REALITY TV | Chef Gordon Ramsay set to serve up another season of antagonism
June 3, 2007
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
Peer at the reality show "Hell's Kitchen" and you may conclude we as a nation are masochistic, food-obsessed, fame-seeking sloths of mediocre talent.
The third season begins Monday with British chef Gordon Ramsay tasting the awful cooking of 12 contestants. The winner will earn $250,000 as a restaurant chef in a Las Vegas hotel.
With the stakes so high, you'd think these contestants graduated at Le Cordon Bleu or the Culinary Institute of America. But no. One contender grilled at a Waffle House.
To enter the contest, cooks submitted videotapes demonstrating their TV faces, rather than mailing in plates of achiote-seared shrimp with quick habanero-pickled onions.
"People always judge me when I walk in a kitchen -- by my looks," one wannabe says. She cooks pepper-crusted steak and roasted asparagus.
Other contestants are fragile and cry a lot on camera after Ramsay screams at them.
"Stop f---ing crying," Ramsay bellows at a man in a cowboy hat who normally cooks for retirees somewhere.
Ramsay says later in the season debut: "Why are you crying? What in the f---?"
And: "I've had some tough nights in my life, but not over a f---ing egg!"
Also: "F---ing concentrate!"
Plus: "Sir, do you mind just wiping the snot off your f---ing face before we serve chicken and snot?"
This entertaining sadism is served to contestants who crave TV time by any means necessary. But viewers can relate to his bossiness, if it's anything like their own workplace hell. (Misery loves company.)
To draw that masochistic conclusion, you could turn on other shows -- "The Office," "Rescue Me" and any other workplace series like "Scrubs" and "Grey's Anatomy" -- where labor is overworked, underpaid and berated.
But "Hell's Kitchen" is transparently rawer than most.
"You are one chunky monkey, aren't you?" Ramsey growls at the heavy, cowboy-hatted, retiree-feeding cook.
Fighting among contestants also depicts our foodie republic's oral fixation.
"What are you doing with the risotto?" one woman snarls at another. "No! This is not how you do it. Risotto -- you don't even add that much liquid to begin with!"
At its base, "Hell's" is a search for a star who isn't the best in America but the best available, TV-worthy person who has "vision."
"Hell's" greatly wanted competitors with "vision," Ramsay says.
But vision is the most overrated and dangerous quality within us. To have vision in your sights is to wear blinders.
George W. Bush has a vision about war. Terrorists have a vision about religion. Paris Hilton has a vision about singing.
Shakespeare, Mozart and Picasso are not defined by vision. They were master craftsmen. They were servants to methods to produce high-quality work, and only by deduction, then, did they challenge tradition and trends in their fields.
In college, I waited tables in New Orleans under chef Emeril Lagasse. Emeril was a spectacular cook. He did not blabber about vision. He was a learned chef, working very hard, six or seven days a week, morning to night.
Similarly, Ramsay roasted and baked tirelessly for top-notch eateries around the world to attain skills, then fame. The peak of his mountain now is to host "Hell's Kitchen" and hand a reputation shortcut to a short-order cook.
At least "The Apprentice" judged very accomplished CV owners. And surprisingly, "The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll" featured extremely skilled vocalists, mostly better than on "Idol," though the winner must now sing dumbed-down Dolls songs, booty out.
Step back to get perspective and you'll see the mediocre talent in "Hell's" is a microcosm of other Americanisms, like our politics. If you ran a huge corporation a decade ago, would you have hired Arnold Schwarzenegger as your CEO? How about George W. Bush or John Kerry?
Of course you wouldn't have. You would have headhunted the most skilled, brilliant, learned and trained taskmaster you could find, someone with an impeccable track record. Someone who's not primarily a lying visionary.
That's how we should hire politicians, but we don't. In government and on TV, we focus on candidates we can laugh at, or root for as underdogs, sweethearts or the best of the worst.
We the viewers and voters are our own undoing. We feast on fast-food crumbs forked out by anti-intellectuals who underrate our taste buds.
Consider "American Idol." If it were serious, it would hold auditions at Berklee College of Music, in addition to Soldier Field. But we don't want a serious "Idol," apparently.
And if "Hell's Kitchen" sought a world-class chef, a few producers would sniff out culinary classes around the world.
But what "Hell's Kitchen" desires is good ratings as fluffy amusement. And -- other than an aggravating, cymbal-riddled music score -- it is undeniably entertaining, because Ramsay is the R. Lee Ermey ("Full Metal Jacket") of cooking.
"It tastes like gnat's piss!" he shrieks at a cook's dish.
