Foodie Friday: Top Chef pulls into Mad Town
Today's Dork Tower is up.
Click here, there or anywhere to see it.
By the way, I apparently had an incorrect link for the start of this series, Wednesday. Here it is again:
Prolly won't get many comments on the strips, it being a Long Weekend here in the States, but I'm having fun with the drawings.
****
Last Wednesday was not starting off well.
The Lovely and Talented Judith and I had been awakened far too early. Well, Judith had been awakened far too early, by one certain Doozer Cat, Esq., who decided to play "Is THAT a Scratching Post, Too?" with much of the bedroom furniture. And to quote William Powell in "After The Thin Man" "Mrs. Charles can not sleep, and therefor I am awake." It was one of those "Can't you sleep, either?" "Snore." "I SAID, CAN'T YOU SLEEP EITHER?" moments. I'm sure the married folk out there know of what I speak.
Long story short, we decided (ie, Had No Choice But) to start the day early, if grumpy: Judith would go into work and I'd go down by the lake and try and get some drawing done. It was a lovely morning, but we were both exhausted. Returning to bed really wasn't an option, as Doozer long ago learned how to open the door when we shut him upstairs. (An amazing feat, yes, but why he can't learn something useful, like doing the dishes, or scooping his own litterbox, still utterly baffles me). Thus we decided to put on brave faces, and face the day.
We started out for the Curve, our favorite greasy-spoon diner, but opted to try something new, instead. So we diverted to the Marigold Kitchen (off of Capitol Square). Which is when we drove past THIS:
Yes, the Top Chef Tour had arrived in Madison - something we both knew was happening, but we'd both forgotten about, once we discovered tickets were unavailable. Still, we had also read that standby tickets would be available. So we parked by Marigold, and hot-footed it to the tractor-trailer, where a few official-looking types are milling about. It was far to early to do anything but mill, after all.
Now, Judith and I really enjoyed "Top Chef" Season Four. It was like watching the "The Next Food Network Star," but without wanting to claw your eyes out at the end. You know: it features contestants who have actual cooking talent, and judges you don't want to violate with large socks full of custard, nails, tacks, broken glass and ick. In fact, it...it...it seems to have people on it who know what they're doing! Plus: we both hated finalist Lisa Fernandes, and needed to watch through to the end to be reassured that Goodness and Light would Triumph over Grumpypants and Evil. To us, it was sort of "The Sorrow and the Pity" with choux pastry.
"There are cooking demonstrations at 10:30, noon and 1:30, pm," noted the spritely blonde girl with sunglasses and a clipboard. People with sunglasses and clipboards are usually the sort of folks you want to find in these situations. Spritely and blonde is a plus.
"Which waiting list is likeliest to get us in?" I asked, wanting to game the odds.
"Hmmmm," she said, looking over her sunglasses at the clipboard (SEE? Sunglasses. Clipboard. The Power Tie of the Live Broadcast world!). "They all have the same number of people."
"OK, we'll try for 10:30," I said, after brief consultation with Judith. This would allow us time for breakfast, but not waste too much time if we couldn't - as we guessed we wouldn't - get in.
(Wandering back to the Marigold, by the way, I noticed that the Top Chef semi sports an eight foot-tall hand holding a Very Big knife:
Now, if you can afford a tricked-out semi, and you can afford to have an eight foot-tall, knife-wielding hand on the side of your tricked-out semi, you damn sure outghta pay to get a professional hand model, and not some yutz who apparently just bit off their fingernails before the shoot.
I don't think this is actually a biblical Commandment, but it should be.)
By 10:15, when we returned, a VERY large crowd had gathered around the semi. A guy with sunglasses and a clipboard (see? SEE!) was busy dashing the hopes of people trying to get on the waiting list, telling them they've no hope. No actual wailing or gnashing of teeth occured, but dammit, it should have. I start to have a bad feeling about this. Then people with tickets are let in. The crowd closes in around the guy with the microphone, and blood-lust is in the air.
"I'll read the standby seating off in the order that people signed up," he announces. Is that a soupcon of fear - a dash of nervousness - that I detect in his voice? I suspect he's likely relieved that Top Chef was handing out free ice cream scoops to the mob, and not, say, paring knives.
"First..." he begins, as the crowd hushes...
"...John Killovac. Or Kovalovich. Or something...."
Judith and I dash up the stairs of the semi in what - during a more polite age - might have been referred to as an "unseemly fashion." Just in case there WAS a John Killovac or Kovalovich in the audience, you understand. We quickly take our seats, almost disappointed it ended up being so damn easy to get in, but glad to be rid of the unpredictable, possibly volatile, ice cream-scoop wielding mob behind us.
"So," I looked at Judith, "When the girl said all the waiting lists 'have the same number of people...'"
