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“Top Chef” Recaps: Episode 4.1 “Anything You Can Cook I Can Cook Better”

Welcome to AfterEllen.com’s Top Chef: Chicago recaps! Did everyone remember to bring a fork? Better yet, did you bring your sharpened knives?

In a first for the hit Bravo reality series, three lesbian chefs (or, as Dara so cleverly coined, chefbians) are competing for the coveted title: New Yorker Lisa Fernandes and San Franciscans Jennifer Biesty and Zoi Antonitsas. Since whenever there are three lesbians in a room, two of them are dating/have dated/are thinking about dating, chefbians Jennifer and Zoi are also the show’s first couple.

But before I jump from the frying pan of introductions into the fire of recapping, a little disclaimer from your humble maître d’: I am no chef, and I’m not even really a foodie. I do, however, love food and, for that matter, lesbians. Please pardon me if I break a few eggs or burn the toast, so to speak, along the way. With that, let’s dig in.

THIS WEEK’S KITCHEN ESSENTIALS:

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Dale: I feel you have like to remove yourself out of a lot of the human side of this. You have to say to yourself, “I’m better than all these m—–f—–s.”

OK, what’s up with all the cussing this season? Who are all of these potty mouths? Have I switched over to Deadwood on accident?

Knives drawn – Elimination Day arrives, and Padma greets them in a fuchsia sweater dress and the knee-high boots. Hey, I’m just being thorough.

The winning Quickfire chefs draw numbered knives. In numbered order, they then pick one of the losing chefs to go head-to-head against in the Elimination Challenge. But there’s a little twist (of course).

The losing chef gets to pick which dish the two of them cook from a list of eight culinary classics: lasagna, duck à l’orange, crab cakes, chicken piccata, eggs benedict, steak au poivre, shrimp scampi and soufflé. The best dish from each pair wins, and the worst chef is eligible for elimination. Everyone looks at the word soufflé and promptly shudders in horror.

The face-offs: Richard vs. Andrew (crab cakes – way to work that feud, boys), Mark vs. Stephanie (duck à l’orange), Jennifer vs. Nikki (lasagna), Antonia vs. Nimma (shrimp scampi), Spike vs. Lisa (eggs benedict), Dale vs. Manuel (steak au poivre), Ryan vs. Valerie (chicken piccata) and Erik vs. Zoi (the dreaded soufflé).

At the grocery store, the chefs run around like, uh, chefs in a grocery store. Lisa assures us she’s been cooking breakfast forever.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Nimma: I’m not here to have fun. I really am not here to have fun. I’ll have fun when I’ve reached my goals. It’s a competition; I’m just here to work.

Oh, honey, carpe diem.

Fellow loner Dale plays a one-man game of pool.

Dale: I feel you have like to remove yourself out of a lot of the human side of this. You have to say to yourself, “I’m better than all these m—–f—–s.”

OK, what’s up with all the cussing this season? Who are all of these potty mouths? Have I switched over to Deadwood on accident?

Knives drawn – Elimination Day arrives, and Padma greets them in a fuchsia sweater dress and the knee-high boots. Hey, I’m just being thorough.

The winning Quickfire chefs draw numbered knives. In numbered order, they then pick one of the losing chefs to go head-to-head against in the Elimination Challenge. But there’s a little twist (of course).

The losing chef gets to pick which dish the two of them cook from a list of eight culinary classics: lasagna, duck à l’orange, crab cakes, chicken piccata, eggs benedict, steak au poivre, shrimp scampi and soufflé. The best dish from each pair wins, and the worst chef is eligible for elimination. Everyone looks at the word soufflé and promptly shudders in horror.

The face-offs: Richard vs. Andrew (crab cakes – way to work that feud, boys), Mark vs. Stephanie (duck à l’orange), Jennifer vs. Nikki (lasagna), Antonia vs. Nimma (shrimp scampi), Spike vs. Lisa (eggs benedict), Dale vs. Manuel (steak au poivre), Ryan vs. Valerie (chicken piccata) and Erik vs. Zoi (the dreaded soufflé).

At the grocery store, the chefs run around like, uh, chefs in a grocery store. Lisa assures us she’s been cooking breakfast forever.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Richard‘s peach pizza: Surprisingly good. Stephanie‘s prosciutto concoction: Something smells funky. Zoi‘s broccoli and lamb pizza: A lot of stuff going on. Dale‘s sausage and picked kohlrabi pizza: Cool. Ryan‘s butternut squash pizza: Very nice. Nikki‘s white pie: Thanks, Nikki. Andrew‘s heirloom pizza: Thank you. Jennifer‘s grape and bacon pizza: I like the way you did the crust. Erik‘s mushroom, pepper and sausage pizza: Thanks. Spike‘s Greek pizza: Thank you very much. Nimma‘s mushroom pizza: It’s missing a lot of salt. Mark‘s Marmite pizza: No comment.

With 16 pizzas rumbling in their stomachs, Padma and Rocco come forward to give the chefs their decision (and possibly hunt for antacids). Rocco calls out half of the chefs and tells them to stand at the far end of the room. Ruh-roh. Do they have to wear dunce caps, too?

