TOP CHEF fixation

I confess I have been caught watching some pretty terrible reality tv shows on (rare!) occasion, from Judge Judy to Nanny 911. I could never get into Dancing With the Stars or Bachelor in Paris or whatever those fake lovelorn reality shows are called. My favorite by far, however, has been Top Chef.

I do not much care for the waify hostesses of these shows, who stroll out in perfect hair and on toothpick legs to announce the next "elimination challenge." But it is the cooking itself that rivets me--the techniques of sous vide, of mis en place--(yes, the french itself is delicious to me)--and the concoctions that inspire. The past few evenings I have caught an episode of Top Chef Masters, in which accomplished chefs are competing to earn money for charities. These episodes are particularly good because the food is so very good. The judges can hardly become snarky toward these skilled chefs, and so the episode becomes purely about THE FOOD ITSELF.

Last night I was inspired by chef Artie Smith, a sensitive southern fellow who said he had been in the kitchen for a year and a half only. He made fried chicken and sweet potato fries. His food plates felt like a grandmother inviting you in for a meal that settles you in and makes you feel warm and cozy. When Artie won a challenge, his eyes misted up and I felt strangely proud of this little man I had only just met through the cable ether.

The other inspirational chef last night was Rick Bayless. His food fascination is of the Latin variety--chipotle, cilantro, citrus. He explained that he had begun his food career when he travelled to Mexico to study anthropology and linguistics, and found he could not get out of the kitchen. He changed his focus to the connection of culture and food and began creating his own palate-pleasing dishes.

I think I must love this show because it showcases what I love about food-- there is nothing like that haze of a glass of cabernet franc accompanied by a bite of cracker with a good strong goat cheese. It is a mouth experience in itself. These days for me, beleaguered (albeit voluntarily!) with the duties of mommyhood and all that goes with it, the food experience is one I can still enjoy right here at home. It is an opportunity to make functional art. I think of this little apartment, attic-like, humid and hot with the oven on 400 degrees, and I am in striped apron with Celia Cruz or Ibrahim Ferrer singing of gardenias-- There is a dewy sweat and the sink is full of pots and mixing bowls. I am only an amateur cook, but how I enjoy losing myself in the chopping, the sizzle of the pan, the slow waft of flavors coming from the oven. It's before dinner, and I feel like I have already eaten, already savored.