And we’re back.  Thanks for responding so well to my last Top Chef recap, really makes me want to keep this going even though I had a few drinks after work last night.  Anyway, did you notice the opening credits are just a Texas montage for the first two episodes?  We need to get chefs posing again because, c’mon, Jeff winking was just too funny.

We start with Charo, Fieldston, Lesbian Fauxhawk 1 and Fieldston joking in the green room, wondering what will happen to them.  My guess?  A no holds barred fight to the death.  But that’s just me.

Hugh Acheson is the new guest judge.  He has a disconcerting unibrow (though really, when are unibrows not disconcerting?). So I’m calling him Chef Flacco.

As for the chefterns, Lindsay Autry would be really cute but she has a kind of baby-ish quality that Southern women sometimes have.  Like Cassie Powers in East Bound and Down.  Jonathan Baltazar is some private chef, but with that last name you should have to have a good restaurant.  He’s called Balthazar, even though a private chef probably doesn’t have the nerve to hang here.  Berenice works at “Senor Martinez.” That sounds like a college bar with $3 happy hour margaritas, so she’s Margs.

Also of note, Chaz is chef de cuisine at Fatty Crab Upper West Side.  The Upper West Side sucks a fat one, but Fatty Crab is fantastic.  When you go there, try the short ribs and the spicy chocolate dessert bars.  Chaz said he had a picture of Padma in his locker in middle school.  Has she been so famous for that long?  I was crushing on the Spice Girls back in middle school.  Ginger Spice, if you’re still single, you got my e-mail girl.

Chef Flacco is creepy as shit when he hovers around struggling chefletes.  He’s like the angel of death if the angel of death didn’t manscape.   Yes, I am assuming that the angel of death manscapes, what of it?

Anyway, we meet a few more chefbacks.  Paul has a food truck that was on Bourdain’s show.  Well du,h I’m pretty sure you could serve kibble on the street and a drunk and high Bourdain would stumble along and blow smoke up your ass.  He’d probably top it off with an HJ, so Paul is now Bourdain Handy.  The oxtail chef looks 12.  She’s even got precocious glasses and a red plastic wristwatch.  So she’s Alex Dunphy, because that’s who she looks like. Oh, and Kim “Calichio” is a contestant?  NEPOTISM.  Nepotism, I say!  That’s how I get free kids bikes you bitch.  I’m calling her Nepotista.  Finally, French guy says in France you have the choice of becoming a cook, a priest or joining the army.  I’m calling him French Foreign Legion, even though I’m pretty sure the French Foreign Legion only exists in Hanna Barbara cartoons.

So the twist on this is each chefmaniac has a different amount of time (20, 40 or 60 minutes) to do their cooking thang.  For me, that’s the difference between 20, 40 or 60 Hot Pockets.

The show itself has actually been pretty good about not saying “TEXAS-SIZEDAH!!!1!!one” every two minutes but the ads are pretty awful about that angle.  It’s not the size of the state, it’s how you use it, folks.  And you know Padma isn’t a size queen because she dated Salman Rushdie.

In the 20 minute group, Bourdain Handy gets a jacket,but  Nepotista was clearly given the wrong nickname because she gets the boot.  Teflon Tom lives up to his name.  The big dude from Texas (Big Tex) makes the bubble.

In the 40 minute group, Chaz gets the boot.  Oh well, y’all should still go to Fatty Crab.   Margs and Balthazar also have to leave and as Balthazar goes he gives the a camera a creepy stare, like a hockey player glaring at opposing fans after he gets kicked out of the game.  Chef Flacco puts French Foreign Legion on the bubble even though Teflon Tom wants to shitcan him. 

Cassie Powers, Alex Dunphy and Beverly are in the 60 minute group; Cassie Powers and Beverly make it, while Alex Dunphy gets the axe.  Cassie says getting the coat is like 3,000 pounds off her shoulders.  Kenny Powers would say it’s like getting her fat-ass son off her shoulders.

The final qualification challenge only had three make it through instead of five or six from the other two challenges.  It seems unfair, but maybe there were just worst chefs in the first two?  I need a Top Chef sabermetrician to tell me whether it was fair or not.

The jacketed contestants get to drink and relax, like the fraternity legacies at a rush party.  Meanwhile, those of us whose fathers were in the Jewish fraternity and don’t want to settle for that are sweating it in the green room.

Chris Berman is in an ad singing along to a song written after the 70s?  Clearly Toyota doesn’t watch him do highlights to Steve Miller Band lyrics.

