Sunday night, 28 July, The New & Improved Over The Last New & Improved The Next Food Network Star did exactly what it had been promising to do from the beginning of series 7. It finally struggled to push down its little metaphorical pants and in a sweaty, red-faced moment of heated shame screwed, not to put too fine a point on it, in so many words, the pooch.
Proving that it is, in fact, possible to squeeze everything bad about a series into just one episode, directly after the Obligatory Counting of the Sith Apprentices, the number of the counting being, according to a reasonably confident Sith Master Alton Brown…

…we were introduced to so many fascinating, heavy-handed product placements, and paid sponsorships in such a ponderous deluge in only just the first 5 minutes I lost count.
Then some cooking happened.
But because of the uneven number of Sith Apprentices – five, I believe, was the number mentioned somewhere – they were split into three groups: Stupid Hat Guy and Damaris, Stacey and Serial Killer Russell, and Nikki. Of course it never would have occurred to anyone that singling one person out whilst everyone else got teamed up might have somehow seemed a bit unfair. But whatever. No matter. What they cooked, how they cooked it, or why they cooked it, is really rather extraneous at this point. Suffice to say that Nikki fared well enough despite adversity.
Also extraneous at this point is the fact that Stacey, in a shocking example of how Food Network appear to be dipping into an increasingly smaller and smaller nepotistic gene pool for talent these days, was someone who once had her restaurant saved by Robert Irvine (and thus by Food Network) on an episode of yet another programme I hate and also do not watch any longer called Restaurant: Impossible. This revelation – about Stacey, not my hatred of Restaurant: Impossible – came about because Robert Irvine was, of course, a guest of the Sith Order on this episode after having successfully done their bidding on the ridiculous waste of four weeks called Last Star Chance Salvation Kitchen.
As one or both of you might recall, I’ve had spent the last year (and very much of the year before – or most of 2012 and 2011, if you need that numerical reinforcement), with a couple of brief exceptions, almost entirely Food Network-free. So I’ve missed out on a lot of things – a lot of vaguely interesting connections. Like how Justin, lip gloss king and winner of last series of Next Food Network Star, had been on – and won – 24 Hour Restaurant Battle (a programme I’ve seen perhaps twice because I find the premise absurd and because the haughty arrogance of Scott Conant grates on my nerves). He was also on – and won – an episode of Chopped shortly before he competed on – and won – The Next Food Network Automaton. Danushka, too, it seems, had once been on 24 Hour Restaurant Battle and Chopped. Again, no matter. It’s extraneous.
The important bit, however, was the Obligatory Judging of The Sith Apprentices, which, as always, came towards the end of the programme. Though I ought to note that of only just slightly less insignificance to the rest of the episode was that, in the second challenge directly preceding the Judging, the Sith Apprentices were tasked by visiting Sith Minion Robert Irvine with revitalising a handful of pathetic and laughably outdated dining options at some ancient place called Phil Trani’s. Once they’d created their fresh new spin on some old rubbish, the Sith Apprentices had to present their dishes to the Sith Order, Sith Minion Robert Irvine, the 1000-year-old Phil, the two twentysomething blonde centrefold girls Phil designated as his ‘Chef’ and ‘Manager,’ and an assortment of specially selected diners whose critiques would be collected and used to determine the outcome of the challenge – which was in favour of Serial Killer Russell.
In that the Sith Order were about to deliver unto the Food Network Empire their four most polished and prepared Sith Apprentices for ultimate ascension, this would be no ordinary Judging. Oh no. The Sith Order (and special guest Sith Minion Robert Irvine) would take into account, they said, a ‘cumulative’ view of each remaining Sith Apprentice – their merits, their failings, their ‘overall performances up to this point in the competition’ – going back to day one. Or, as Sith Master Alton would later explain in a scathingly well-honed impersonation of Joseph Goebbels and his pronouncement of The Big Lie, a process which would be ‘very very fair and going back and really reviewing the competition.’
Long time readers (that’s you two) know I have a habit of practising a bit of critical thinking from time to time, and in applying that process to an examination of this laboured and joyless series it would seem logical, if not perfectly obvious, who ought to have faced the humiliation of the Flat Black Door To Distant Memory. And, of course, your guess would be entirely off the mark. So very far off the mark, in fact, as to not even be in the remote proximity of this planet. Probably not even in this dimension of reality.
And why Sith Minion Robert Irvine was invited into this discussion, having had no real prior knowledge of the facts of the competition or how the competitors had finally got to their respective points in the process, is frankly anybody’s guess and seems as senseless as wasting four weeks of our time on the contrivance of a web-based ‘salvation’ series for no particular reason.
It was determined by the Sith Order, as they levelled their particularly thoughtless criticisms at the Sith Apprentices and during their obligatory private deliberations, that Damaris, apart from a few culinary slips and a number of odd personality quirks often grating to the Sith Order, had always been a reasonably solid performer. Stacey, with her bright personality and acceptable skill set, it was decided ‘as a package has all of the elements,’ though she continued to read as artificial, ‘guarded,’ and ‘disconnected’ to the Sith. Serial Killer Russell, they felt, continued to show growth regardless of his extremely irritating mannerisms of glaring at the camera, darting his eyes nervously to one side, and of searching dramatically for failed words.
