Cutthroat Alton

In my experience it is only when there is something important or urgent that must be accomplished that one becomes the most efficient consumer of media. This is when making a new Spotify playlist of all the songs you’ve looked up on Shazam, starting a new television series you’ve never heard of, catching up on celebrity gossip you don’t really care about, and browsing subpar romantic comedies on Netflix are of the utmost importance. This is how I found myself, with more than enough real, time-sensitive, life-changing, adult tasks to take care of, watching almost an entire season of Cutthroat Kitchen on Netflix this week.

A while ago I discovered Cutthroat Kitchen while working out at the gym. Working out at the gym is basically the only time I ever think to watch the Food Network live. I see the irony here, but I know I’m not the only one. When I stroll past banks of elliptical machines, treadmills, and stationary bikes at my local gym I see four primary genres of television. These are cooking shows, home make-over shows, sports, and crime procedurals. I hardly count the crime procedurals because every other channel is playing some old rerun of a crime procedural like CSI, Law and Order, or NCIS (I’m looking at you USA Network). Sports television I actually find more ironic than food television because the suburban dad with the beer gut sweating profusely through some old band t-shirt intently watching Serena and Venus Williams go head to head recently made me bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. This is not to say that watching sports television is inherently stupid (I’m *not* not saying that either, but that’s another issue entirely). I just think it’s more than a bit silly for us mere mortals to work tiredly to stave off the impending muffin top while watching people in the very literal best shape of their lives run around tirelessly faster (and thinner) than we ever will be.

Home make-over shows and cooking shows watched at the gym make sense to me (and that’s not just the second X chromosome, thank you very much). It’s hard to run while you are panting and sweating and thinking about all the ways you could fall off of the piece of equipment and embarrass yourself-- and then also focus on a plot. This opens up the market for television shows that don’t have a plot (putting aside the standard crime show procedurals with their single, recycled plots). The home make-over shows are great for that. Step one: the house is a wreck. Step two: let’s fix the house (insert gimmicks where necessary). Step three: everything is falling apart, oh my goodness, it’ll never get done in time. Step four: the house is done in time. Step five: scream, cry, clap, open champagne, etc. You can enter or exit the show at any point during this cycle knowing that these things will all eventually happen in due time.

This brings me to the Food Network. Cooking shows often have a similar formulaic nature that home make-over shows have, just with more variety in potential gimmicks. There are sub-genres in cooking shows. There are the tutorial shows that walk you through a recipe you have no intent, or even interest, in actually making; think Rachel Ray, Paula Deen. These are the most embarrassing to watch in a public place like the gym because even if you would never even consider indulging in that much butter, the people around you judge you like you do. Then there are the shows that take you around to different places and show you all the gross/good food out there in the world; think Anthony Bourdain (listen to his self-narrated memoir on audiobook), Guy Fieri, Adam Richman. These are good if you are grossed out easily or don’t get out much because they usually include either someone eating something really bizarre or something really foreign. Then there is everyone’s favorite subgenre of cooking shows: cooking competitions.

Cooking competition shows have always been a big hit, thanks mostly to Iron Chef’s precedent. Starting in 1993, it is the first example I know of a cooking show that pitted chef’s against each other. It is not very often that a Japanese television show (that is not animated), is successful enough and culturally transferable enough to make it all the way across the expansive Pacific ocean, but Iron Chef hit the jackpot with an untapped market of sadists interested in watching chefs struggle to find an elevated way to prepare a secret ingredient like... elk. Since its initial fame, countless competition shows have been produced. There is a reason why cooking competition shows are so popular and that is because people are sick. And no one is sicker than Alton Brown.

I love Alton Brown. Alton Brown was the first celebrity chef I was true fan of. In 1998 the wacky, funny, nerdy, and occasionally gimmicky Good Eats first premiered. For nearly 14 years that show became a true cooking show classic in my mind. When I first saw the show years ago, I became instantly hooked on this host who I had never heard of before. He was funny, and for me funny has always meant gold. Alton Brown was the first celebrity chef whose career I kept track of. I was not, and still am not, a cooking show aficionado but he seemed like someone I should look out for. When he moved over to the Iron Chef America he revealed that not only was he a funny show host, he was a funny commentator and master of ceremonies. I don’t think he, or anyone else, ever looked back after that.

Okay, I have to admit before we continue that before a few months ago Chef Brown had fallen off my radar a bit over the last few years. Once hooked on one celebrity chef, I found I easily became enthralled in the lives and work of other celebrity chefs. What I’m saying is Alton Brown was my gateway chef. I now have a small group of chefs I keep an eye on, most notably Anthony Bourdain and Gordon Ramsay. It’s hard to miss Chefs Bourdain and Ramsay, and after reading Bourdain’s memoir and being introduced MasterChef (and MasterChef Junior) those chefs dominated my celebrity chef mental space. Chef Brown is less controversial, less prone to stir up trouble, and apparently he has been producing a hysterical cooking competition show for a couple years without me even noticing it. But about nine months ago I discovered Cutthroat Kitchen and I’m back on the Alton Brown bandwagon.

Before this becomes a love letter to Alton Brown, my first celebrity chef love, let’s address his current endeavor, Cutthroat Kitchen. Cutthroat Kitchen is hosted by Alton Brown and features four chefs who must prove they are the best chef of the group. There are three rounds and each round one chef gets eliminated by a judge who is either a chef, food writer, or restauranteur. A pretty standard cooking competition by the looks of it; it’s more like Chopped than MasterChef because each episode stands alone with new chefs every time. The gimmick, and oh my gosh do I love gimmicks, is that Alton Brown spends the entire competition encouraging the contestants to purchase sabotages for their rival chefs. The chefs get a limited stack of cash (if you consider $25K “limited”) and the winner at the end of it all gets to keep whatever money they have left after the bidding and culinary wars are over. This catch-22 for competitors is what makes this show such a delight and it is also what makes this show’s host such a maniac.

In my naive imagination this concept is all Alton Brown’s sick creation and not some faceless producer’s brainchild. Maybe that is the case and maybe it is not, but either way it is a brilliant show and it proves just what an eccentric Alton Brown is. I know I’m bordering on love letter again, but Chef Brown pulls off the saboteuring host so well. I find myself cackling along with him as he reveals the next mélange of sick and twisted obstacles, practically clapping with giddy glee. I imagine Alton Brown late at night, alone in the kitchen, looking sinister as he rubs his hands together thinking of the next deluge of challenges.

In the end I was able to finish all that I needed to get done this week, even with Alton Brown's show distracting me. To celebrate I think I'll watch another episode.