The two lowest-scoring contestants, DIRK and SPIKE, are called to the Judges’ Table where PADMA LAKSHMI, TOM COLICCHIO, and GAIL SIMMONS will eliminate one of them from the competition. Dirk looks contrite. Spike sighs heavily and can’t believe he’s in the bottom two.
PADMA
Spike, Dirk. Your two dishes were the judges’ least favorite. Unfortunately, one of you will be going home.
She looks to Tom to summarize the situation.
TOM
That’s right. You know, both of you really fell well short of the mark tonight. And, in this competition, you can’t afford to miss a step. Spike, your shrimp obelisk tasted terrific and really showed your maturity in terms of deveining. However, the rest of the judges and I just have to tell you that the auditory quality of your food, the inexplicable sort of high-pitched grinding sound it emanates, somehow, dish after dish, is very off-putting.
Spike just gives him an insolent stare.
TOM
And, Dirk, we appreciate the ambitiousness of your dish but I’m not sure why you would give us chicken blenzine and not acid-crust it. That just…It doesn’t make any sense to me at all. It made Gail cry and Ted can’t be with us now because he snapped while trying to get his mind wrapped around that dish. So, unfortunately, one of you has to leave the competition.
Gail tears up again.
Tom looks at Padma to let her issue the final verdict.
The music swells, Padma gives it a few beats so the camera can get one more look at the contestants, their sweating brows.
Finally…
PADMA
Dirk, please pack your knives and go.
Dirk drops his head in sad acknowledgement. The only thing that gives him any kind of solace is that, in telling him to leave, Padma finally looked at him for the first time in this competition. Spike blows out a sigh of relief and gives Dirk a manly half-handshake/hug type of thing.
DIRK
(To the judges)
Thank you for the opportunity. It was great.
Dirk returns to that loading dock-looking area where the remaining 11 CONTESTANTS wait to hear what happened. Dirk does a cool “peace out” type of gesture.
DIRK
It was me. I’m out.
Spike pats him on the back. The others give the obligatory appearance of being shocked and hug Dirk one-after-the-other like they always do.
Dirk talks to the camera in the interview room.
DIRK
Well, my time at Top Chef is over. But you think that means I’m done as a chef? Am I just going to give up the thing I love most? Ha!
Dirk gathers up his belongings alone in the kitchen.
DIRK (VO)
Yes. Yes, it does mean I will just give up. I don’t know why I said, “Ha!” a few seconds ago because I will definitely give up cooking. I’ve lost so much confidence that I can’t even imagine successfully feeding myself at any level. Yes, I’ve wanted to be a chef all my life and love the kitchen so and it’s the one thing that connects me to my dead mother, but even the slightest hint of failure tends to spiritually obliterate me to the point I’ll give up even what’s most important to me at the drop of a hat.
If, for example, I had invented the time machine, when the first person I would have come over to test it out sat in it and said, “Hmm. This seat is kind of scratchy,” I would have immediately yanked the guy out of the time machine and said, “You know what? Never mind. This isn’t a good idea,” and tossed my invention into the woods somewhere. A curious raccoon would no doubt have probably walked across the dashboard such that it would have started the wretched machine (you really think I would be smart enough to have included any kind of safety lock or something?). The machine would have taken the creature back to the 1830’s and it would have found its way through the open window of the infant Rodolphe Lindt’s bedroom, chewed him to death, and I would have been kicked off this show two episodes ago for not only having “deep-seated toast point issues,” as Tom termed it, but also for causing the non-invention of conching. And, without chocolate conching, there wouldn’t even be any candy bars for me to drown my desperation in.
Anyway, I felt my imminent failure since the first Quick Fire Challenge when the guest judge, Anthony Bourdain, broke into knee-slapping hysterics after tasting my Chilean sea bass curry, but then looked at my sour visage and said, “Oh. You weren’t kidding.”
All the flavor profiles I’ve developed over my years and years and years of cooking might as well be the very opposite of flavor profiles. It’s done. You won’t be hearing a lot more from Dirk Voetberg.
He looks at the last knife he’s about to pack.
DIRK (VO)
Maybe I’ll keep this one at the ready.
He lifts his chef jacket in the back and slides his knife in his belt in the back of his pants.
DIRK (VO)
I just realized someone else probably would have invented conching if Lindt hadn’t. My example was useless.
He walks towards the glass door emblazoned with the “Top Chef” logo and pushes it open as he makes his final exit.
Morristown, NJ - This small tranquil town of 6 or 10 thousand people has learned to accept a few of the more unpleasant trappings of modernity that make their way over from the nearby larger cities. Upticks in gang crime, speakeasies, and teenage pregnancies have all struck the residents of Morristown during the last several years, and they’ve worked together to deal with them.
But an incident of once-rare signage defacement is the last straw for one local restaurateur Gerry Katzmann. Earlier this year, in light of another unfortunate trend of late, Katzmann finally had to post a sign in the parking lot behind his BBQ restaurant, The Second Saddle, that reads, “Pee Limit 5.”
