Eat My Florida

Have you ever seen Food Party? Uhm, just watch…

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Sort of. Greenpeace recently released a study that ranks supermarket chains by their commitment to sustainable seafood. Since GP essentially advocates taking a break from any type of fishing — not a bad idea, considering the apocalyptic scenarios outlined here — they are understandably a bit harsh in their ranking system. In our area, Whole Foods ranks highest, with a whopping 4 out of 10 points. Wal-Mart, Sam’s Club and Target manage to eke out a 3, while all the typical supermarkets — Publix, Sweetbay and Winn-Dixie — fill the bottom of the list.

In other news, food personality Alton Brown announced he’ll be shifting the focus of Good Eats. “”I’ve been busy being clever, but now I want to use what credibility I may have to help people think about sustainability,” he told grist.com in an interview. He even offered to ride along with Greenpeace, saying “somebody needs to sink the Japanese tuna fleet. Everyone’s willing to point the finger, but nobody’s willing to pull the trigger.”

Damn, concerns for sustainability on the Food Network? Maybe they should have a talk with Paula.

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Can demonstration cooking sell-out a stadium? Probably not, but considering how much people shelled out for Food Network’s old lady, uhm, Grande Dame last week, Top Chef’s tour of 20 cities might generate a little buzz. I think it’ll depend on who the “four cheftestants” turn out to be. Anyone buying a ticket — Sep. 20 here in Tampa — for a Lisa, Mark, Nimma and Nikki cook-a-long? Me neither.

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Since I can’t summon enough energy to care about this season’s Top Chef, here’s a missive from CL Sarasota’s Amanda Schurr to fill you in on last night’s finale:

Those of you who indulge me enough to read this week’s Morning After column are aware of my general disappointment with this season’s Top Chef. It should be a no brainer: I love to taste, I love to cook, I love to veg (no pun intended) on occasion in front of the TV — I should be in culinary arts heaven. But the Chi-town installment has been an underwhelming affair.

I can sleep tonight, though, for piercingly blue-eyed head judge Tom Colicchio and Co. anointed Stephanie the Top Chef. Still, I felt finalist Richard’s pain and admit that Lisa, after squeezing by time-after-mediocre-time, redeemed herself nicely, cooking-wise. (And welcome back, Chef Ripert! My, how you’ve been missed.)

In other TC news, the Bravo network just announced plans for a junior version of the show. We can only speculate what the 13-16 year-old-friendly tests will be. Quick Fire challenges concerning pizza? Elimination contests themed to favorite movies?

Oh right, they already did that with the adults this season.

Of course, my palate is embarrassingly unrefined compared to that of our own foodie extraordinaire, Brian Ries. Check out his blog while I crack open a celebratory bottle of Lagunitas-bottled, [Frank] Zappa estate Lumpy Gravy beer, comforted by the knowledge that a nice gal finished first (even if a bad apple lasted far longer than she should have).

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I’ve avoided the inevitable Top Chef blog posts this season because, well, there hasn’t been much to talk about. The crew of Bravo’s chef competition — set in Chicago this year — has got to be the blandest of the show’s four-year run, with challenges to match. I still watch the mild culinary drama, if only to see that evil-Lisa gets knocked out or to ponder how the three best chefs (Richard, Stephanie and Antonia) continue to be so darn upbeat, pleasant and polite. Curse them!

Last week, though, saw a teensy bit of controversy. The elimination challenge was held at Rick Tramonto’s high-end Tramonto’s Steak & Seafood, where cheftestants were supposed to create an appetizer and entree from what they found in the pantry and coolers. Eventual eliminee Spike (he’s from Clearwater!) had the ill-conceived notion of utilizing a bag of frozen scallops he found in the freezer. That’s a no-no, since frozen scallops almost inevitably turn out dry, rubbery and odd. These were no exception.

At the judges table, Spike continued his poor decision-making by calling out Tramonto for having the bag of scallopscicles in his kitchen in the first place. That’ll be good for your future job prospects, Spike.

Still, not a bad question. And Tramonto didn’t have a good explanation handy. Until now. Both he and Top Chef judge Tom Colicchio recently blogged explanations (Tom, Rick), claiming that some of the food was brought in just for the show. That sounds about right, wouldn’t want a reality TV competition to have to deal with a real restaurant kitchen, would we?

Coming up this week on Top Chef: someone wins! Don’t know who and — as long as it is not Lisa — don’t really care.

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Hopefully Molto Mario learned a lesson from that ill-fated Food Network show where he traveled through Italy with his nameless (at least, I don’t remember the name) pal through nigh unwatchable scenes of vaguely food-related hi-jinx. Even the clogged, redheaded demi-god of chefs couldn’t save that bland endeavor.

You may have heard that he’s since contracted to give the same treatment to Spain, albeit with better companions, a much bigger budget and thankfully free from the aegis of those tunnel-visioned goobers who run the Food Network. The result is Spain: On the Road Again, a PBS food show that appears, at least from this sneak peek recently plopped on Youtube, to be mostly about the lifestyles of the rich, famous and hungry. It’s set to air in the fall, in primetime, no less. Of course, PBS’s primetime might be Saturday at 9 a.m.

I love Batali. I like Mark Bittman (at least in print). I can even stand the waspy, prim Gwyneth Paltrow. But the show? We’ll see. Check it out above.

