Red-eye rants

So I’m sitting at the gate waiting for my JetBlue flight to Cally to leave, and all I can say is, thank God for the free wi-fi here. Another reason to love JetBlue. It’s 5 am and I’ve been here already for about a half hour even though my flight doesn’t leave until 6.45 because freakin’ SuperShuttle insists on picking you up three hours before your flight, even though there is absolutely no traffic on the road at 3.30 am, even in New York City.

I don’t really want to sleep in my chair, so I thought I’d blog, even though I’m bleary-eyed and totally delirious from sleep deprivation. While I was packing earlier tonight (last night?) I was watching episodes of American Idol and Top Chef, two of my favorite reality shows. On Top Chef the final two are Ilan and Marcel, which the producers probably planned because they pretty much hate each other on the show. Well, all the other chefs have pretty much hated Marcel throughout the show because he’s a cocky nerd who gets on everyone’s nerves, but the boy can cook and plate and makes foams out of pretty much any liquid.

My pick to win from pretty early on in the competition though was Ilan, though I must admit I lost the faith a little based upon the recent reaction from the judges to some of his more curious dishes (a desert made from chocolate and liver--what?). But definitely he, Cliff and Sam were my top choices, except that Cliff got kicked off for manhandling Marcel and Sexy Sam got kicked off during the Hawaii challenge for not actually cooking any of the Hawaiian dishes he presented (i.e, his dishes were mostly just prepared but not set to a flame of some sort, I think).

I actually saw Ilan at Casa Mono, Mario Batalli’s tapas restaurant where he works as a line cook, and where they serve a lot of things that go in Scrapple (I’ve since learned from the show that such things are called “offal” in haute cuisine.) The food overall was good, and our party had it’s share of interesting dishes, including cock’s comb, which really comes out red and jelly-like and in the spiky shape of a cock’s comb. It almost looks like red jello made from the mold of a cut-off star. Ilan looked pretty much like Ilan except he was wearing really big nerd glasses. Still a cutie-patootie though. Even if he’s a winner I guess he still has to do his day job until the winning episode airs. No one really seemed to be gawking at him, so I wonder if people in the restaurant even knew that he could very well be America’s Next Top Chef.

Ilan’s not the only reality TV star I’ve had a real-world encounter with. Ian Benardo was a really bad contestant on So You Think You Can Dance, and last night was a really bad contestant on the latest episode of Idol (he readily admits he has two therapists who tell him he can sing and dance). I actually saw him walking in the East Village this past summer, and he was unmistakable, with his sweat headband.

Sigh…more time to kill. What else should we talk about as I delete the 300+ messages in my junk Hotmail account? Here’s some interesting tidbits:

In other news:

Surimi, the designer imposter otherwise known as imitation crab meat (and what non-authentic sushi eaters put in their California rolls) can now legally be labeled as "Crab-flavored seafood, made with surimi, a fully cooked fish protein." Is that like bacon-flavored bits or grape “drink”? I grew up on “grape drink” (I don’t think it could be legally called soda) and I think the real description for it was supposed to be processed sugar water. What I don’t understand is why they don’t just label it “surimi?” That almost sounds like sashimi, and is fancier than either “imitation crab meat” or “crab flavored fish proteins.”

This story perfectly exemplifies the lengths men will go to to NOT have to ask for directions.


Okay, almost time to board--and to get out of this freakin' freezing NYC weather!