The Bad: Lisa, Nimma, Valerie, Manuel, Andrew, Stephanie, Nikki and Zoi.

The Good: Mark, Spike, Antonia, Richard, Dale, Erik, Jennifer and Ryan.

Rocco especially liked Richard’s peach pie: “It gets proven over and over again that there are no rules in cooking.” Though, in case you were wondering, there is still no crying in baseball.

Mi casa, su casa – Padma tells the group to rest up and await the next day’s Elimination Challenge. Oh, and the gorgeous townhouse they’re all standing in? It’s their new Chicago home.

F-bomber Andrew approves of the accommodations by exclaiming, “Oh, what phatness!” Dude, 1992 called and wants its catch phrase back.

Decreasing the phatness are the bunk beds they’ll be sleeping in. What is this, sleepaway cooking camp? With the pop of a champagne cork, the fun really begins. Booze, glorious booze! They chefs all hang out, drink and get to know one another casually.

Well, almost everyone. Nimma is alone at her bunk and looking so sad you’d think someone just ran over her cat.

Nimma: I’m not here to have fun. I really am not here to have fun. I’ll have fun when I’ve reached my goals. It’s a competition; I’m just here to work.

Oh, honey, carpe diem.

Fellow loner Dale plays a one-man game of pool.

Dale: I feel you have like to remove yourself out of a lot of the human side of this. You have to say to yourself, “I’m better than all these m—–f—–s.”

OK, what’s up with all the cussing this season? Who are all of these potty mouths? Have I switched over to Deadwood on accident?

Knives drawn – Elimination Day arrives, and Padma greets them in a fuchsia sweater dress and the knee-high boots. Hey, I’m just being thorough.

The winning Quickfire chefs draw numbered knives. In numbered order, they then pick one of the losing chefs to go head-to-head against in the Elimination Challenge. But there’s a little twist (of course).

The losing chef gets to pick which dish the two of them cook from a list of eight culinary classics: lasagna, duck à l’orange, crab cakes, chicken piccata, eggs benedict, steak au poivre, shrimp scampi and soufflé. The best dish from each pair wins, and the worst chef is eligible for elimination. Everyone looks at the word soufflé and promptly shudders in horror.

The face-offs: Richard vs. Andrew (crab cakes – way to work that feud, boys), Mark vs. Stephanie (duck à l’orange), Jennifer vs. Nikki (lasagna), Antonia vs. Nimma (shrimp scampi), Spike vs. Lisa (eggs benedict), Dale vs. Manuel (steak au poivre), Ryan vs. Valerie (chicken piccata) and Erik vs. Zoi (the dreaded soufflé).

At the grocery store, the chefs run around like, uh, chefs in a grocery store. Lisa assures us she’s been cooking breakfast forever.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Lisa: It’s not about having a specialty; it’s about the fact that you can really touch people with food. Somebody can eat one of my dishes and be like, “That’s orgasmic! That’s amazing!”

I need to find her restaurant, pronto.

Dish it up – F-bomber Andrew realizes there are no more deep dish pans because Richard used two. Many bleeps later, he ends up using a cast iron skillet while casting an evil eye at our honorary chefbian. Our first feud and only 13 minutes into the season? How you like them apples? (Personally, I like them baked with cinnamon and drizzled with a little port wine reduction.)

As the pizzas come out of the oven, Dale makes a pointed observation: “I’m looking at some of these pizzas and saying, ‘F—, that looks horrible.'” True enough. But, in their defense, deep dish is usually served in the pan, so these crumbling, cracking monstrosities are not entirely their fault.

What? I may not know much about cooking, but I do know something about pizza.

The chefs all scuttle their creations into carry-out boxes and warming bags and head off to meet their mystery guest judge. If they’re not there in 30 minutes, is it free?

The cheftestants pull up in front of a chichi Chicago townhouse, and when they ring the doorbell, it’s answered by their mystery guest judge: celebrichef Rocco DiSpirito. Everyone seems suitably impressed. Then they’re asked to “service the pizza one slice at a time.” Does that sounds dirtier than it should or do I just have the whole Eliot Spitzer scandal on the brain?

So, how was it? Let me summarize.

Richard‘s peach pizza: Surprisingly good. Stephanie‘s prosciutto concoction: Something smells funky. Zoi‘s broccoli and lamb pizza: A lot of stuff going on. Dale‘s sausage and picked kohlrabi pizza: Cool. Ryan‘s butternut squash pizza: Very nice. Nikki‘s white pie: Thanks, Nikki. Andrew‘s heirloom pizza: Thank you. Jennifer‘s grape and bacon pizza: I like the way you did the crust. Erik‘s mushroom, pepper and sausage pizza: Thanks. Spike‘s Greek pizza: Thank you very much. Nimma‘s mushroom pizza: It’s missing a lot of salt. Mark‘s Marmite pizza: No comment.

With 16 pizzas rumbling in their stomachs, Padma and Rocco come forward to give the chefs their decision (and possibly hunt for antacids). Rocco calls out half of the chefs and tells them to stand at the far end of the room. Ruh-roh. Do they have to wear dunce caps, too?

The Bad: Lisa, Nimma, Valerie, Manuel, Andrew, Stephanie, Nikki and Zoi.

