fuck me, what a disaster that show is.

blais' sneaker game is dope. tiebreaker always goes to the freshest kicks.

*cringe*

this is the dopest gimmick account in years.

don't worry, it will all be over soon.

during the meal, virtually every course inspired some back and forth about the doneness of the various proteins, usually ending with someone saying "really? 'cause mine is cooked perfectly," to the murmuring assent of the rest of the table. it's almost as if they were cooking over firepits on a windswept bahamian…

when tom said the winning dish exhibited "innovation," or something to that effect, it seemed like a lock for richard "my soul is a roadmap of pain" blais. mike's dish was stunningly presented and looked mouthwatering, but there's really nothing innovative about steaming fish in a banana leaf, considering the method…

he went on tv with a little silver nose stud and you want to talk about his hair?

two horse race
richard has excellent taste in sneakers and questionable taste in baby names. embree lotus sounds like an australian sports car.

this show looks flat-out unhealthy for richard blais. this poor grimacing fuck always looks like padma has asked him to decide whether he would like his wife or firstborn child pulled from a pile of flaming wreckage. his brow furrow swag is on maximum at all times. fortunately, he retained the presence of mind to fry…

i'll definitely cop to a little cherry-picking in service of my observation (after all, the man did go to liberia last year, and you'd be fucking hard pressed to find a more post-apocalyptic corner of the world), but none of those episodes above were more than a year old, given how they used to split the seasons in…

the other half
the choice of locations for this season seems like a concious reaction to last year, which brought us bourdain ensconced in such universally dreaded shitholes as sardinia, tuscany, the chesapeake bay, and some otherworldly string of caribbean islands, all while his sadistic production staff forced him…

a tale told by an idiot
speaking on behalf of fucking dimbulb loudmouth morons the whole world round, let me assure all of you that good, clever ideas are hard to come by. gotta take 'em where you can find 'em, eh mikey? look at it this way, champ; at least you'll never have to worry about bringing potato salad to the…

dale talde is absolutely crushing the game, and he's got bourdain eating out of his hand. this review went hard on his percieved dickishness, but really, he set the bar so high for himself on his first run that he's crossing the "best beloved broseph" threshold simply by virtue of not being a slavering, foaming…

did you read the comments section?
i did NOT like the end of it.

what's a vegatable?

*cringe*

choke on a beefaroni sandwich and die, please.

you misspelled "poorly." save it for the third date, would you, jason?

this.