There are six on the bubble with 2 spots: Charo, Fieldston, Tiger Son, Lesbian Fauxhawk 1, Big Tex and French Foreign Legion.  Typical for a desperation challenge like this, they get 45 minutes and anything in the kitchen.

Fieldston says that when she was 15 all she wanted to do was drink.  Maybe I should have called her Columbia Prep?  Anyway, she’s making something with figs and bacon wrapped shrimp.  YUSSS!!! You will never go wrong with bacon-wrapped shrimp.  Or bacon-wrapped anything.  Give her a jacket already.

Lesbian Fauxhawk 1 said her partner broke up with her over the phone a month after their commitment ceremony.  Hey, at least you did better than Kim Kardashian and her husband, Bigfoot.  Anyway, LF1’s doing something with watermelon.  Watermelon is like an embarrassing friend from college.  It’s only good when it’s on its own; you can’t mix it with others. 

Tiger Son is bleeding like a motherfucker.  He’s cooking as a medic attends to him.  He’s taking this like a champ, I’d probably be bitching the whole time. He does mixture of Asian and Southern food which I think work together (kind of like French & Vietnamese.  Look at the fish in that picture.  I MUST HAVE THAT FISH.).

As for the others, Charo’s got overcooked shrimp, which will look horrible compared to Fieldston’s kickass shrimp.  French Foreign Legion does scallops tartare.  WTF?  How do you tartare slimy-ass scallops?  They’re not even good in sushi.  Big Tex has some type of mussels with panna cotta.  Panna cotta is worse than watermelon; at least watermelon is good on its own and you can spit the seeds at your little sister.

Tiger Son and Fieldston make it through!  Hooray! I don’t have to type Lesbian Fauxhawk 1 any more!  The last two on the bubble were LF1 and Fieldston, but it was really obvious that Fieldston had the superior dish.  Teflon Tom’s biggest complaint was that she didn’t have “intention.”  Nobody on this show has ever lost for having bad intentions.  Look at how well Stefan, who was probably evil, did in the New York season.  It was clear Fieldston had the best dish and they should have put Lesbian Fauxhawk 1 up against Tiger Son for the last spot.

THIS SEASON ON TOP CHEF.  Shots of the Clock Tower to remind you of Charles Whitman!  Pee Wee Herman, who I hope makes them drink tequila!  My girlfriend (Charlize Theron)! And, I’m sure, many reminders of Texas’s size.

AND NOW A TWIST! Lesbian Fauxhawk 1 and Big Tex will compete to get back on.  Fuck it, I’ll find out who won next week.  I’ve gotta watch Penn State burn itself to the ground.

And I’m back, with one of my favorite recaps to date.  I hope you all had good bye weeks.  I spent mine watching The Ruins, which I can’t recommend enough to those of you with DVR.  But Top Chef always takes precedence.  Unless The Ruins has another spelling bee.

Ash is intimidated because he didn’t go to culinary school.  He says he’s just a “kid from the suburbs who didn’t go to culinary school but worked his way up,” but that’s not going to help his cause with the viewing public.  Nobody thinks you got it rough if you had to overcome the adversity of being from Greenwich.

Walk of Shame is really sick, and Ashley thinks she’s too ill to be cooking.  All I’ll say is that if you can chug half a bottle of Dayquil, you can do just about anything even if you’ve got SARS (that’s right, I’m topical).

The quickfire is using three words from a slot machine, which is like the old improv challenge.  Hopefully this crew will learn a lesson from Season 4 and actually follow directions.  I remember Lisa bitching about how she wasn’t going to cook a sausage because she was too good for it.  God, I fucking hated Lisa.  Season 4 was the asshole season.  Jersey Mike would have fit in nicely.

Speaking of the Garden State Pissant, he can’t define umami for the home viewers, saying it’s just umami.  Ever hear of the word “savory,” fuckwit?  Umami means stuff that tastes like MSG, for all you non-foodies out there (and I do hope you’re not a foodie, because that would mean you are annoying and could point out what these writeups get wrong).

Walk of Shame said you need to keep how you’re feeling out of your food.  Hootie-hoo from last season just spat her herbal tea all over her TV screen and said “Oh no she di’int!”  Walk of Shame is also cooking scallops again.  Stefan from last season just spat his Warsteiner all over his TV screen and said, “this is Top Chef, not Top Scallop!”  I’m against Walk of Shame’s pissing off Stefan policy, but I’m for her pissing off Carla policy.