The Good: Mark, Spike, Antonia, Richard, Dale, Erik, Jennifer and Ryan.

Rocco especially liked Richard’s peach pie: “It gets proven over and over again that there are no rules in cooking.” Though, in case you were wondering, there is still no crying in baseball.

Mi casa, su casa – Padma tells the group to rest up and await the next day’s Elimination Challenge. Oh, and the gorgeous townhouse they’re all standing in? It’s their new Chicago home.

F-bomber Andrew approves of the accommodations by exclaiming, “Oh, what phatness!” Dude, 1992 called and wants its catch phrase back.

Decreasing the phatness are the bunk beds they’ll be sleeping in. What is this, sleepaway cooking camp? With the pop of a champagne cork, the fun really begins. Booze, glorious booze! They chefs all hang out, drink and get to know one another casually.

Well, almost everyone. Nimma is alone at her bunk and looking so sad you’d think someone just ran over her cat.

Nimma: I’m not here to have fun. I really am not here to have fun. I’ll have fun when I’ve reached my goals. It’s a competition; I’m just here to work.

Oh, honey, carpe diem.

Fellow loner Dale plays a one-man game of pool.

Dale: I feel you have like to remove yourself out of a lot of the human side of this. You have to say to yourself, “I’m better than all these m—–f—–s.”

OK, what’s up with all the cussing this season? Who are all of these potty mouths? Have I switched over to Deadwood on accident?

Knives drawn – Elimination Day arrives, and Padma greets them in a fuchsia sweater dress and the knee-high boots. Hey, I’m just being thorough.

The winning Quickfire chefs draw numbered knives. In numbered order, they then pick one of the losing chefs to go head-to-head against in the Elimination Challenge. But there’s a little twist (of course).

The losing chef gets to pick which dish the two of them cook from a list of eight culinary classics: lasagna, duck à l’orange, crab cakes, chicken piccata, eggs benedict, steak au poivre, shrimp scampi and soufflé. The best dish from each pair wins, and the worst chef is eligible for elimination. Everyone looks at the word soufflé and promptly shudders in horror.

The face-offs: Richard vs. Andrew (crab cakes – way to work that feud, boys), Mark vs. Stephanie (duck à l’orange), Jennifer vs. Nikki (lasagna), Antonia vs. Nimma (shrimp scampi), Spike vs. Lisa (eggs benedict), Dale vs. Manuel (steak au poivre), Ryan vs. Valerie (chicken piccata) and Erik vs. Zoi (the dreaded soufflé).

At the grocery store, the chefs run around like, uh, chefs in a grocery store. Lisa assures us she’s been cooking breakfast forever.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Spike: When Jen and Zoi announced that they were a couple, instantly I was like, “Aw, this is bulls—.” But I thought about it for a while and I was like, no big deal, they can go home together.

Endearing.

Zoi thinks being on the show as a couple will be tough and just as much a disadvantage as an advantage. Yes, but think of all the processing you can do together afterward. It’ll be like lesbian heaven.

Ready, set, cook! – In walk head judge Tom Colicchio and Padma. Mmm, Padma, mmm. Huh, what? I got distracted.

Right, the Quickfire Challenge: Make a signature deep dish pizza. Wow, I bet the chefs never saw that one coming. It’s not like they’re standing in a deep dish pizza restaurant or anything.

Everyone troops into the Top Chef kitchen, where we learn that the chefs were allowed to bring 200 dollars’ worth of ingredients they “cannot live without” and equipment that is stored in individual lockers. Wow, just like high school. I swear, principal, that’s just oregano.

The cheftestants scatter like cockroaches. OK, sorry, bad analogy.

As they knead, chop and sauté, we meet New Yorker Dale (Hung Jr.), Chicagoan Valerie (Rachel Dratch’s sister), New Yorkers Manuel (teddy bear – what? he looks cuddly) and Nikki (Pillsbury Too-Much Dough Girl) and Los Angeleno Antonia (I can’t think of anything, really, nothing).

Lots of interesting pizzas I would never order in a restaurant are being made: meat and potatoes (Valerie), Marmite (Mark), and peach with a sweet tea sauce (Richard). The honorary chefbian even has the nerve to call his sweet Georgia pie “traditional.” Yeah, sure, just try ordering one from Pizza Hut.

Finally, our third (actual) chefbian, Lisa, gets some face time and immediately gets all When Harry Met Sally on the situation.

Lisa: It’s not about having a specialty; it’s about the fact that you can really touch people with food. Somebody can eat one of my dishes and be like, “That’s orgasmic! That’s amazing!”

I need to find her restaurant, pronto.

Dish it up – F-bomber Andrew realizes there are no more deep dish pans because Richard used two. Many bleeps later, he ends up using a cast iron skillet while casting an evil eye at our honorary chefbian. Our first feud and only 13 minutes into the season? How you like them apples? (Personally, I like them baked with cinnamon and drizzled with a little port wine reduction.)

As the pizzas come out of the oven, Dale makes a pointed observation: “I’m looking at some of these pizzas and saying, ‘F—, that looks horrible.'” True enough. But, in their defense, deep dish is usually served in the pan, so these crumbling, cracking monstrosities are not entirely their fault.

