Dear Food Network: “I’m Sorry, Baby – You Know I Love You. But, Do You See What Happens When You Make Me Mad?”

26 March 2009


Chris Brown sez: "Food Network was probably askin' for it."

If you happened to catch my previous internet aflame-setting Food Network post (you lucky bastard!), you may have thought to yourself, “If this handsome devil hates the channel so much, why does he continue to watch it?”  Well, to that I say: “None of your fucking business, cabron!”  But, if I were  to entertain such a nefarious and ignorant question, I’m sure I would search the scotch-sodden recesses of my desperate, blackened heart, and come up with the following.  I love food.  I love to cook it, I love to eat it, and I love to smother it on my naked, nubile body in a daily ritual to pacify the culinary Gods.  Cooking has become a passion of mine, even more dearly held than throwing pennies off of tall buildings to see if they’ll actually kill someone.  I cook almost every day, and make weekend meals an event.  Indeed, not counting the times I’m having furry sex, I am most happy when I put on some Paolo Conti, position my huge cutting board on the counter, sharpen my knives, begin to prepare a large meal, cook that meal, set the table, eat the meal, and then contemplate writing a long list of things I just did.  And when I’m not cooking, I am constantly reading cookbooks and cooking magazines, then derisively commenting about their recipes that “I wouldn’t have used that celeriac,” or “This recipe is stupid.  Needs more bacon.”  In conclusion: furry sex, no one likes celeriac, needs more bacon, lists are awesome.

It is with this passion for food and cooking, then, that I approached my last missive about Food Network.  FN remains, after all, the 800-pound stoup-making gorilla in the room when it comes to food programming; which is odd, because many of their shows seem to indicate that Food Network hates food.  For someone like me, who loves and respects ingredients, Sandra Lee’s inclusion in their line-up is an affront to cooking not seen since the last installment of 30 Minute Meals.  And that they insist on putting innumerable “I’m a cook, not a chef” hacks on the air is an affront to good taste, in the opinion of someone who thinks there’s a lot to be learned from real chefs.  And, yes, I did just use “affront” twice in a row, but whatever – did you see that “taste” pun?!?!  Nailed it.  But the fact is, for all their faults, I still like the Food Network.  It is about food, after all, and unless you randomly picked this sentence as a starting point for reading this post, you know that food happens to be something I love.  Unfortunately, though, FN is ruining this ostensibly perfect union by doing the T.V. equivalent of the stereotypical “dude move,” where a relationship is getting bad, but the guy doesn’t have the guts to dump the girl, so he becomes so distant, so non-caring, and so purposefully annoying that the other person is forced to do the breaking up.  But there are still glimmers of hope, though!  There are those moments when it is genuine, and heartfelt, and willing to give me a conciliatory hand job in the back seat of my car.  Naturally, this mostly happens when FN is drunk on cosmos, but I’ll take what I can get.  I don’t regret what I said to the Food Network, last week, and my grievances still stand; but I would be remiss if I didn’t likewise list what I still enjoy about the channel – the better culinary angels of its nature, if you will (and you will.)  So, here you go…

Iron Chef America


I, for one, welcome our new pot-burning robot chef overlords.

This show has a lot of detractors, and the accusations and criticisms aimed at it may not be altogether undeserved.  However, I still love sitting down for an hour and watching great chefs do their thing*.  What a breath of fresh air to see chefs using cutting edge techniques like sous-vide, infusions, and not using pre-chopped vegetables.  Scientifically speaking, I could not care less about the arbitrary time limit, or the bullshit judging, or the fact that it’s about as much of a competition as a handsome contest in which I’m “competing”.  What I do care about is Morimoto making some heartbreakingly beautiful sushi rolls, or Batali being fucking awesome, or Bobby Flay being, you know, Bobby Flay.  The bottom line is that they make delicious, exotic dishes which look great on T.V., and isn’t that the whole motherfucking point behind this motherfucking channel?!?!?  Seriously, even Cat Cora’s food looks good, and she’s a lady chef!  Outrageous.

Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives


Drive-In Guy sez: "What?!?! No, Pepsi is NOT alright - I ordered Coca Cola, dammit! Do you guys have them Baconators?"

Fuck and yes.  As a kid who would have run over a nun to get at a Moons Over My Hammy, I love this show.  As an adult who realizes that eating the food featured on Triple D makes you fat, and thus less likely to have a dame allow you to put your bad part in her hoo-ha, I hate watching this show.  It makes me “Robert Carlyle in Ravenous ” hungry, which isn’t a good thing to be when you’re trying to maintain a physique like mine, which looks like it’s been chiseled out of marble, iron, and my boners.  As torturous as watching DD&D may be, the food looks great, Guy Fieri comes off as at least somewhat tolerable, and it manages to feature salt-of-the-earth establishments without seeming cloying or sentimental.  From where I stand, it seems like a show dedicated to spotlighting the most glutinous, lipid-laden food this country has to offer.  It’s like a fat-fingered salute to our culinary heritage, and I’m okay with that.  As long as there’s bacon on it.

Good Eats

Why has this majestic dish not been covered, in detail, on Good Eats?  They could do skits of little colestoral models clogging cloth artery analogs.  Or skits involving your fat ass never getting laid.  You know, whichever.

Why has this majestic dish not been covered, in detail, on Good Eats? They could do skits with little cholesterol models clogging cloth artery analogs. Or skits involving a greasy, overweight guy never getting laid. Or maybe even skits of me not being able to come up with a funny caption for this picture.

