SHOW - The Next Iron Chef America

I think that modern medicine is all wrong. Fat, salt, dairy, eggs, and all that other goodness isn't what's going to lay me down with a heart attack. It's actually going to be The Next Iron Chef America's fault. Two episodes in and I'm addicted to this show. I bite my nails (what little of them I have left), I pace the room, and I catch myself almost pressing the mute button because I can't stand the suspense anymore. Seriously. It's insane.

My favorite is already Michael Symon, probably because I read Michael Ruhlman's The Soul of a Chef and really liked his style. Based on what I know about the other contenders, I was also pulling for Traci des Jardins, who surprised the hell out of me by getting eliminated at the end of the first episode. I knew about Gavin Kaysen from last month's Food and Wine's Best New Chef's issue (his recipe was Greek salad with feta cheese mousse....mmmm, feta). I vaguely knew of John Besh, but that was mostly because of his previous Iron Chef America appearance.

The other contenders -- Chris Cosentino, Jill Davies, Morou, and Aaron Sanchez, I knew nothing about. Of these, Jill Davies is already gone (last night, weird partially-frozen salad the problem). Chris Cosentino seems like a kickass line chef, but kind of an asshole that I really wouldn't want to go drinking with out of fear that he'd call the bartender names and punch someone in the back of the head for no reason. Morou seems like a freaking assassin, and I mean that in the best possible way. He's fast, he's smart, he's sneaky. I think that he's definitely got a shot. Aaron Sanchez hasn't done much besides piss me off. He's frequently caught touching his food after time has been called, and once whined to Alton Brown about not being able to plate his food after the challenge was done. "Are you kidding me? Seriously?" Um, dude, have you ever seen Iron Chef? Either version? You can never plate after time, that's part of the game!

If anyone wants to know how to reach me next Sunday, it's safe to say that I'll be crouched in the corner of my couch, sweating and swearing and trying to remember what cheap action movies The Chairman has been in.