What? I may not know much about cooking, but I do know something about pizza.

The chefs all scuttle their creations into carry-out boxes and warming bags and head off to meet their mystery guest judge. If they’re not there in 30 minutes, is it free?

The cheftestants pull up in front of a chichi Chicago townhouse, and when they ring the doorbell, it’s answered by their mystery guest judge: celebrichef Rocco DiSpirito. Everyone seems suitably impressed. Then they’re asked to “service the pizza one slice at a time.” Does that sounds dirtier than it should or do I just have the whole Eliot Spitzer scandal on the brain?

So, how was it? Let me summarize.

Richard‘s peach pizza: Surprisingly good. Stephanie‘s prosciutto concoction: Something smells funky. Zoi‘s broccoli and lamb pizza: A lot of stuff going on. Dale‘s sausage and picked kohlrabi pizza: Cool. Ryan‘s butternut squash pizza: Very nice. Nikki‘s white pie: Thanks, Nikki. Andrew‘s heirloom pizza: Thank you. Jennifer‘s grape and bacon pizza: I like the way you did the crust. Erik‘s mushroom, pepper and sausage pizza: Thanks. Spike‘s Greek pizza: Thank you very much. Nimma‘s mushroom pizza: It’s missing a lot of salt. Mark‘s Marmite pizza: No comment.

With 16 pizzas rumbling in their stomachs, Padma and Rocco come forward to give the chefs their decision (and possibly hunt for antacids). Rocco calls out half of the chefs and tells them to stand at the far end of the room. Ruh-roh. Do they have to wear dunce caps, too?

The Bad: Lisa, Nimma, Valerie, Manuel, Andrew, Stephanie, Nikki and Zoi.

The Good: Mark, Spike, Antonia, Richard, Dale, Erik, Jennifer and Ryan.

Rocco especially liked Richard’s peach pie: “It gets proven over and over again that there are no rules in cooking.” Though, in case you were wondering, there is still no crying in baseball.

Mi casa, su casa – Padma tells the group to rest up and await the next day’s Elimination Challenge. Oh, and the gorgeous townhouse they’re all standing in? It’s their new Chicago home.

F-bomber Andrew approves of the accommodations by exclaiming, “Oh, what phatness!” Dude, 1992 called and wants its catch phrase back.

Decreasing the phatness are the bunk beds they’ll be sleeping in. What is this, sleepaway cooking camp? With the pop of a champagne cork, the fun really begins. Booze, glorious booze! They chefs all hang out, drink and get to know one another casually.

Well, almost everyone. Nimma is alone at her bunk and looking so sad you’d think someone just ran over her cat.

Nimma: I’m not here to have fun. I really am not here to have fun. I’ll have fun when I’ve reached my goals. It’s a competition; I’m just here to work.

Oh, honey, carpe diem.

Fellow loner Dale plays a one-man game of pool.

Dale: I feel you have like to remove yourself out of a lot of the human side of this. You have to say to yourself, “I’m better than all these m—–f—–s.”

OK, what’s up with all the cussing this season? Who are all of these potty mouths? Have I switched over to Deadwood on accident?

Knives drawn – Elimination Day arrives, and Padma greets them in a fuchsia sweater dress and the knee-high boots. Hey, I’m just being thorough.

The winning Quickfire chefs draw numbered knives. In numbered order, they then pick one of the losing chefs to go head-to-head against in the Elimination Challenge. But there’s a little twist (of course).

The losing chef gets to pick which dish the two of them cook from a list of eight culinary classics: lasagna, duck à l’orange, crab cakes, chicken piccata, eggs benedict, steak au poivre, shrimp scampi and soufflé. The best dish from each pair wins, and the worst chef is eligible for elimination. Everyone looks at the word soufflé and promptly shudders in horror.

The face-offs: Richard vs. Andrew (crab cakes – way to work that feud, boys), Mark vs. Stephanie (duck à l’orange), Jennifer vs. Nikki (lasagna), Antonia vs. Nimma (shrimp scampi), Spike vs. Lisa (eggs benedict), Dale vs. Manuel (steak au poivre), Ryan vs. Valerie (chicken piccata) and Erik vs. Zoi (the dreaded soufflé).

At the grocery store, the chefs run around like, uh, chefs in a grocery store. Lisa assures us she’s been cooking breakfast forever.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Zoi: Uh, we have a little announcement to make. We know each other in San Francisco, and we’re a couple. Jennifer: [concurring] We’re a couple. [There are raised eyebrows all around and an “oh, wow” from the peanut gallery.] Zoi: OK, so it’s “out.” … So it’s a shock to us that we’re here, too.

And then we hear from Spike who, I kid you not, is wearing a bamboo baseball cap backwards because he’s gangsta like that.

Spike: When Jen and Zoi announced that they were a couple, instantly I was like, “Aw, this is bulls—.” But I thought about it for a while and I was like, no big deal, they can go home together.

Endearing.

Zoi thinks being on the show as a couple will be tough and just as much a disadvantage as an advantage. Yes, but think of all the processing you can do together afterward. It’ll be like lesbian heaven.

