Wednesday, June 10, 2009 - Posts
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Top Chef has deteriorated season after season—elimination challenges have gotten predictable, product placement ever more obtrusive, the contestants more highbrow. Much of what I enjoyed about the earlier seasons was the amateurism of the professionals—few were so accomplished you couldn't critique their creations without thinking, however unrealistically, that you could do better. That feeling has slowly dissipated as more talented contestants have competed, and it certainly completely disappeared tonight, with the premiere of Top Chef: Masters—a competition for already established top chefs.
Given this, I was highly skeptical of the show. But Masters redeemed the franchise. Four professionals are pitted against one another in a chance to win a spot in the final competition. These masters have less at stake than their Top Chef predecessors—they're competing for charities, not for their careers—and they're more experienced, so it's understandable they'd be more relaxed and able to partake in some repartee, which works to the show's advantage. Other highlights: The most cocky of the chefs, Michael Schlow, went down in the quickfire challenge. We saw some great improvisation from cowboy chef Tim Love.
What really won me over, though, was the humble and talented Hubert Keller. He sweetly admitted how disconcerting it is to win a "lifetime achievement" award when his career is going strong. Despite his haute French background, he tickled junior Girl Scouts with his whimsical whipped cream shaped like a mouse (and was genuinely ecstatic when they loved it).
We'll see how the show is the next several weeks when it can't ride on Keller's charm and genius. It has its definite flaws—it lacks a clear Tom Colicchio-type head judge. (James Oseland of Saveur was clearly trying to play that role, but hasn't pulled it off.) Host Kelly Choi hasn't found her groove. Just when you're starting to get to know the contestants, they get kicked off the show. The challenges are as gimmicky as ever. But there was something incredibly gratifying about watching (spoiler alert) Hubert, the traditional old man beat out the hearty young players. Hubert has me hooked, and I plan to cheer him on in the finale.
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We've just posted this week's Culture Gabfest, in which Steve Metcalf, June Thomas, and I discuss the awesomeness of Stephen Colbert's trip to Iraq, the oddness of the "guest editor" gig, the resurgence of Broadway, the amateurism of the Tonys, the death of GM, and whether the culture of the American road has hit a dead end. Click here to get the episode; click here to respond to it on our Facebook page.
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I enjoyed Agger’s palate cleansers. But I couldn’t think of any for myself. I was a dutifully dreary Springsteen-head in high school, and about every three or four years, I plunge back in, bellowing along to "Thunder Road" and making muscles in the shaving mirror. Whatever this cleanses, it cannot be the palate.
I have another proposal: albums so painfully beautiful you can only listen to them so often, for fear of compromising, damaging, or effacing their beauty through overuse. The inclusion of Kind of Blue on the cleanser list made me think of it. I can only listen to this (and yes, I’m a precious twit, thank you) once every couple of years. Sunday at the Village Vanguard, in which Bill Evans takes a piano, an otherwise heavy object, and makes it levitate, is about a once-a-year treat. I almost never put on Nick Drake’s Pink Moon. “Long, Long, Long,” the Harrison tune from The White Album; “Blues Run The Game” by Jackson C. Frank, also covered to perfection by John Renbourn (“Catch a boat to England, baby, maybe to Spain …”); "Orange Was the Color of Her Dress" by Mingus. Dylan’s “Up To Me.” This is one I’d love to throw open, but also into Ron Rosenbaum’s court. Ron: Anything you can barely stand to listen to, you love it so much?
Send responses to Michael Agger at michaelagger1@gmail.com.
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