Holy fucking shit, a cooking show that actually features advice, tips, and practical instruction.  Quelle novelle!  Good Eats does exactly what I want FN to do.  It tells me how to make dishes by highlighting techniques which are not only useful for making the dish at hand, but any range of other dishes that one may think up in the future.  Good Eats is like teaching a man to fish, whereas most other shows on FN simply give the man the fish, but after they do, they kick him in the nuts and run away, having grabbed his girlfriend’s boob on the way out the door.  I don’t know why they do that, either.  Anywho, while AB would be well served by disabusing himself of all the cutesy bullshit, he at least doesn’t dumb down his demonstrations for the audience.  Plus, I made his beef jerky once, and my house smelled like Jack Links for a week.  That’s a good thing.

Honorable Mention

Little known fact: after defeating her enemies, she rips out their defeat-laden hearts and uses them for a delightful ragut.  Another little known fact: check out the rack on this fuckin' broad, right here, eh?

Little known fact: after vanquishing her enemies, Giada rips out their defeat-addled hearts and uses them for a delightful ragu. Another little known fact: check out the rack on this fuckin' broad! Am I right? Eh? Eh?

Everyday Italian:  Ignoring for a moment Giada’s splendid rack and come hither stare, this show is pretty much the real 30 Minute Meals.  All of Giada’s dishes are simple, look great, and come with a side order of cleavage.  Plus, it gives me ample opportunity to say things like “I’ll grate your Parmesan cheese,” and “I’ll roll out your dough.”  ‘Cause I’m classy like that.

The Barefoot Contessa:  It’s hard to relate to Ina Garten sometimes, seeing as how she has celebrities over for dinner, owns a boat, and lives in a town where every single person is gay and owns a flower shop.  Her food looks really good, though, and the name of the show reminds me of how amazing Ava Gardner looked in that movie.  I’m pretty sure Frank Sinatra is going to punch me through the celestial aether just for saying that.

The Cooking Loft:  I love Alex Guarnaschelli and her enthusiasm for food and cooking.  I also like that she’s an actual chef who happens to use actual chefometrics while cooking, rather than frozen vegetables and store-bought dough.  I could do without the sycophantic mongoloid convention gathered around her, though.

Ellie Krieger

I hate you.

I hate you.

You know how you’ll piss off your girlfriend to the point that you’re pretty sure she’s going to break up with you, so you’ll call her up and grovel and beg until she takes you back?  And just when she’s relented, and you’re feeling happy, you say something stupid like “I mean, you can’t be too mad – you’re the one with the hot friend.  What did you think was going to happen when you went away for a week to go to your grandma’s funeral?”  Neither do I, but that’s pretty much what I’m going to do to the Food Network, right now, after having given it all the anterior praise.

Listen, Ellie, I get it that you’re a healthy eater, or whatever the fuck, but I hate you.  I hate everything about your lifestyle and your fake smile and your annoying voice.  If I was given a mandate that I could only eat “x” amount of calories per day, I would rather cut out an entire normal meal every day than have to eat three of yours.  Plus, I don’t fucking think it’s that healthy to begin with!  “Good fats” still make you fucking fat, genius!  If they didn’t, I’d eat a pound of fucking cashews every hour, on the hour.  I’d eat avocados like your mother solicits truckers.  When I went to a bar, my drink of choice would be a fucking Kettle One and Extra Virgin Olive Oil, on the rocks.  Is it so fucking hard to just make normal food, but eat it in moderation?  I mean, seriously, yours is the saddest show on television, and if I had to cook like you, I’d take up fucking stamp collecting, instead.  And I fucking hate stamps.

But worst of all, Ellie – the thing that makes me fucking scream at the T.V. every time I fucking see you – is your Botoxed-to-shit forehead.  I’m a good fifteen years younger than you, yet your taut visage makes me look like Methuselah, in comparison.  And by “Methuselah,” I, of course, mean “age appropriate.”  Where the fuck do you get off trying to portray this happy, healthy lifestyle, then go and inject botulism in your face?  Seriously, you look like fucking Sam Cassel.

In Conclusion To The Longest Post Ever

Baby, please take me back!  It meant nothing to me, I promise!  It's just that she was way hotter than you, that's all.

Baby, please take me back! It meant nothing to me, I promise! It's just that she was way hotter than you, that's all.

Baby, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean that last part, honest.  Oh, don’t be like this!  I need you, honey.  I only get so mad because I love you so much.  Let’s just watch Good Eats and relax a little bit.  Baby, I hate myself for what I did to you, and I promise it won’t happen again.  Unless you air another season of The Next Food Network Star.  Baby, where are you going?  Come back.

One Response to “Dear Food Network: “I’m Sorry, Baby – You Know I Love You. But, Do You See What Happens When You Make Me Mad?””

  1. Lana said

    … and The Next Food Network Star airs this summer.

    Just stumbled across your blog today and am glad I did. You write how I speak, and I’m just now realizing that I’m disturbed I don’t write that way too. humph.

    Anyway, I had a very abrupt introduction to the Food Network, having only tuned into these shows some eight weeks before I found myself eating dinner at the Food Network Kitchens, in the very area where Bobby Flay tests his recipes before venturing out for a Throwdown, seated at a dinner table for five with Guy Fieri. We were served by two waiters, meal was prepped, cooked and styled by three Food Network Chefs and a handful of Food Network executives were on hand, lurking in the shadows throughout our meal, for what reason I’ll never know.

    I have since found myself fascinated with the network, not unlike driving past a train wreck, horrified and yet unable to turn away. I’m convinced they’d like to think they know what they’re doing, but it’s become clear to me they’re shooting in the dark, gallantly hoping to find successful programs. It’s miss and hit at best, and watching them make programming decisions is like watching an awkward teenager at his first co-ed dance. Awkward.

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