Ready, set, cook! – In walk head judge Tom Colicchio and Padma. Mmm, Padma, mmm. Huh, what? I got distracted.

Right, the Quickfire Challenge: Make a signature deep dish pizza. Wow, I bet the chefs never saw that one coming. It’s not like they’re standing in a deep dish pizza restaurant or anything.

Everyone troops into the Top Chef kitchen, where we learn that the chefs were allowed to bring 200 dollars’ worth of ingredients they “cannot live without” and equipment that is stored in individual lockers. Wow, just like high school. I swear, principal, that’s just oregano.

The cheftestants scatter like cockroaches. OK, sorry, bad analogy.

As they knead, chop and sauté, we meet New Yorker Dale (Hung Jr.), Chicagoan Valerie (Rachel Dratch’s sister), New Yorkers Manuel (teddy bear – what? he looks cuddly) and Nikki (Pillsbury Too-Much Dough Girl) and Los Angeleno Antonia (I can’t think of anything, really, nothing).

Lots of interesting pizzas I would never order in a restaurant are being made: meat and potatoes (Valerie), Marmite (Mark), and peach with a sweet tea sauce (Richard). The honorary chefbian even has the nerve to call his sweet Georgia pie “traditional.” Yeah, sure, just try ordering one from Pizza Hut.

Finally, our third (actual) chefbian, Lisa, gets some face time and immediately gets all When Harry Met Sally on the situation.

Lisa: It’s not about having a specialty; it’s about the fact that you can really touch people with food. Somebody can eat one of my dishes and be like, “That’s orgasmic! That’s amazing!”

I need to find her restaurant, pronto.

Dish it up – F-bomber Andrew realizes there are no more deep dish pans because Richard used two. Many bleeps later, he ends up using a cast iron skillet while casting an evil eye at our honorary chefbian. Our first feud and only 13 minutes into the season? How you like them apples? (Personally, I like them baked with cinnamon and drizzled with a little port wine reduction.)

As the pizzas come out of the oven, Dale makes a pointed observation: “I’m looking at some of these pizzas and saying, ‘F—, that looks horrible.'” True enough. But, in their defense, deep dish is usually served in the pan, so these crumbling, cracking monstrosities are not entirely their fault.

What? I may not know much about cooking, but I do know something about pizza.

The chefs all scuttle their creations into carry-out boxes and warming bags and head off to meet their mystery guest judge. If they’re not there in 30 minutes, is it free?

The cheftestants pull up in front of a chichi Chicago townhouse, and when they ring the doorbell, it’s answered by their mystery guest judge: celebrichef Rocco DiSpirito. Everyone seems suitably impressed. Then they’re asked to “service the pizza one slice at a time.” Does that sounds dirtier than it should or do I just have the whole Eliot Spitzer scandal on the brain?

So, how was it? Let me summarize.

Richard‘s peach pizza: Surprisingly good. Stephanie‘s prosciutto concoction: Something smells funky. Zoi‘s broccoli and lamb pizza: A lot of stuff going on. Dale‘s sausage and picked kohlrabi pizza: Cool. Ryan‘s butternut squash pizza: Very nice. Nikki‘s white pie: Thanks, Nikki. Andrew‘s heirloom pizza: Thank you. Jennifer‘s grape and bacon pizza: I like the way you did the crust. Erik‘s mushroom, pepper and sausage pizza: Thanks. Spike‘s Greek pizza: Thank you very much. Nimma‘s mushroom pizza: It’s missing a lot of salt. Mark‘s Marmite pizza: No comment.

With 16 pizzas rumbling in their stomachs, Padma and Rocco come forward to give the chefs their decision (and possibly hunt for antacids). Rocco calls out half of the chefs and tells them to stand at the far end of the room. Ruh-roh. Do they have to wear dunce caps, too?

The Bad: Lisa, Nimma, Valerie, Manuel, Andrew, Stephanie, Nikki and Zoi.

The Good: Mark, Spike, Antonia, Richard, Dale, Erik, Jennifer and Ryan.

Rocco especially liked Richard’s peach pie: “It gets proven over and over again that there are no rules in cooking.” Though, in case you were wondering, there is still no crying in baseball.

Mi casa, su casa – Padma tells the group to rest up and await the next day’s Elimination Challenge. Oh, and the gorgeous townhouse they’re all standing in? It’s their new Chicago home.

F-bomber Andrew approves of the accommodations by exclaiming, “Oh, what phatness!” Dude, 1992 called and wants its catch phrase back.

Decreasing the phatness are the bunk beds they’ll be sleeping in. What is this, sleepaway cooking camp? With the pop of a champagne cork, the fun really begins. Booze, glorious booze! They chefs all hang out, drink and get to know one another casually.

Well, almost everyone. Nimma is alone at her bunk and looking so sad you’d think someone just ran over her cat.

Nimma: I’m not here to have fun. I really am not here to have fun. I’ll have fun when I’ve reached my goals. It’s a competition; I’m just here to work.

Oh, honey, carpe diem.

Fellow loner Dale plays a one-man game of pool.

Dale: I feel you have like to remove yourself out of a lot of the human side of this. You have to say to yourself, “I’m better than all these m—–f—–s.”