Stupid Hat Guy, Darth Giada stated, had occasionally shown ‘glimmers of cooking chops,’ but it was generally agreed upon that he was largely and rather consistently ‘inconsistent.’ And by ‘inconsistent’ I’m fairly certain they meant to say that not only does he fucking suck on camera, regardless of his charisma and big personality, but that he had been chastised time and again for being almost completely incoherent and for making, as Sith Master Alton admitted a few episodes back, one good dish. In 9 weeks.
You might also recall last week Darth Giada pointedly warned Stupid Hat Guy that, ‘Your inability to demonstrate food authority is catching up with you.’ And when a self-professed ‘Pie Guy’ can’t accurately articulate what the fuck his culinary vision of ‘Pie Style’ means – after 9 weeks – or produce anything edible or memorable from the start, or figure out how to seal a basic stuffed pie crust for a successful deep fry only to serve up a car crash of a plate to Phil Trani and his centrefold models, one could say his culinary expertise would also be placed in serious doubt. Even the Sith Minion Robert Irvine scolded him on the execution of his dish for Phil and pronounced it as simply ‘bad.’
And then there was Nikki.
Throughout the challenges over the last 9 weeks she’d shown a strong and comfortable camera presence, a concise Culinary Point of View which had been thought of by the Sith Order as a sorely lacking and much-needed element at Food Network. She proved, notwithstanding the manufactured ‘rivalry’ between her and Stacey to theoretically heighten suspense, that she could be a strong leader and a respected team player. She, like everyone, had the occasional culinary misstep throughout the competition, but maintained a firm standing amongst the other Sith Apprentices as the one to beat. Like Stupid Hat Guy, Nikki’s biggest criticism had been her perceived lack of food authority. I say ‘perceived’ because, unlike Stupid Hat Guy who can’t assemble two coherent sentences about his food, I believe the consensus amongst the Sith was because she looks and sounds very young – much like Kelsey Nixon from series 4 – she doesn’t know what she’s talking about regardless of how well-spoken she is in front of the camera. This is purely a guess, of course, as we are only shown what the Food Network producers want to show us.
Her harshest critic in this regard has always been Sith Master Alton Brown, and during this episode he proved himself to be an extraordinarily caustic prick for whom I have lost all respect. He glared disdainfully at her at one point, clearly embarrassing her with his assessment, and sneered, ‘I have a theory. I think that your ability with food greatly outstretches your ability to explain what it is you’re doing. I don’t think you know enough to explain what it is you do.’ One might think this same venomous appraisal ought to have been levelled directly at Stupid Hat Guy as well, except for the part where he has only managed to show ‘glimmers of cooking chops.’ In 9 weeks.
Of course had Dark Lord of the Sith Bobby Flay been there he might have suggested that, back in series 4, he had stated he could teach anyone how to be good on camera providing they had the culinary ability. And he proved this by taking Aaron McCargo, who was simply abysmal (often called ‘a deer in headlamps’) on camera, under his cloak and making him into Big Daddy and the winner of series 4 no matter how solid a contender Adam Gertler turned out to be.
It is said that the third time is a charm.
In the summer of 2007, series 3 saw the pretender JAG – a pompous, egomaniacal liar – usurp the rightful place of Amy Finley, who had emerged as a major force throughout the competition. Granted his lies eventually caught up with him and JAG stepped down, gushing with the forced tears and disingenuous apologies of someone who never reckoned they’d be found out, and Amy was not only returned to the series but won the coveted title of The Next Food Network Star. But the damage had already been done and a dangerous precedent was set.
In series 4, as mentioned, though Adam Gertler fitted exactly very nearly every qualification Bob Tuschman claimed he desired in a new star, it was a foregone conclusion that Aaron McCargo, under the protection of Dark Lord Flay, would emerge victorious.
Last year, midway through series 8, the incredibly talented Emily Ellyn had a misstep and was unceremoniously cut from the competition in a breathtakingly contentious decision which left many outraged fans – myself included – questioning the veracity of the programme and the ability of the Sith Order or The Network to be fair and unbiased, or even to follow their own rules as they were so often shoved down our throats in endless repetition. The answer to that is, obviously, No. And it was at that point, I’ve mentioned several times, that I walked away from Food Network for the second time – and what I thought would be the last time.
And although I have no particular interest in the outcome of this ninth series, I do, however, have a particular interest in what is fair and what is right.
When someone demonstrates a spectacular inability to fluently and intelligibly describe what they are doing, how they are doing it, or why they are doing it, exhibits little to no mastery of their professed craft over the course of 9 weeks, and is said to only illustrate ‘glimmers of cooking chops’ no matter how nice and friendly and outgoing they appear to be, what, I enquire, would be the sensible course of action when determining what is ‘very very fair’ in the process of ‘going back and really reviewing the competition?’
In the consistently inconsistent and unimaginably erroneous view of the Sith Order, you shove a crushed and humiliated Nikki Dinki and her concise and much-needed culinary viewpoint through the Flat Black Door of Distant Memory and allow someone with merely ‘glimmers of cooking chops’ to move on and alienate whatever dwindling fan base you once had.
‘You know, I’m sad and all,’ Stupid Hat Guy smiled without humility, lounging back in a comfy chair shortly thereafter. ‘But guess what? This is pretty awesome.’
Can you hear that sound? That deep rasping, heavy grinding sound? That’s the sound of my tolerance for this sort of utterly egregious pile of fucking bollocks magically pulled out by a contemptuous Sith Order who cannot even follow their own stated rules finally scraping bottom.
Cheers, Food Network.
I’m out.
Oh. And fuck you.