Sadly, none of the umami cheftestants just use straight MSG.  Combine that with the hash brownies Padma had before the show and our hostess would have been on cloud fucking nine.

Walk of Shame is bummed to be on the bottom for the first time but she’s sick so I’ll give her a pass.  She’s joined by Cancer Girl and Hopalong Kirshtein, who don’t have any excuses.  You hear that, Hopalong?  Can’t blame bland mushrooms on not having cancer.

Redheaded Santa wins a high stakes quick fire over Jersey Mike and Bryan and can take immunity or money.  He takes money.  Bad ass.  Way to play it, you got on my good list for the year, dude.  He’s got some big cajones.  They probably look like tennis balls dyed red.  But bigger.

Swanson advertises not having MSG in their broth.  I’ll buy Campbell’s then.  I like MSG stupor; I’ll destroy some General Tso’s after a long day at work.  It makes the pain go away.

Jersey Mike is bummed that he has to work with Cancer Girl because she’s the least talented chef left.  Meanwhile, Ash is afraid he’ll drag Frere Mike down.  He’s the anti-Santa.  He has tiny porcelain balls.  They look like Mint Tic-Tacs.  But smaller.

The elimination challenge has to be cooked in the cheftestants’ house.  There’s limited space, and Ashley stakes out her spot with Sapphic fury.  Jersey Mike seems like he should spend less time complaining about Cancer Girl and more time cooking.  Ash freely admits that he’s just following Frere Mike’s orders.  He is definitely the Milhouse to Frere Mike’s Bart.  I’m calling Ash “Milhouse” from now on, because “Ass Fuck” is too predictable for my tastes.  I mean, his last name is Fulk, he’s been hearing that shit since first grade at Greenwich Elementary.

Jersey Mike gives us a gummy grin to say he’s giving Cancer Girl orders and throwing out everything she makes.  Yet, he entrusts her with the main protein, which she promptly overcooks.

In case you never see commercials, the Google phone is using Chevy Chase and a Cat Stevens song in their ads.  They must really want Carly Simon to buy that fucking phone.

Top Chef is trying to help some charity, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that both Bulletheads have too many buttons undone.  No wonder Jersey Mike has been able to stick around this long.

A disappointing round from the cooktestants, but they had all sorts of problems while cooking.  Limited space, circuits blowing and general incompetence (in the case of Ashley) to name a few.  But Walk of Shame and Santa seemed to have the best dish going into eliminations, while Frere Mike’s overcooked fish (thanks to a blown circuit) looks like it will get him in trouble.

Cancer Girl really won’t shut up, and gives Jersey Mike the look on that face you get when you just give up all pretense of listening to what a woman says.  Head tilted to the side, unblinking eyes straight ahead.  The last time I had that look I woke up next to a girl who talked to me for like 30 minutes, unable to get a word in edgewise.  She went to Auburn.  We called her Whore Eagle.

Sure enough, Walk of Shame and Santa are joined at the top by Bryan, who drags Laurine up there with him.  Walk of Shame’s sauce vaults her to the top for the first time in an elimination challenge.  It’s like MJ’s flu game; I just hope she doesn’t act a prick in her Top Chef Hall of Fame induction speech.

Frere Mike, Milhouse, Hopalong Kirshtein and Ashley are on the bottom.  I’m sure Milhouse doesn’t mind, of course (I’m sticking one gay joke in now, in case he gets eliminated).

Guest judge Tyler Florence tells Frere Mike losing electricity isn’t an excuse because you have to deliver for paying customers.  Well, of course, but you’re on here to raise your own profile and thus didn’t pay, Tyler.  Oh, you talk about the Macy’s charity for a bit, but let’s not kid ourselves; they already buy more Top Chef ad time than anyone but Glad.

The judges are really stretching to criticize Mike for the power outage.  But then Milhouse manages to throw both himself under the bus.  He says Mike’s a way better chef than himself, and Colicchio looks like he want to rip his gay head off and fricassee the gooey insides.  Hopalong Kirshtein and Ashley get dinged too, but heading into the final commercial break Milhouse looks a goner.  Good thing I fit that gay joke in.

But Ashley’s salty gnocchi ends up being the fatal blow.  Regardless, we lost another member of Team Rainbow.  She was an easy mark at the start of the show but she had been cooking well until this episode.  I’ll miss her, her tuxedo t-shirt, her 13-year-old-boy haircut and her women’s prison tattoos.  Bon voyage; I’ll tell my Aunt Linda who lives in Seattle to try your restaurant.