OK, what’s up with all the cussing this season? Who are all of these potty mouths? Have I switched over to Deadwood on accident?

Knives drawn – Elimination Day arrives, and Padma greets them in a fuchsia sweater dress and the knee-high boots. Hey, I’m just being thorough.

The winning Quickfire chefs draw numbered knives. In numbered order, they then pick one of the losing chefs to go head-to-head against in the Elimination Challenge. But there’s a little twist (of course).

The losing chef gets to pick which dish the two of them cook from a list of eight culinary classics: lasagna, duck à l’orange, crab cakes, chicken piccata, eggs benedict, steak au poivre, shrimp scampi and soufflé. The best dish from each pair wins, and the worst chef is eligible for elimination. Everyone looks at the word soufflé and promptly shudders in horror.

The face-offs: Richard vs. Andrew (crab cakes – way to work that feud, boys), Mark vs. Stephanie (duck à l’orange), Jennifer vs. Nikki (lasagna), Antonia vs. Nimma (shrimp scampi), Spike vs. Lisa (eggs benedict), Dale vs. Manuel (steak au poivre), Ryan vs. Valerie (chicken piccata) and Erik vs. Zoi (the dreaded soufflé).

At the grocery store, the chefs run around like, uh, chefs in a grocery store. Lisa assures us she’s been cooking breakfast forever.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

Quickfire: Uh, anyone have the number for Domino’s? Elimination: Putting the ick in classics. Padmaism: “I found it incredibly salty.”

Chicago deep dish– Another season, another intro by the devilishly delectable Padma Lakshmi. I don’t care how hard she is schilling for the Glad family of products; I’ll buy anything she’s selling. Also, how hard is she rocking that scar? Next, a montage of all 16 cheftestants. Oh, who are we kidding, here are the three you care about:

In a gayer-than-gay-off, I think Jennifer wins for the tie and the lady-hawk.

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 faux hawk.

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.

Cooking out – Then it’s time to kick open the closet door. Or should we call it a pantry door?

Zoi: Uh, we have a little announcement to make. We know each other in San Francisco, and we’re a couple. Jennifer: [concurring] We’re a couple. [There are raised eyebrows all around and an “oh, wow” from the peanut gallery.] Zoi: OK, so it’s “out.” … So it’s a shock to us that we’re here, too.

And then we hear from Spike who, I kid you not, is wearing a bamboo baseball cap backwards because he’s gangsta like that.

Spike: When Jen and Zoi announced that they were a couple, instantly I was like, “Aw, this is bulls—.” But I thought about it for a while and I was like, no big deal, they can go home together.

Endearing.

Zoi thinks being on the show as a couple will be tough and just as much a disadvantage as an advantage. Yes, but think of all the processing you can do together afterward. It’ll be like lesbian heaven.

Ready, set, cook! – In walk head judge Tom Colicchio and Padma. Mmm, Padma, mmm. Huh, what? I got distracted.

Right, the Quickfire Challenge: Make a signature deep dish pizza. Wow, I bet the chefs never saw that one coming. It’s not like they’re standing in a deep dish pizza restaurant or anything.

Everyone troops into the Top Chef kitchen, where we learn that the chefs were allowed to bring 200 dollars’ worth of ingredients they “cannot live without” and equipment that is stored in individual lockers. Wow, just like high school. I swear, principal, that’s just oregano.

The cheftestants scatter like cockroaches. OK, sorry, bad analogy.

As they knead, chop and sauté, we meet New Yorker Dale (Hung Jr.), Chicagoan Valerie (Rachel Dratch’s sister), New Yorkers Manuel (teddy bear – what? he looks cuddly) and Nikki (Pillsbury Too-Much Dough Girl) and Los Angeleno Antonia (I can’t think of anything, really, nothing).

Lots of interesting pizzas I would never order in a restaurant are being made: meat and potatoes (Valerie), Marmite (Mark), and peach with a sweet tea sauce (Richard). The honorary chefbian even has the nerve to call his sweet Georgia pie “traditional.” Yeah, sure, just try ordering one from Pizza Hut.

Finally, our third (actual) chefbian, Lisa, gets some face time and immediately gets all When Harry Met Sally on the situation.

Lisa: It’s not about having a specialty; it’s about the fact that you can really touch people with food. Somebody can eat one of my dishes and be like, “That’s orgasmic! That’s amazing!”

I need to find her restaurant, pronto.

Dish it up – F-bomber Andrew realizes there are no more deep dish pans because Richard used two. Many bleeps later, he ends up using a cast iron skillet while casting an evil eye at our honorary chefbian. Our first feud and only 13 minutes into the season? How you like them apples? (Personally, I like them baked with cinnamon and drizzled with a little port wine reduction.)

As the pizzas come out of the oven, Dale makes a pointed observation: “I’m looking at some of these pizzas and saying, ‘F—, that looks horrible.'” True enough. But, in their defense, deep dish is usually served in the pan, so these crumbling, cracking monstrosities are not entirely their fault.

What? I may not know much about cooking, but I do know something about pizza.

The chefs all scuttle their creations into carry-out boxes and warming bags and head off to meet their mystery guest judge. If they’re not there in 30 minutes, is it free?

