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Worst Cooks In America

February 13, 2012

We watched a marathon of this show over the weekend, with me being under the weather and nothing else to do.  It was better than most such shows, but it did make me realize one thing about being or becoming a “chef”.

If you’ve ever known anyone that was really into a hobby or skill, at some point you thought they were a little crazy.  The extent that people will go, when they get totally involved in something, boggle the mind.  And it matters not what that is…from sewing to gun collecting.  I’ll never forget my utter disbelief at learning one of my buddies who was really into model trains had paid a couple hundred bills for the little engine he was holding up so proudly for me.  Two-hundred dollars?  And that didn’t begin to touch the money he had sunk into all his scenery and tools and whatnot.  Which he was constantly tearing down and re-making.  Crazy.

I notice the foodies can get that way too.  I mean, I love food and I love to cook it and eat it and learn about it.  But some of the (at least I consider) over-the-top details can be a bit much.  Take the knife cuts for example.  I realize that there is practical importance to having uniform knife cuts, but it gets a little ridiculous.  And the presentation…things all propped up and made to look pretty.  That is all fine, but sometimes I wonder if it takes away from the taste.  I mean, I find myself muttering as I watch these shows, “put some sauce on it!”.  The scant drizzle with the dots around the plate is pretty and all, but…might I have a little extra on the side?

I don’t think I would last long in the culinary trade because of that.  It all seems a little much.  I’d want to do things my way.  Ladle on the sauce.  Make some room on the plate for the veggies.  That are not cut perfectly but all still somehow managed to cook evenly.  And add a few more spuds than you can get under one chicken breast.  Or better yet, serve it family style.  That’d make the New York and Paris chefs’ heads spin around.  Bon Appetit!  Or, as we like to say in the south…y’all come eat!

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