Dear “Top Chef” contestants:
Please refrain from ever again referring to food as “sexy”. I don’t like to think of my chicken as vaguely sweaty, a little bit sticky, or unwilling to sit in the wet spot on my plate. Likewise, unless my vegetables are curled on their sides in the fetal position the next morning practically falling off the edge of the plate they’re shamefully trying not to share with a meat whose name they can’t remember from the night before, they don’t have much in common with sex, either.
Also, Tre, this isn’t “Memento”. You don’t need to tattoo instructions on your arm.
In closing, please develop a challenge for this season that incorporates Twinkies.