The cheftestants pull up in front of a chichi Chicago townhouse, and when they ring the doorbell, it’s answered by their mystery guest judge: celebrichef Rocco DiSpirito. Everyone seems suitably impressed. Then they’re asked to “service the pizza one slice at a time.” Does that sounds dirtier than it should or do I just have the whole Eliot Spitzer scandal on the brain?

So, how was it? Let me summarize.

Richard‘s peach pizza: Surprisingly good. Stephanie‘s prosciutto concoction: Something smells funky. Zoi‘s broccoli and lamb pizza: A lot of stuff going on. Dale‘s sausage and picked kohlrabi pizza: Cool. Ryan‘s butternut squash pizza: Very nice. Nikki‘s white pie: Thanks, Nikki. Andrew‘s heirloom pizza: Thank you. Jennifer‘s grape and bacon pizza: I like the way you did the crust. Erik‘s mushroom, pepper and sausage pizza: Thanks. Spike‘s Greek pizza: Thank you very much. Nimma‘s mushroom pizza: It’s missing a lot of salt. Mark‘s Marmite pizza: No comment.

With 16 pizzas rumbling in their stomachs, Padma and Rocco come forward to give the chefs their decision (and possibly hunt for antacids). Rocco calls out half of the chefs and tells them to stand at the far end of the room. Ruh-roh. Do they have to wear dunce caps, too?

The Bad: Lisa, Nimma, Valerie, Manuel, Andrew, Stephanie, Nikki and Zoi.

The Good: Mark, Spike, Antonia, Richard, Dale, Erik, Jennifer and Ryan.

Rocco especially liked Richard’s peach pie: “It gets proven over and over again that there are no rules in cooking.” Though, in case you were wondering, there is still no crying in baseball.

Mi casa, su casa – Padma tells the group to rest up and await the next day’s Elimination Challenge. Oh, and the gorgeous townhouse they’re all standing in? It’s their new Chicago home.

F-bomber Andrew approves of the accommodations by exclaiming, “Oh, what phatness!” Dude, 1992 called and wants its catch phrase back.

Decreasing the phatness are the bunk beds they’ll be sleeping in. What is this, sleepaway cooking camp? With the pop of a champagne cork, the fun really begins. Booze, glorious booze! They chefs all hang out, drink and get to know one another casually.

Well, almost everyone. Nimma is alone at her bunk and looking so sad you’d think someone just ran over her cat.

Nimma: I’m not here to have fun. I really am not here to have fun. I’ll have fun when I’ve reached my goals. It’s a competition; I’m just here to work.

Oh, honey, carpe diem.

Fellow loner Dale plays a one-man game of pool.

Dale: I feel you have like to remove yourself out of a lot of the human side of this. You have to say to yourself, “I’m better than all these m—–f—–s.”

OK, what’s up with all the cussing this season? Who are all of these potty mouths? Have I switched over to Deadwood on accident?

Knives drawn – Elimination Day arrives, and Padma greets them in a fuchsia sweater dress and the knee-high boots. Hey, I’m just being thorough.

The winning Quickfire chefs draw numbered knives. In numbered order, they then pick one of the losing chefs to go head-to-head against in the Elimination Challenge. But there’s a little twist (of course).

The losing chef gets to pick which dish the two of them cook from a list of eight culinary classics: lasagna, duck à l’orange, crab cakes, chicken piccata, eggs benedict, steak au poivre, shrimp scampi and soufflé. The best dish from each pair wins, and the worst chef is eligible for elimination. Everyone looks at the word soufflé and promptly shudders in horror.

The face-offs: Richard vs. Andrew (crab cakes – way to work that feud, boys), Mark vs. Stephanie (duck à l’orange), Jennifer vs. Nikki (lasagna), Antonia vs. Nimma (shrimp scampi), Spike vs. Lisa (eggs benedict), Dale vs. Manuel (steak au poivre), Ryan vs. Valerie (chicken piccata) and Erik vs. Zoi (the dreaded soufflé).

At the grocery store, the chefs run around like, uh, chefs in a grocery store. Lisa assures us she’s been cooking breakfast forever.

Lisa: The amount of eggs that I’ve poached in the last year of my life – I’m pretty confident that I’m going to rock this challenge.

If this were The L Word, poached would totally be a euphemism for something else.

Ryan discusses his chicken piccata grocery list. He then proceeds to name a whole slew of things I’ve never seen on my chicken piccata when I order it at the Olive Garden.

Hold the mayo – The chefs busy themselves with the task at hand. Lids are lifted. Sauces are stirred. Andrew gets lost looking for mayonnaise.

It turns out that there is no mayonnaise in the kitchen! Andrew asks his competition, Richard, where’s the mayo. Richard tells him there is none, but that there are eggs and oil available. Then, bam, Richard pulls out his own jar that he bought for himself at the grocery store.

Andrew decides to make his own, but secretly thanks Richard for giving him the recipe. Apparently he didn’t know that mayo was made from oil and eggs. Um, you’re a chef, right? A professional chef?

While Andrew blends away, Richard lets his inner nice guy take over and passes over his jar of mayo. See, there’s a reason I named him an honorary chefbian. Andrew, of course, gives it back and says it’s not necessary. Someone is officially on my punk list.

