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Bad, Bad, Thoughts about Celebrity Chefs
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It all started with Anthony Bourdain's Mexican border episode of his show No Reservations. At one point he picks up a riding crop in a leather shop. He slaps it confidently against the palm of his hand, and says, "Yeah, this is coming home with me." I've always been attracted to his superior punk New York attitude. But the "whack" of that riding crop took it somewhere new. I confessed to my boyfriend, "I'm sorry if this is wrong, but I really want Anthony Bourdain to spank me with that riding crop." Ever witty, he responded, "You want him to whip you while he calls your sauces pedestrian?"
When Gordon Ramsay came along, he just didn't do it for me. Hell's Kitchen? Who wants to be screamed at and called a donkey? Not sexy. Then Kitchen Nightmares came along, "You dirty. dirty, pig." Maybe that's some people's cup of tea, but not mine. Gordon didn't get me until I started watching BBC's The F Word. When he trains interns in the kitchen it is with a firm, but loving hand. Now, that I could get into. Sometimes when I hear him tutoring them, he sounds like he's having sex: "No, no, just a little more, more, there! That's how you do it! Very goooood."
When I heard that a prostitute had accused Rachael Ray's husband of hiring her to spit in his face, I absolutely believed it. If you are into that level of humiliation and you are married to Rachael Ray, you would have to go to a hooker. She just doesn't have it in her. And Bobby Flay? He's a petulant child who doesn't even have control over himself. I'd throw him out of bed in a minute. In spite of the fact that they try to appear so stern and imposing, none of the kitchen stadium chefs really seem like they would be good at games of discipline. They're too self-indulgent.
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Except for Cat Cora. Now there is the dominatrix of your dreams.
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