Wolverine Wilds-Out / Judges Make Funny Faces

Written by  //  January 21, 2011  //  Televised Entertainment in Review  //  No comments

I would’ve suggested a title of “Put it on the Fucking Plate” in tribute to Marcel/Wolverine’s massive drunken g-boy flip-out that opens the show. “I make food for the fucking people!” As he yo-boy’s out for all to see – arms swinging back and forth like he’s suddenly not the same guy that was tackled and almost shaved on his season.

Last week’s dim sum challenge saw the end for sexy little Casey and audience’s continued suffering of Jaime. I adore her tattoos, but the twelve year old boy wardrobe and the ability to shuck work drive me nuts. Actually it’s more the twelve year old boy wardrobe that bothers me. I totally applaud a mastery of work shucking.

When the chefs arrive at the kitchen ass early in the morning, they find a sign that says “Gone Fishing” and instruction they’re going to Montauk. The place goes BANANAS – I haven’t seen people this pressed on Montauk since Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless of Mind.

When they arrive, Padma lets them know that this was going to be a double elimination and that there won’t be a Quickfire. They get split into four teams of three, and are given five hours to get as many fish as possible for a beach party of 200 people. As they’re getting on the boat, we find out that Angelo is actually afraid of the water because he’s seen the movie Jaws too many times. “The shark’s scent is 200 miles. I don’t even go into pools because of this whole white shark thing.” Oh Angelo, little merman… I don’t go near pools either, but that’s because I hate children and being near urine when I’m not too drunk to piss myself.

Barbara Nitke/Bravo

We then proceed to get a montage of different people catching fish, different people not catching fish, and lots of girlish squealing and rod holding jokes ensue. They get veggies at a farmers market and we see a budding bromance between Richard and Fabio take fire as the two walk almost arm and arm across the aisles moving like one eight-limbed cooking entity. They all then head to Water Taxi Beach to prepare and serve at a fish fry. I love a good fish fry! It’s a fantastic reason to get family together during Lent and so that I can get drunk and eat for free, which, if I can also watch my aunt and mother go at each other with bread knives as Grandmummy Lizbeth whacks them with her vintage because she bought it in the 1960’s Valentino clutch, I’m totally all for it.

Barbara Nitke/Bravo

The chefs arrive and begin cooking and once again little sour butt Jaime begins complaining about everything from the sun to the sand – you’re on a BEACH! Wake up in St. Tropez on the beach at noon with sunburn on your ass and vomit in your hair – THEN you can complain to me about a little sand in uncomfortable places. And get out of those twelve-year-old boy’s clothes. Jesus.

Thankfully she was decidedly on the bottom with her choice of striped bass and cucumber watermelon salad with cucumber water. The judges thought it was unseasoned and watered down, her undoing being that she put water on top of cucumbers when she blended them, making it all just a watery mess.

Unfortunately, the other person that was sent home was the spunky little lesbian bull fighter Tiffani F. Her smoked blue fish salad in a simple tomato, roasted corn, and zucchini salad was called crude, out of proportion, and overly fishy by the judges. Tom reminder her that bluefish have a bloodline just under the skin that tastes horrible.

Giovanni Rufino/Bravo

The funny thing is that the other person that got stuck with blue fish, the joyful little bird-woman Carla, ended up winning the grand prize of a trip to Amsterdam. Her smoked blue fish and pickled watermelon lettuce wrap on toasted pumpernickel bagel was considered a nice ode to New York .

I wanted to jump up and down with Carla when she came back into the stew room. I didn’t; I would’ve dropped the joint I’d just stolen from the pool boy, but the thought was there and I think that’s what’s really important. Stupid Marcel had to go and pipe his pipsqueak voice and burst her little joy bubble. Totally want to punch that guy in the face.

About the Author

Alistair Blake Arabella

“Alistair Blake Arabella” is the brainchild of entertainment writer and managing editor Vanessa “2 Fingers” Berben . If you’re missing the latest refill of your Dexedrine prescription, there’s a good a chance Alistair’s in your bathroom and has already crushed it up and snorted it. Now be a good little kitten and fetch her drink. If you’d like to receive the hallowed word of Alistair drop a line to AskAlistair@gmail.com – you just may be in the next episode of “Ask Alistar” if you’re very, very lucky.

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