I like to bake, to get lost in the artistry of cakes or macarons, but cooking...not so much. What I do enjoy is watching other people cook.
The right people.
I have binge watched almost every season of Food Network Star for this reason. The cooking tips are fabulous, the personalities captivating, and nervous breakdowns more pleasing because they're not my own.
The Food Network knows what they're doing here: parade a bunch of innocent, fresh-faced, talented chefs in front of viewers. Frame them as the culinary genius, the best on camera, the stupid one, the arrogant one...every reality show stereotype you can conjure. Spice with cool judges like Giada De Laurentiis and chef-stud Bobby Flay. Mix well and bake for umpteen episodes, carefully scooping out the burnt bits.
Serve up a new Food Network celebrity on a silver platter, garnished with a tv show deal and cookbook publicity. Think: Guy Fieri.
It's a win-win for obvious reasons, like the American Idol franchise was for 19 Entertainment and Fox Television Network: bring some talented people out of obscurity, let the country fall in love with them, choose a winner and voilà (bam!).
You just created a new on-air personality, guaranteed viewers, a show concept, maybe an aisle or two of merchandise that will create bigger lines at the local Walmart.
Except.
Except for the ones viewers fall in love with that simply (whoosh) disappear. The stars that are sucked into a black hole.
I developed an emotional connection to Justin Warner over the last two days. He's a culinary Mozart, a wunderkind who appeals both to my inner nerd and quirky-people-lover. Fascinating to behold onscreen, he created dishes from fish bones and bat wings (that may be only a slight exaggeration) that looked and tasted fabulous. He made a modern Caesar Salad with a gelatinous mass that sorta melted over warm greens.
Genius.
And he was fun to watch. Genuine, witty, dry as a week-old pancake on the beach. I loved him.
Everybody loved him.
He won Season 8, and was to have a new series of his own produced by Alton Brown (my cerebral celebrity chef crush).
He went off into a black hole (Black Forest?) instead. You can find no way to watch the mysterious one-hour special he starred in before he vanished.
Word is, he appears in a fairly obscure internet-only series of little video clips titled "Foodie Call."
Big props for the title, but who has time for that?
Viewers who got all invested and weepy are left to wonder: what the hell went wrong? Why isn't Justin, a self-proclaimed food rebel, starring in an actual Food Network series in my tv every single week with episodes like Rebel with Hot Crab Claws?
There's another one, though it's easier to understand: Season 10's Lenny McNab, a "cowboy chef" who aww-shucks-ed his way into the hearts of millions and won with his easygoing personality and stunning food talent.
Until discovery of his old social media posts that would make Harvey Weinstein blush. He apparently even insulted the overrated but beloved Pioneer Woman. (See: Walmart, Aisle 16).
Just stop it, Food Network. Stop creating stars and banishing them to another galaxy. Viewers like me want more—much more—of fan favorites like Justin Warner and Martie Duncan.
The right people.
I have binge watched almost every season of Food Network Star for this reason. The cooking tips are fabulous, the personalities captivating, and nervous breakdowns more pleasing because they're not my own.
The Food Network knows what they're doing here: parade a bunch of innocent, fresh-faced, talented chefs in front of viewers. Frame them as the culinary genius, the best on camera, the stupid one, the arrogant one...every reality show stereotype you can conjure. Spice with cool judges like Giada De Laurentiis and chef-stud Bobby Flay. Mix well and bake for umpteen episodes, carefully scooping out the burnt bits.
Serve up a new Food Network celebrity on a silver platter, garnished with a tv show deal and cookbook publicity. Think: Guy Fieri.
It's a win-win for obvious reasons, like the American Idol franchise was for 19 Entertainment and Fox Television Network: bring some talented people out of obscurity, let the country fall in love with them, choose a winner and voilà (bam!).
You just created a new on-air personality, guaranteed viewers, a show concept, maybe an aisle or two of merchandise that will create bigger lines at the local Walmart.
Except.
Except for the ones viewers fall in love with that simply (whoosh) disappear. The stars that are sucked into a black hole.
I developed an emotional connection to Justin Warner over the last two days. He's a culinary Mozart, a wunderkind who appeals both to my inner nerd and quirky-people-lover. Fascinating to behold onscreen, he created dishes from fish bones and bat wings (that may be only a slight exaggeration) that looked and tasted fabulous. He made a modern Caesar Salad with a gelatinous mass that sorta melted over warm greens.
Genius.
 |
| Justin Warner |
Everybody loved him.
He won Season 8, and was to have a new series of his own produced by Alton Brown (my cerebral celebrity chef crush).
He went off into a black hole (Black Forest?) instead. You can find no way to watch the mysterious one-hour special he starred in before he vanished.
Word is, he appears in a fairly obscure internet-only series of little video clips titled "Foodie Call."
Big props for the title, but who has time for that?
Viewers who got all invested and weepy are left to wonder: what the hell went wrong? Why isn't Justin, a self-proclaimed food rebel, starring in an actual Food Network series in my tv every single week with episodes like Rebel with Hot Crab Claws?
There's another one, though it's easier to understand: Season 10's Lenny McNab, a "cowboy chef" who aww-shucks-ed his way into the hearts of millions and won with his easygoing personality and stunning food talent.
Until discovery of his old social media posts that would make Harvey Weinstein blush. He apparently even insulted the overrated but beloved Pioneer Woman. (See: Walmart, Aisle 16).
 | ||||||||||
| Lenny McNab, reputedly in a black hole near Pluto |
Then there are people you love who didn't do a damn thing wrong, deserved to win, and would eclipse that pioneer lady back onto the prairie. Birmingham, Alabama's own Martie Duncan is brilliant. Not only a talented chef, she specializes in parties and fun and laughter and all the things entertaining is meant to be. She represented my home state with grace, beauty and intelligence. Martie should be in my living room on a regularly scheduled Food Network basis, making me feel like I have a caterer, decorator and bartender on speed dial.
She says she can do that, and I don't doubt it for one second.
 | ||
| Birmingham's own Martie Duncan |
Just stop it, Food Network. Stop creating stars and banishing them to another galaxy. Viewers like me want more—much more—of fan favorites like Justin Warner and Martie Duncan.
Lenny McNab...well, you can keep him orbiting out there with Pluto. Anything less would cause the little kitchen on the prairie grief, and no one wants that.
Love from Delta.
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