Top Chef
The Raw And The Cooked

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Surfin' So Sorry

Padmadala tells them that the Elimination challenge is all about breakfast. And Padmadala, just like all television personalities can't come up with anything more original to say about breakfast other than "it's the most important meal of the day." Mia goes off to us, "I think everyone knows I'm the Queen of Breakfast. I worked as a Sunday brunch cook at a high volume restaurant, so I can spit out the breakfasts, no problem." Strange, that's just what her customers did. The cheftestants will be making breakfast for some unknown athletes after their early morning practice, and the big catch is, they have no idea what sort of kitchen equipment they will be working with when they get to the designated area. They have thirty minutes to shop and thirty dollars to spend.

The cheftestants shop. And bitch. Pretty much everyone's going for and carefully examining eggs. Michael tells us he had no idea what to do and thought about just getting some yogurt and throwing granola on top of it. However, as would happen to Michael, he was drawn to the packaged rotisserie chickens. "It's already cooked, you know what I mean?" he tells Marcel. "I was like, 'I'm gonna go with a roasted chicken breakfast taahcoh,' you know?" he asks us. The cheftestants go home and go to bed.

Around three-thirty in the morning, some of the cheftestants are up and about. The girls bond about being women in kitchens and hope the three of them are all still there at the end of the day. Elia tells us that it's hard to be respected as a woman in a kitchen. Fuck being respected as a woman, it's hard to be respected as a chef in spite of being a woman. This makes Elia want the title all the more. Oh, I want it for you, Elia! The cheftestants pack up and prepare to move out. Unfortunately, before that can happen, Marcel has to do a little kick-shuffle dance, singing, "I'm not gonna git el-im-i-nated." He calls it "The Elimination Dance." Really and truly. I'm sorry I saw that. Also, shouldn't it be called the "Immunity Dance"? Marcel's kind of stupid for all his soigné-ing and follicular feats.

The cheftestants arrive at a beach in Malibu. A lone surfboard is upended in the sand. Now, I know I don't live in LA, but the last time I saw a surfboard doing that was on The O.C. during that stupid college acceptance bonfire thing. The surfers at Ocean Beach don't seem to do that. The cheftestants survey the grated fire pits, the pots and pans, and the sand. LUAU! Well, but they probably don't have twenty-four hours. And I don't think anyone brought a whole pig. (I'm not counting Frank, mind you.) The cheftestant are chagrined. I know I already bitched about it, but I can't handle Padmadala's outfit. I don't blame her, I'm sure it was all wardrobe's fault, but the poor thing has, like, no meat on her bones -- she's gotta be so friggin' cold her nipples could bevel diamonds for Tiffany's. Padmadala explains the fire pits are their kitchens and they will be cooking for the hungry surfers "out there." She gestures at some cut-in footage of surfers. Aside from the usual sneerspects, the cheftestants will also be judged by "former pro surfer" Chef Lunetta. The cheftestants have forty-five minutes to prepare their food.

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Top Chef

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