Top Chef: Noteable Bravo-Blog Quotes

Tom Colicchio:

Bourdain called [Sara's salmon] 'cat food' (the man lives for those snarky sound bytes) which, once I stopped laughing, I found a bit harsh.

The oven's dry heat somehow turned the blanched broccolini into musty, desiccated swamp vegetables punctuated by a bracing, medicinal slap of warm mint.

Gail Simmons:

From the description alone, CJ’s entire dish of Pan Seared Halibut on a bed of Toasted Farro with Mint Crème Sauce, Roasted Broccolini with Breadcrumbs and Mint Vinaigrette stopped me in my tracks. Regardless of how well or poorly he prepared it, I have two totally subjective issues with his dish. First off, each time I read its description I thought I was reading a preparation for lamb. Seriously, read it again and tell me it would not have been significantly more appealing if he has used lamb chops or lamb loin?

Rocco DiSpirito:

[Best opening blog line this week:] The road to New York City is not paved by incinerated broccolini, petrified salmon, or vulcanized lobster.

Casey’s comment about the butane burners was well founded; these are normally reserved for lost cause scenarios. They aren’t hot, the flame goes out constantly, and the butane cassette runs out of fuel in 20 minutes. Frankly, a Bic lighter would have been just as practical.

So we learn that the finale is headed to Aspen after NYC. Hmm, a challenge where the TCCs have to cook for cougars using twigs and a mirror?

Lee Anne Wong:

Denial is the first, second, and last stage for [Hung] apparently, and the camera doesn’t lie.

So the big tree and his testicle fell down in the Top Chef forest with a hard thump (did anyone hear a sound?)

Anthony Bourdain:

Most other carriers -- one American outfit in particular -- blithely carry on operating vomit comets -- contemptuously depositing their indifferently prepared droppings on passengers' trays knowing that the only reason people are eating their crap is to break up the stultifying boredom of the pressurized cabin and the inevitability of yet another Will Ferrell film on the main screen.

My fellow passenger Collichio and I gaped, unbelieving at the blackened, twig-like, half-dry, half-sludge Petri-scrapings in our side dishes. I believe I said something like, "This looks like something you'd find in Bob Marley's closet." I meant NOW -- like years and years after the great man's death. Not trusting our eyes, we even saved a portion, putting some in one of the "Glad Family of Bags" -- only reinforcing the impression of dried out ganja. But by judging time, when we had planned on offering the exhibit into evidence, it had degraded so badly as to be so prejudicial that it would outweigh any probative value.

If you've ever been on an ouzo bender and woken up the next day with your head in a bidet, burping up licorice? That was pretty much my in-flight meal on Air Sara.

...it felt like Brian was holding up a sign saying "All You Can Eat Jumbo Shrimp" and expecting us all to get insta-boners.