"It's not rude; it's food." You know, if it were anyone else I wouldn't put up with a show like this for as long as it takes to change the channel; if nothing else, the Christmas turkeys would do it for me.
HERE'S THE WEBSITE FOR "THE F WORD."
I don't want Gordon Ramsay to be a celebrity chef and he promised somewhere or other that he wouldn't. But of course he is; he just is. Tonight's episode has Joan Collins talking in that special mincing accent so popular among glamorous British actresses from the Sixties; evidently at some point he threw her out of his restaurant for bringing a food critic there. For God's sake, Ramsay.
And his Scottish mum is there. There's a strong physical resemblance, complimentary to both.
We get to watch him picking out his young trainees. Of one's signature dish he said, "That looks like you've cut someone's dick off and wrapped it in a condom." It did, too. I wonder what it was? I wouldn't touch food that looked like that.
Now we hear about his campaign to get women back in the kitchen and how it has offended everyone everywhere; oh nonsense. He commissioned a survey showing that 2/3 of women regret they can't cook. My home ec course scarred me for life and completely put me off it, but whatever. But here is a lovely young doctor talking about a fish pie which was the last thing she cooked nine years ago. Note to her husband: why aren't you in the kitchen?
But it is heartening to find that I am not the only non-cooking woman on earth and that other couples similar to us (though generally younger) live on combinations of "ding-ding" food and frozen meals. Nothing he says or does makes me want to cook or feel more interested in food, though I'd be glad enough to have Nick cook it for me. How about a campaign to get husbands into the kitchen?
"It's the first time I've been close to a woman in the kitchen who hasn't cooked in ten years." The fish pie trauma is then lived down when she cooks for her in-laws. She gets kissed FOUR separate times in this show, which seems unfair; but I suppose that this is what it takes: the desire to muck about with food, ugh. It's rather enthralling to watch him at it though. Let's get more men back in the kitchen! I prefer food that Nick makes in any case, as it's made with love.
Ramsay to GP: "I've been getting so much stick about getting women back in the kitchen." This sweet GP thinks women have forgotten the fun of it, but women my age who are working full-time to support their families haven't time for this sort of "fun."
But speaking of women, the first woman he ever saw in the kitchen was his mum. He asks what's it like being in his kitchen; "not much different," says his mum in her Scottish accent. Isn't his kitchen a bit cleaner? "No it isn't, and don't be so cheeky." Here is one person who knows no GR-based fear. "It's nice working together, Gordon." "Don't get used to it because it's not going to happen again." "No, I know," says Mrs. Ramsay placidly, unflappably.
He tells her at one point not to get "arsy." His mother says, meaning it, "You don't have to swear." Subsequently he tells her that this is payback for all that grey lamb she served him all those years. Smack him, Gordon Ramsay's mother! What would it be like to be Gordon Ramsay's mother? I bet she is the only person in the world he doesn't fluster, other than the four children.
Turkey update chez Ramsay: Apparently Tana Ramsay, lovely "missus" of Gordon, really does plan to let those turkeys be turned into Christmas dinner. She is a Montesorri teacher, I read somewhere; and really, kids who grow up on farms have to deal with these realities all the time, so I am trying to come to terms with the idea.
But I am already getting attached to the turkeys. My mother would never have let those turkeys be slaughtered. She wouldn't let anyone fish off our pier at the river because she regarded the fish, especially a large catfish that swam sideways due to an old injury, as her pets. The big fish's name was "Oswald." I long ago gave up my idea of owning an ostrich farm---a popular venture in this state---because I realized that I would basically end up with a herd of pet ostriches, a bit like a herd of pet dinosaurs, really.
But does anyone remember the Bloom County Thanksgiving cartoon from way back in the Eighties? Dear Milo, at the table with his elders, giving thanks for "this turkey...A turkey which was no doubt a lively, intelligent bird...Anyway, now it's dead and we're gonna eat it." In the last panel he's been put out on the porch by a grandparent. "Amen!" he yells at the slammed door. That would be me. And I may not have got the words absolutely right, but I got the gist right.
Gary the turkey has "bumblefoot." Since they are food birds, the doc isn't going to load them up with antibiotics. Ramsay is worried about bird flu. Jesus. I must say that wouldn't have crossed my mind. In the end, they had to have antibiotics. If he stays lame, he'll have to be put down. Ramsay: "Poor Gary." Yes, that would be so much worse than ending up as someone's Christmas dinner.
Back to the mother/son competition. "I think mine just looks a little bit better," says his mother. I love his mom. Alas, he wins 2 to 1. Normally I want him to win, but naturally I am going to side with his mother, particularly after the "grey lamb" crack; so out of order, that one.
He kisses his mom. "Aww, he loves his mum," says Nick.
Ramsay seeks some beauty advice from Joan Collins. What should Ramsay do to look less craggy? Is he 40 she asks? No, 38. Oops. Nick laughed out loud. But the fact is, once you're over, what 70, all under 50s probably look the same, the way people 30 and under all look the same way to me. My favorite moment was when Gordon R. asked her if he should get botox and she sat there with not only a straight but a motionless face and said No, botox is probably bad for you, she says; they don't know yet what the side effects might be. Love it.
Don't you change a THING, Gordon Ramsay. Craggy is good. Do you want to look like you're wearing a layer of vaguely Ramsay-moulded rubber over your distinctive features? Look at the handsome woman who is your mother; that's the way to age gracefully. And there is a very strong resemblance there.
I am not going to get into the "nation's foremost restaurant critic" eating food found in supermarket bins. It is shameful the waste that goes on, I quite agree, but I have always thought that people having to eat out of garbage cans was a bad thing. I also don't think people should be encouraged to eat sushi out of bins. My late husband Don was a restaurant inspector and there was one Thanksgiving buffet meal when he wouldn't let me have any of the shrimp because he didn't think it was properly iced.
Joan Collins, it seems, will be in a "saucy" episode of "Footballer's Wives" with "Tanya Tucker" (sic). As if the bargain-basement version, Overtime currently just ending, weren't demoralizing enough. Bring back the real thing; at least I wasn't totally embarrassed about watching it. It was froth, yes, but delicious froth. It was a guilty pleasure, but the Overtime version is just a bad soap. Bring back Tanya Turner!
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