And now, onto the introductions — or, as I like to call it, "Time
to pick your horses!" The first cheftestant on-screen is photogenic cutie
Ryan from San Francisco.
Clearly this is a coincidence and not an attempt to pander to two of the show’s
core audiences: straight female foodies and gay male gourmands.
He seems particularly proud of the fact that at age 11 he
got two adult chefs at his family’s restaurant fired because of his cooking
prowess. I somehow doubt they felt the same way.
Next up is Nimma from Atlanta,
who wants to be both a good Muslim woman and a free American. Good luck with
that in George W. Bush’s America.
The first chefbian we see, Zoi, says she brings "a
softer style to the competition." And then they cut away to her gleefully
leering at a severed pig’s head and raving about making "a spicy pig’s
soup out of the head. Yeah!" Straight up, I’m a little scared.
The intros continue as the chefs size each other up for the
first time while chowing down on Chi-town’s signature deep dish. We meet Kiwi
Mark who is rocking the white man ‘fro and Atlantan Richard who is rocking the
I swear, Bravo must have some sort of faux hawk quota
system. Last season it was Sandee and Dale, this season it’s Richard and
Jennifer. Speaking of the Beast (hey, no judgment, that’s what Jennifer’s
friends call her), she enters with Zoi tailing close behind. The other
contestants will suspect nothing, nothing!
As the intros continue, I give the chefs descriptive
nicknames to tell them apart: San Franciscan Erik (the pro-wrestler), New
Yorker Andrew (the F-bomb hurler), Chicagoan Stephanie (the Yoda backpack).
Can we just talk about that backpack for a second? I love
her already. Wait, sorry: Love her, I do.
Then, Richard states the obvious: "But I noticed the
other haircut, you know, right away." I hereby decree Richard an honorary
chefbian. Hello, look: lesbian twinsies.