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Sadly, he’s only replacing him on the Food Network’s Dinner Impossible. The show will also be extended to 60 minutes, now that there’s no pinheaded Brit to get on the viewers’ nerves.

If only this accomplished Cleveland chef, beloved by fellow Ohioan Michael Ruhlman and recently crowned the new Iron Chef America, would take a look at liar-liar-pants-on-fire Irvine’s abandoned project in downtown St. Pete, too. We could use a real celebrity chef in the area, especially one with chops like Symon, in spite of the soul patch.

Whaddya think, Mike? [cleveland.com]

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Let’s recap the events leading up to the exciting conclusion of America’s Next Food Network Hack next Sunday! Who will be tapped to “host whatever Sunday morning ghetto slot they have in store for the winner”(Bourdain’s gone soft on the show over at Ruhlman)?

I haven’t updated you on the status of this titannic competition since the beginning because, well, nothing’s really happened. People stammered and stuttered on camera, mediocre food was made to look edible and people were dropped. No big whoop.

Let me help out the judges. If you were still, this late in the game, looking for that indefinable “star quality” out of the final contestants, you may as well give it up. All this show has proved is that almost any schmo with a little training and minimal stage presence can host a show on the Food Network. Is that the message you want to portray, Tuschman and friends? Mission accomplished.

This week, though, things have changed — there’s some drama! The judges slotted JAG into the final two, then managed to pick busty Rory over the milder, but vastly more competent Amy. But wait! Don’t vote yet!

It turns out that JAG likes to pad his resume. Maybe it was a typo - “I meant to say that I had never been to Iraq and I did not graduate from cooking school.” In a tearful confrontation, he comes clean with the judges, who pat him on his back and send him on his way with no hard feelings. Sad, ’cause he was the best cook of the bunch.

That does bring Amy back into the fold, which makes me happy. Her “gourmet next door” or whatever she names her “style” is always just an excuse to bring some serious French cooking into the kitchen. Me likee.

The final battle is up to you. Do you want Busty Horseteeth? Or Frenchy McNoLips? Go vote already.

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I am speechless. Wha, huh, hoo, ach, bler!

(It’s Sex and the City, animated, starring bottles of spray salad dressing, guest-starring Mark McGrath, Tim Gunn, and Fabio, just in case you’re afraid to click. Be afraid.)

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I haven’t really commented yet on Top Chef, mainly because I wanted to give it a little time. In the past, it has run second place in my summer reality show hit list, behind Hell’s Kitchen. Needless to say, considering the neanderthals Fox has recruited for the past two season’s of HK, Top Chef has easily managed to take center stage. Here’s a few reasons why:

1. Pretty much all of the Top Chef contestants can cook, some of them extremely well. That has become surprisingly rare in TV food shows.
2. The weekly competitions have morphed from the goofy scenarios of season 1 into interesting culinary challenges, where the framework is just a reason for some fine genre cooking.
3. The judges are a heck of a lot better. Colicchio and Simmons are almost likable.
4. Padme Lakshmi.

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Reality show…faked? Wha-huh!?! Say it ain’t so, Gordie!

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Thanks to Slashfood, I’ve been introduced to Robert Rodriguez’s 10 Minute Cooking School.

For Once Upon A Time In Mexico and Sin City, Rodriguez slapped cooking demos into the DVD extras. The recipes are simple and seem surprisingly good and Rodriguez is a pretty engaging host, with a few little film director tricks that make the Food Network look like local access.

This one is for Puerco Pibil — the roast pork that Johnny Depp’s character seeks out in Once:

and this one is for Breakfast Tacos (including a recipe for quick flour tortillas):

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Why do I love Hell’s Kitchen? Easy. The only way to win the contest is to successfully perform on the line in a working restaurant kitchen. Sure, there’s lots of reality show rigamarole and goofiness, especially since the show is on Fox, but fundamentally, you just have to cook.

My fears for this season of Hell’s Kitchen? Last year, none of the contestants were worth a damn in the kitchen. Unlike the first season, there wasn’t a single person who deserved to win. (Although what they actually will win is up for debate - thanks, Leilani). Let’s hope the talent level is higher this year.

30 minutes in: The giant Asian cowboy (Aaron) has cried, the women can’t work together, and the editors have already laid the foundation for a pretend flirtation between the sex bomb (Melissa) and Ramsay, blonde (Bonnie) almost cries.

45 minutes in: The women are unable to recognize that a short order (Julia) cook might be the person to call on to help with fried eggs, Julia proceeds to cry - then cooks some damn fine eggs, Aaron breaks down and walks out - Ramsay consoles, men run out of everything, Bonnie almost cries again.

1 hour in: Ramsay closes the kitchen, Melissa wins (deservedly) and has to choose two people from her team for possible elimination, Joanna and Tiffany lobby for Julia’s early demise (both of them should be the ones going - Julia cooked some damn eggs, bitches!), Melissa cries (because of tough choices, not Ramsay), Melissa picks Joanna and Tiffany, bye bye Tiffany.

It was the correct choice. Anyone who can’t fry up a few quail eggs shouldn’t be there. Even better, she threw Julia under the bus just because “she works at the freaking waffle shop!”

Now, the Eat My Florida of