“People were going to the parking lot and peeing 6, 7, or even 8. I didn’t want to put an ugly sign out there, but I finally had to.”
But within weeks, the new sign had been vandalized to read, “Speed Limit 5,” with the “S” and the “d” sloppily rendered in black marker.
“I realized something was wrong when customers were coming (into the restaurant). And they would be chuckling to each other about speed limits and (rubbing each other and) sarcastically saying, “Hey, slow down” to each other and stuff. I went outside and saw what some jerk kid did to my expensive sign,” said Katzmann. “Ha ha. Very funny.”
This is the second known incident in recent months. In early March, the Shove It Up an A-Hole trophy shop found all of its outdoor signage stolen one morning.
Elgin, IL - Brian O’Keefe and Jason Otterman, co-founders of the Marigold & White funeral home in Elgin, IL, decided they wanted to make a change.
As many of us know, Jake Tchaikovsky, dressed in the large foam Rusty the Shivering Marigold & White Lion costume, has stood out front of the Ann Street location every weekend day since 1985, shivering and helping bring attention to the popular funeral home’s various sales promotions and special Fourth of July events. But, starting this Saturday, while most passers-by will technically be able to wave back at things, they won’t be able to wave back at Rusty. Because he won’t be there to be waved-back to.
“We just thought the image of a lion was a little out-dated,” said Otterman in a sort of telephone interview. “There are fewer of them in the wild every year, and someday they’ll be gone. So, while we’ll always remember Rusty in our hearts, we’ve decided on a new mascot that better represents the spirit of Marigold & White.”
Tchaikovsky will now sport an anthropomorphic hamburger costume as the new face of Marigold & White, Harry the Hamburger.
“Harry The Hamburger. That’s our guy. And, while he’s nowhere near the best representation of the spirit of Marigold & White, he is, we think, a better representation than a lion,” said Otterman.
A mock funeral for Rusty the Shivering Lion will be held at the Marigold & White Funeral Home, Thursday evening at 5:30 PM.
Harry the Hamburger, the new mascot for Marigold & White Funeral Home
Suppose you’re in the woods or a forest or an entity such as that and come upon a wide creek. But there’s more to this puzzle: Suppose there are three others beside you in the party and you have only one canoe. Only two people can fit in the canoe at any one time. You need to get all four of you across the creek and must do it within 11 trips across.
What do you do?
ANSWER: Take one person over to the other side, row back, take another person to the other side, row back, take the last person to the other side. You have all now crossed the creek. You do not have to use the additional six trips allotted to you unless you want to.
Britt Landon, one of our Vice Presidents of Marketing, went into the office kitchen today, which is also free bagel day, approached one of our sales associates, Cynthia Buh, and said, without any prompting from her, “No, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is not dead yet. You’re thinking of Wilt Chamberlain.”
Cynthia replied, “How…How did you know what I was thinking? You read my mind!”
“No, I didn’t! April Fools’!” Britt exclaimed.
Cynthia cracked up and said, “You got me. Very funny.”
Hey! So, sometimes people are set ablaze. They should at least get funny mugs too that they can carry about the office. Check this one out. It also includes an unlicensed cute sleepy lion graphic!:
Ramming One’s Head Into Sculptures at Full Speed, Inc.
MEMO
March 6, 2008
To: Marketing Team
RE: Marketing rethink
Team,
Having been hired on as your new VP here in the Marketing department, I first want to say thank you for the welcome lunch today at Elephant Bar with all of you. I could eat that chocolate lava cake every meal of the day. Just kidding.
So, now down to business. As you know, the most recent quarter at Ramming unfortunately continued an unsettling trend we’ve had for now 9 straight quarters with us losing revenue over the quarter previous.
The question we need frankly to ask ourselves is why aren’t people ramming their head into sculptures (at FS)? That’s something we have to figure out. I know that, when I told my kids about the company I’d be working for, they said ramming one’s head into a sculpture at any speed “sounds stupid/gross/gay, etc.”
So, whatever the reason, there’s a perception out there we’re contending with.
We in marketing are charged with changing that perception. So I’d love to chat with each of you forany ideas you may have.
Some thoughts:
We haven’t yet delved into TV advertising because, from what I understand, historically the company has worried about the effect someone ramming their head into a sculpture would have visually to a TV audience. But, as is common in advertising today, we don’t have to literally show it or even really speak of it. Just show some 20-somethings hanging out in a sculpture garden, languidly looking at the stars and sitting back against each other around a camp fire, Nick Drake music playing and, after some of that, our logo softly displaying on the screen.
But on the other hand, we may want to actually be very specific in other mediums. Some new FAQs on our website dispelling the idea that we’re somehow in the business of something called “ramming one’s head into sculptures at full speed” but not literally that. I’m not sure why this confusion exists (why would someone name something else “ramming one’s head into scultpures at full speed”?), but it does.
Also, how is the lack of funding in the arts affecting our business (or “bidness” as David Letterman says for comedic affect)? With so few sculptures being commissioned in our neighborhoods anymore, potential clients are finding it harder to find the proper surface upon which the ramming should terminate. They just find themselves in a perpetual state of ram.
