How Reality TV Is Like Dating In Your Twenties

“What is this? It looks like you’ve got a bikini wax here!” That was Gordon Ramsay being witheringly British to me, in front of other people. “Nothing puts you off like finding pubes on your plate.” He handed me the oily fennel fronds I had thrown down at the last minute as I stood in front of Ramsay, the restauranteur Joe Bastianich, and chef Graham Elliott, waiting to be judged. It felt like a really bad blind date.

I had just competed against six other entertainment journalists in a faux episode of “Master Chef,” in the show’s Los Angeles studio. It sounded like a decent way to spend a Tuesday evening, pretending to be on TV rather than watching it. It was staged just like a “Master Chef” episode. Eighteen minutes was not enough so I rushed to dismantle said fennel, put my scallops on top, and spoon an over-seasoned corn-and-mystery-berry relish on the side. Read more…

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