"She meant none, yes," smiled Judith.
The tricked-out Top Chef semi has room for a mere 36 audience members: an intimate bistro, to say the least. It was nifty to be so close to the action, and the action was supplied by none other than Chefs Stephanie Izard, (Chicago-native and winner of Season 4), and Dale Levitski (season 3 finalist and co-Chicago native). Ostensibly a cooking demonstration, it turned into a hilarious half-hour of off-the-cuff machine-gun banter between the two chefs. They were in turns bright, lively, self-effacing, sincere, and hilarious. They took any and all questions the audience threw at them. It was less cooking demonstration than improv comedy routine, and it was great.
"How was Anthony Bourdain?"
"Oh my god - he moves just like a puppet - tall and gangly, and his head is HUGE! It's just giant!"
"Did any relationships form during the filming?"
"No. It was in our contract. There couldn't be any touching. We had an STD clause."
"How about the tub sequence with Spike and Mark?"
"Oh. There was that, yes. I guess it's OK between guys."
"We all had to be filmed packing our knives before the first episode," noted Stephanie (when chefs are booted off the show, they are told to "Pack your knives, and leave"). "I guess they don't want knives around contestants when they're angry."
"What was your biggest surprise on the show?" I asked Stephanie.
"The fact that the 15-minute challenges really WERE 15 minutes. They timed those things down to the second."
"And your favorite Chicago restaurants?"
"Bluebird and Avec," noted Dale, to which I could only mutter a silent, approving "HELLS, yeah."
All this time, they were making some goat cheese ravioli, topping a summer tomato and pluot salad with honey vinaigrette, and it was amazing. Fresh, sweet, savory and light.
Afterwards, Dale and Stephanie signed photos, and took time to chat with everyone: even those who couldn't get into the show. The signing line was pretty impressive, and I felt almost sorry for them. But not sorry enough to make sure I got a couple of pics autographed. When I get the new kitchen done, it struck me that having some autographed photos of chefs up might be a cool thing.
When I do signings, I always think it's a bit odd when people want a picture with me. Flattering as heck, yes. But for some reason, odd. Still, damn if, on the OTHER side of the signing table now, I didn't simply goob out and do the exact same thing.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go. I need to frame the pictures, and clean off this ice cream scoop I found on the street as we were leaving.
It's bit bloodstained, I'll grant you, yes. But that should rinse off easily enough. As should those odd sunglasses shards and clipboard fragments I found on it...
Click here, there or anywhere to see it.
By the way, I apparently had an incorrect link for the start of this series, Wednesday. Here it is again:
Prolly won't get many comments on the strips, it being a Long Weekend here in the States, but I'm having fun with the drawings.
****
Last Wednesday was not starting off well.
The Lovely and Talented Judith and I had been awakened far too early. Well, Judith had been awakened far too early, by one certain Doozer Cat, Esq., who decided to play "Is THAT a Scratching Post, Too?" with much of the bedroom furniture. And to quote William Powell in "After The Thin Man" "Mrs. Charles can not sleep, and therefor I am awake." It was one of those "Can't you sleep, either?" "Snore." "I SAID, CAN'T YOU SLEEP EITHER?" moments. I'm sure the married folk out there know of what I speak.
Long story short, we decided (ie, Had No Choice But) to start the day early, if grumpy: Judith would go into work and I'd go down by the lake and try and get some drawing done. It was a lovely morning, but we were both exhausted. Returning to bed really wasn't an option, as Doozer long ago learned how to open the door when we shut him upstairs. (An amazing feat, yes, but why he can't learn something useful, like doing the dishes, or scooping his own litterbox, still utterly baffles me). Thus we decided to put on brave faces, and face the day.
We started out for the Curve, our favorite greasy-spoon diner, but opted to try something new, instead. So we diverted to the Marigold Kitchen (off of Capitol Square). Which is when we drove past THIS:
Yes, the Top Chef Tour had arrived in Madison - something we both knew was happening, but we'd both forgotten about, once we discovered tickets were unavailable. Still, we had also read that standby tickets would be available. So we parked by Marigold, and hot-footed it to the tractor-trailer, where a few official-looking types are milling about. It was far to early to do anything but mill, after all.
Now, Judith and I really enjoyed "Top Chef" Season Four. It was like watching the "The Next Food Network Star," but without wanting to claw your eyes out at the end. You know: it features contestants who have actual cooking talent, and judges you don't want to violate with large socks full of custard, nails, tacks, broken glass and ick. In fact, it...it...it seems to have people on it who know what they're doing! Plus: we both hated finalist Lisa Fernandes, and needed to watch through to the end to be reassured that Goodness and Light would Triumph over Grumpypants and Evil. To us, it was sort of "The Sorrow and the Pity" with choux pastry.