Meanwhile, Nimma realizes her cauliflower flan isn’t setting. I think her mistake was making cauliflower flan in the first place.

Then Chefbian Richard pulls out something that looks like a cross between a hookah and a fire extinguisher. It’s a smoker for the mayonnaise. Ooh, fancy.

As Stephanie sauces her plate, her hands shake. Use The Force, Stephanie, The Force.

Padma says what? – Chow time. Joining Padma, Tom and Rocco at the table is the world’s most misanthropic chef, Anthony Bourdain. I once saw him eat an omelet cooked in the dirt on his show, No Reservations, so this should be a walk in the park.

First up, duck à l’orange. Looks-wise, I give it to Stephanie and her spring rolls. I mean it: Now I’m practically salivating. The judges agree, as mmm-mmm noises are heard all around. Mark’s deconstructed duck, not so much. Stephanie wins unanimously and says with a laugh that she can stop shaking now. Aw, I might just have to make her an honorary chefbian, too.

Next up: crab cakes. Andrew has too much panko crumb on his. Richard presents “shock and awe” with his smoked sensation, and he wins.

Then the lasagna. The rutabaga in Jennifer’s lasagna is still raw, and I’m wondering: Why is there rutabaga in her lasagna at all? Nikki’s homemade pasta is deemed superb, and she wins.

Moving along, we have shrimp scampi. Antonia’s draws more mmm noises. Nimma’s shrimp is “incredibly salty.” Good for a sailor, bad for seafood. In fact, Rocco would have sent his back if he had ordered it in a restaurant. Antonia, clearly, wins.

Then comes eggs benedict. Both Lisa and Spike’s are gobbled up. Anthony breaks the hung jury by posing this genius test.

Anthony: You got really drunk last night – which is a better hangover dish?

Lisa’s perfectly stacked, poached eggs are deemed hair-of-the-dog worthy, and she wins.

Still more dishes stream out. It’s beginning to seem like that Monty Python sketch where the ever-ballooning diner said he couldn’t fit in even a “wafer-thin mint.” Anyone? Anyone? John Cleese, anyone?

Steak au poivre’s up next. Dale’s dish looks like Lincoln Logs. Manuel’s looks Mexican. Dale wins.

But after all these pretty well-received dishes, the party really starts with piccata. Ryan trots out what are, essentially, fancy Chicken McNuggets with gnocchi potatoes to frowns all around. Valerie gets more frowns with her somewhat more traditional/correct dish. Hers is deemed least terrible, and she wins.

Finally, soufflé. Erik serves something with bean paste and tortilla strips, and the judges recoil in horror. Zoi gives them a rice pudding soufflé that is deemed not a soufflé, but tasty. Zoi wins.

In the waiting room of despair, the losing competitors fret. Padma breaks up the silent self-loathing and asks for Antonia, Nikki, Richard and Stephanie. Left-behind Dale, who has clearly seen the show before, curses under his breath.

Supreme Court – The four called first to the judges’ table are, of course, the best dishes. Their food was so good it even made Anthony smile. Sort of. A little. Fine, smirk.

Antonia had great technical skill. Stephanie had great flavor, composition and color. Nikki had light and bubbly taste. Richard had forward thinking. All are deemed wonderful, but Rocco names Stephanie the winner for her duck rolls. The Force is indeed strong with this one.

But as is the yin and yang of life, Stephanie returns to the room of flop sweat and asks for Ryan, Erik, Nimma and Mark. Walk of shame time arrives, and the four worst face the judges with their upset stomachs.

Erik cops to his shortcomings.

Erik: I made glorified nachos, I’m not proud of it.

Nimma, when asked if her shrimp scampi was good, replies that her cauliflower scramble was great. Wow, that’s a roundabout way of saying, “No.” Mark’s duck gets called out as silly and pretentious. Ryan tries to explain away his McNuggets. He utters a lot of words, but none of them make much sense. Certainly none of them explains why he made a Milanese instead of a piccata. Tom makes a face that can only be described as incredulous.

The losers go back to the holding area of unhappiness. (By the way, Bravo, you couldn’t spring for some nicer furniture? What’s with the folding chairs?)

The judges deliberate, and Ryan is named class idiot by Rocco who says, “It wasn’t only his gnocchi that were dense.” And sad Nimma? Her scampi was classic overcompensation. Too little salt in Quickfire, too much salt in Elimination.

Out on the folding chairs, Erik commiserates with Ryan.

Erik: My nachos didn’t cut it. Ryan: Oh, please, I breaded chicken.

When they’re called back in front of the judges, Tom scolds the losers some more. To recap the humiliation: yuck, yuck, yuck and yuck. But who has to please pack his/her knives and go? Nimma.

Nimma: Unfortunately, no one will know that I’m a very good cook.

Poor thing. She seemed overwhelmed by the situation. But we’ll always have the headband. Don’t forget that.

Coming up this season on Top Chef: The kitchen is a volcano with lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Plus chefs getting soapy in the tubs, chefs playing the didgeridoos and – oh yeah – chefs bitching and whining and moaning. Oh, yes, there will be angry lesbians.

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