So, we may want to think about creating our own sculpting department. The sculptors wouldn’t have to be particularly good I don’t think. Just be able to transform a hard substance into something that would fit even the minimal standard of art (e.g., This means our sculpts wouldn’t have to convincingly and in new ways evoke war or that kind of thing to everyone who sees it. Instead, it could barely evoke something like wanting to eat and not everyone would have to “get it” either and it could technically be cliche.)
Another option here would be for us to lobby for NEA funding, etc. for sculpture parks in our communities. APparently, someone is currently doing that for us but he’s what is called insane.
So, I’ll set appointments with each of you in Outlook and we’ll brainstorm!
Fourteen thousand dollars and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty-two cents of it was in pennies. That was all that Della and James had in checking and savings and their wallets combined. Sure, some more money in 401(k)s and CDs, but they couldn’t draw on those without some penalties. James knew the exact amount because he checked the state of their account on the Bank of America website this February morning. Fourteen thousand dollars and eighty-seven cents…and some investments. And that night was Valentine’s night.
James logged off the website, spiked his hair up just a little with some product, and went to work. Only ten hours to get his lovely bride a Valentine’s gift before he was to meet her at a local French place called Le Jardin d’Olive.
Later that morning, in his cube, he was busy at work with some financial analysis. Then, that afternoon, when he got back from Baja Fresh with Veronica and “Doobs,” he was reminded about the fact that that day was Valentine’s because Lily was wearing her heart-shaped teddy bear brooch thing and playfully haranguing everyone: “Now, where’s your red? You’re supposed to wear red on Valentine’s!” Which instigates the observation that some of the co-workers who even bothered to respond would say something humorous like, “I have a red stripe on my sock! That counts, right?” But the remainder replied with a “I don’t know, Lily. Just…Okay?” or a “Uh. Did you see if Cynthia’s at her desk?”
Only five hours until he was to meet his beloved for St. Valentine’s Day dinner. What would he get her for a gift? He couldn’t afford to get her a house or a beach. What would he get her? And in only five hours to do so.
In the restroom, where he brushed his teeth after lunch, James looked in the very wide mirror and re-textured his hair.
Della’s favorite flowers were white roses. It’s what she had ordered for her and James’s wedding two years ago. Also, whenever her and James went to Whole Foods to get his workout supplements and passed by white roses or if she caught a glimpse of them at the Farmer’s Market on their way to the 7:45 showing of a movie they both thought they’d maybe like okay, she’d say, “Jesus. Those are so gorgeous! They’re the only flowers I really really love.” Over the course of their relationship, she’s probably said that about 84 times, about the white roses, liking them, etc.
At 5:30, James realized he had only one and one half of an hour to get Della, his lovely wife, a Valentine’s gift before meeting her at the restaurant.
James eyes lit with an idea. He would have just enough time to get a haircut.
However, coming out of the salon, James was pale with despair. He didn’t like his new haircut as much as last time. Carlos wanted to “try something new.” Also, now James had almost no time to purchase Della a gift on this day of love!
At the flower shop on the way to the restaurant, James scanned the inventory. Tulips; gerber daisies; and yellow, white, and red roses. They were pretty expensive but James picked a few red roses from what was left and stood in line. He also noticed one of those metallic balloons that said, “Be Mine!” He thought Della would probably like it but it would be kind of a pain to carry.
As he sat down across from his wife, whose bosom was wonderfully kind of squeezed together by, presumably, her bra, James smiled and handed her the red roses. She kind of sighed, realizing once again that James didn’t remember — or, more likely, didn’t care — that it’s white roses she loves so. But then she did what she could to make the best of the situation: “Thank you so much, darling! They’re lovely!”
“I got you something too, dear,” she continued. She pulled out a beautifully wrapped present and handed it to him, which took a very slightly longer amount of time than one might expect as he had to finish glancing over at an evil-looking brunette by the bar.
“Okay,” he said as he tore into the package. It was a grooming kit, the beautiful leather case emblazoned with his initials. He’d always wanted one and Della got it for him even though he probably only mentioned it once.
“Well, okay,” he responded. “I guess I can use this stuff. I might wait until my hair grows in a little bit. I just got it cut as you can see and it’s a little too short.”
“Well, not that it doesn’t look great now, but it’ll probably be a good length in about a week,” she said.
“Okay. I guess I can hang on to this until then,” he sighed. Then he looked lovingly at the brunette again. “Oh. Here comes the waiter. By the way, I don’t want to take so long eating dinner like last time. I’m going to the gym early in the morning,” he informed her in a way that was romantic because he wasn’t outright screaming at her.
“Oh. Yes. Okay,” said Della as she quickly looked at her menu in this restaurant she used to love coming to so much with James.
The magi, as you know, were wise men — wonderfully wise men — who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. But Jesus was not the Son of God as such a thing does not exist. In this way too, Della, gave and gave to a love that wasn’t there. But she thought she might not find anyone else, so she stuck with this. She was the magi.