"There are cooking demonstrations at 10:30, noon and 1:30, pm," noted the spritely blonde girl with sunglasses and a clipboard. People with sunglasses and clipboards are usually the sort of folks you want to find in these situations. Spritely and blonde is a plus.
"Which waiting list is likeliest to get us in?" I asked, wanting to game the odds.
"Hmmmm," she said, looking over her sunglasses at the clipboard (SEE? Sunglasses. Clipboard. The Power Tie of the Live Broadcast world!). "They all have the same number of people."
"OK, we'll try for 10:30," I said, after brief consultation with Judith. This would allow us time for breakfast, but not waste too much time if we couldn't - as we guessed we wouldn't - get in.
(Wandering back to the Marigold, by the way, I noticed that the Top Chef semi sports an eight foot-tall hand holding a Very Big knife:
Now, if you can afford a tricked-out semi, and you can afford to have an eight foot-tall, knife-wielding hand on the side of your tricked-out semi, you damn sure outghta pay to get a professional hand model, and not some yutz who apparently just bit off their fingernails before the shoot.
I don't think this is actually a biblical Commandment, but it should be.)
By 10:15, when we returned, a VERY large crowd had gathered around the semi. A guy with sunglasses and a clipboard (see? SEE!) was busy dashing the hopes of people trying to get on the waiting list, telling them they've no hope. No actual wailing or gnashing of teeth occured, but dammit, it should have. I start to have a bad feeling about this. Then people with tickets are let in. The crowd closes in around the guy with the microphone, and blood-lust is in the air.
"I'll read the standby seating off in the order that people signed up," he announces. Is that a soupcon of fear - a dash of nervousness - that I detect in his voice? I suspect he's likely relieved that Top Chef was handing out free ice cream scoops to the mob, and not, say, paring knives.
"First..." he begins, as the crowd hushes...
"...John Killovac. Or Kovalovich. Or something...."
Judith and I dash up the stairs of the semi in what - during a more polite age - might have been referred to as an "unseemly fashion." Just in case there WAS a John Killovac or Kovalovich in the audience, you understand. We quickly take our seats, almost disappointed it ended up being so damn easy to get in, but glad to be rid of the unpredictable, possibly volatile, ice cream-scoop wielding mob behind us.
"So," I looked at Judith, "When the girl said all the waiting lists 'have the same number of people...'"
"She meant none, yes," smiled Judith.
The tricked-out Top Chef semi has room for a mere 36 audience members: an intimate bistro, to say the least. It was nifty to be so close to the action, and the action was supplied by none other than Chefs Stephanie Izard, (Chicago-native and winner of Season 4), and Dale Levitski (season 3 finalist and co-Chicago native). Ostensibly a cooking demonstration, it turned into a hilarious half-hour of off-the-cuff machine-gun banter between the two chefs. They were in turns bright, lively, self-effacing, sincere, and hilarious. They took any and all questions the audience threw at them. It was less cooking demonstration than improv comedy routine, and it was great.
"How was Anthony Bourdain?"
"Oh my god - he moves just like a puppet - tall and gangly, and his head is HUGE! It's just giant!"
"Did any relationships form during the filming?"
"No. It was in our contract. There couldn't be any touching. We had an STD clause."
"How about the tub sequence with Spike and Mark?"
"Oh. There was that, yes. I guess it's OK between guys."
"We all had to be filmed packing our knives before the first episode," noted Stephanie (when chefs are booted off the show, they are told to "Pack your knives, and leave"). "I guess they don't want knives around contestants when they're angry."
"What was your biggest surprise on the show?" I asked Stephanie.
"The fact that the 15-minute challenges really WERE 15 minutes. They timed those things down to the second."
"And your favorite Chicago restaurants?"
"Bluebird and Avec," noted Dale, to which I could only mutter a silent, approving "HELLS, yeah."
All this time, they were making some goat cheese ravioli, topping a summer tomato and pluot salad with honey vinaigrette, and it was amazing. Fresh, sweet, savory and light.
Afterwards, Dale and Stephanie signed photos, and took time to chat with everyone: even those who couldn't get into the show. The signing line was pretty impressive, and I felt almost sorry for them. But not sorry enough to make sure I got a couple of pics autographed. When I get the new kitchen done, it struck me that having some autographed photos of chefs up might be a cool thing.
When I do signings, I always think it's a bit odd when people want a picture with me. Flattering as heck, yes. But for some reason, odd. Still, damn if, on the OTHER side of the signing table now, I didn't simply goob out and do the exact same thing.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go. I need to frame the pictures, and clean off this ice cream scoop I found on the street as we were leaving.
It's bit bloodstained, I'll grant you, yes. But that should rinse off easily enough. As should those odd sunglasses shards and clipboard fragments I found on it...