That contestant may soon be serving roast cannon of new-season lamb with confit shoulder, white bean puree and baby leeks at Las Vegas' Green Valley Ranch. If so, don't expect to see "gnat's piss" on billboards, just on plates.
delfman@suntimes.com
BY DOUG ELFMAN Television Critic
Peer at the reality show "Hell's Kitchen" and you may conclude we as a nation are masochistic, food-obsessed, fame-seeking sloths of mediocre talent.
The third season begins Monday with British chef Gordon Ramsay tasting the awful cooking of 12 contestants. The winner will earn $250,000 as a restaurant chef in a Las Vegas hotel.
With the stakes so high, you'd think these contestants graduated at Le Cordon Bleu or the Culinary Institute of America. But no. One contender grilled at a Waffle House.
To enter the contest, cooks submitted videotapes demonstrating their TV faces, rather than mailing in plates of achiote-seared shrimp with quick habanero-pickled onions.
"People always judge me when I walk in a kitchen -- by my looks," one wannabe says. She cooks pepper-crusted steak and roasted asparagus.
Other contestants are fragile and cry a lot on camera after Ramsay screams at them.
"Stop f---ing crying," Ramsay bellows at a man in a cowboy hat who normally cooks for retirees somewhere.
Ramsay says later in the season debut: "Why are you crying? What in the f---?"
And: "I've had some tough nights in my life, but not over a f---ing egg!"
Also: "F---ing concentrate!"
Plus: "Sir, do you mind just wiping the snot off your f---ing face before we serve chicken and snot?"
This entertaining sadism is served to contestants who crave TV time by any means necessary. But viewers can relate to his bossiness, if it's anything like their own workplace hell. (Misery loves company.)
To draw that masochistic conclusion, you could turn on other shows -- "The Office," "Rescue Me" and any other workplace series like "Scrubs" and "Grey's Anatomy" -- where labor is overworked, underpaid and berated.
But "Hell's Kitchen" is transparently rawer than most.
"You are one chunky monkey, aren't you?" Ramsey growls at the heavy, cowboy-hatted, retiree-feeding cook.
Fighting among contestants also depicts our foodie republic's oral fixation.
"What are you doing with the risotto?" one woman snarls at another. "No! This is not how you do it. Risotto -- you don't even add that much liquid to begin with!"
At its base, "Hell's" is a search for a star who isn't the best in America but the best available, TV-worthy person who has "vision."
"Hell's" greatly wanted competitors with "vision," Ramsay says.
But vision is the most overrated and dangerous quality within us. To have vision in your sights is to wear blinders.
George W. Bush has a vision about war. Terrorists have a vision about religion. Paris Hilton has a vision about singing.
Shakespeare, Mozart and Picasso are not defined by vision. They were master craftsmen. They were servants to methods to produce high-quality work, and only by deduction, then, did they challenge tradition and trends in their fields.
In college, I waited tables in New Orleans under chef Emeril Lagasse. Emeril was a spectacular cook. He did not blabber about vision. He was a learned chef, working very hard, six or seven days a week, morning to night.
Similarly, Ramsay roasted and baked tirelessly for top-notch eateries around the world to attain skills, then fame. The peak of his mountain now is to host "Hell's Kitchen" and hand a reputation shortcut to a short-order cook.
At least "The Apprentice" judged very accomplished CV owners. And surprisingly, "The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll" featured extremely skilled vocalists, mostly better than on "Idol," though the winner must now sing dumbed-down Dolls songs, booty out.
Step back to get perspective and you'll see the mediocre talent in "Hell's" is a microcosm of other Americanisms, like our politics. If you ran a huge corporation a decade ago, would you have hired Arnold Schwarzenegger as your CEO? How about George W. Bush or John Kerry?
Of course you wouldn't have. You would have headhunted the most skilled, brilliant, learned and trained taskmaster you could find, someone with an impeccable track record. Someone who's not primarily a lying visionary.
That's how we should hire politicians, but we don't. In government and on TV, we focus on candidates we can laugh at, or root for as underdogs, sweethearts or the best of the worst.
We the viewers and voters are our own undoing. We feast on fast-food crumbs forked out by anti-intellectuals who underrate our taste buds.
Consider "American Idol." If it were serious, it would hold auditions at Berklee College of Music, in addition to Soldier Field. But we don't want a serious "Idol," apparently.
And if "Hell's Kitchen" sought a world-class chef, a few producers would sniff out culinary classes around the world.
But what "Hell's Kitchen" desires is good ratings as fluffy amusement. And -- other than an aggravating, cymbal-riddled music score -- it is undeniably entertaining, because Ramsay is the R. Lee Ermey ("Full Metal Jacket") of cooking.
"It tastes like gnat's piss!" he shrieks at a cook's dish.
That contestant may soon be serving roast cannon of new-season lamb with confit shoulder, white bean puree and baby leeks at Las Vegas' Green Valley Ranch. If so, don't expect to see "gnat's piss" on billboards, just on plates.
delfman@suntimes.com
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