! Woooah! Heeey!" in the way only fat guys who glue themselves to bar stools in tiny New York village pubs can. There doesn't have to be an actual game on for these guys to cheer and slap each other on the back. The game is life, baby. Man, it sure is gettin' cold out there. Heeey! Oooh! Woooah! Cold! Heeey!

Buddy, pictured above, built the place with his retirement money when he left the police force and hired his sons Jason and Brian to run it. He could have decided to live out his second half (or final quarter, Buddy's not the healthiest chap) of his life on a cruise or in Florida or just sitting in the dark with a tv and stockpiled cases of Thin Mints like I plan to do; but instead, he opted to invest in a family business so he could spend time with his boys. Buddy: good hearted, upstanding dad or MASOCHIST? Don't get me wrong, I love my family, but only because I never see them. If we were stuck together in tight quarters day in and day out with a stocked bar and free bowls of nuts, our communication would probably be the same as Buddy's family, only with better diction and more underhanded comments about each other's weight and hair loss.

"You need some help?" "I'm gonna kick you in da teeth, I sweah to Gad." "You're an ass, I sweah." "Go away!" "You go away, asshole!" "I sweah to Gad" "I sweah!" The main source of tension (and the knucklhead most likely to have come up with the name McCool's) is the Bad Son, Brian. Brian is the Chef, and all he does is pound back beers and yell at people. He tells us that he's the only reason this place is still running and even though workin' with family's a pain in da'ass, he knows Good Brother and his Dad wouldn't survive without him. It's not as easy as you'd think to find a semi-functioning alcoholic who can properly deep fry bacon and burn chicken fingers in Westhampton.

Buddy, with a proud smile on his face, shakes his head and tells us Brian's an arrogant little bastard. You'd never know it from looking at him as he snivel/giggles and throws out some f bombs for the cameras. Even I am above suggesting someone looks like they have Down Syndrome, so might I throw inbreeding out there? Poor guy. Deep down he just needs a hug.

It's hard not to be overconfident when you grow up labeled "special."

Everyone in the place has a problem with Bad Son, but they all recount the stories of horror as if they're hysterical memories, like after all these years they still can't believe this douche bag is in their family. Jason, the Good Son, runs the front of the house and had to hire his wife as a waitress so she wouldn't think he's exaggerating when he comes home and tells her about his day. Melissa is the only one who doesn't seem to find any of this amusing. Bad Son is pure evil, and she's worried about Buddy's health. Cut to Buddy knocking a plate onto the floor and actually having to bend down to pick it up. Poor guy! Melissa and Brian are two good apples, and the terror has only made their bond stronger.

Nothing brings couples closer together than a shit storm.

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Posted in Kitchen Nightmares by Flipit at 9:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)
Last Comment: dingfriesaredone on Nov 22, 2007 10:32 PM.