Food Network: My Beef With Ace of Cakes and My Love of Nigella Lawson

“Those little whores are good. They even bring the props!”

So, I’m starting to get sick of Style because they’re on this Split Ends kick. I just can’t bring myself to care about that show, so I’ve been moving down the dial. My new destination: Food Network.

I’ve got to say that the only thing I really like on that network is Ace of Cakes. But can I point something out? They don’t wear gloves. I mean, I know the cakes are all artsy and whatnot, but I am expected to eat it, right? I don’t want to be Mr. Judge-A-Book-By-Its-Cover, but those people look kinda crunchy. I really don’t think I want to eat that cake after I’ve watched them stick their swap meet friendship bracelets all in it. The only benefit to getting a cake from them is that *maybe* you’ll get to be in an episode. I wish the health department would raid that place. Here it is, a show on national tv, with a huge Time Square billboard campaign (I saw it during the New York Comic-Con) and it hasn’t dawned on anyone that the preparation is a bit unsanitary?

Also, I hate Paula Dean’s sons. Here we have nepotism at its finest. I was watching Road Tasted today, and their whole opening credits/intro is based around “Our Mom’s Paula Dean!” That’s like saying “I work here because my daddy owns the company” or “I come with the package”. Great, you’re the human equivalent of the parsley that comes with every entree you order in a restaurant. You’d never tell the waiter “hold the parsley”. You just know that it’s coming, and you move it to the side when the food arrives. Paul Dean’s sons are parsley, but Food Network made them into an entree instead. Who’s ever heard of parsley as an entree?! Man, I got way too deep into that analogy…

And now, let’s talk about the women. I like Nigella. She’s kind of plain and droning, but she’s plain and droning with a British accent. Score! A British woman could read the phone book to me, and I would be putty. I’d be done. Stick a fork in me and remember the Alamo. It would be over, son.

Rachael…man, she was a lot more endearing in doses. I know that she was pretty much carrying that network about 3 years ago, but she was still confined to that network. Now that her empire has expanded to syndicated show and Dunkin’ Donuts pimp, I’m sick of her. First of all, she needs rehab. I swear she’s drunk half the time. And she’s polarizing. Like Moulin Rouge or Radiohead, you either love her or hate her. There’s no, “Well, I guess that Ray chick’s OK.” No, it’s either, “OMG, I love her!” or it’s “Man, I can’t stand that hyperactive bitch. What is her deal?” Plus, I hate the new darker hair. You never should’ve joined the Oprah empire, Rach. Look what it’s done to Dr. Phil. Most people don’t know, but he promised Oprah the blood of his first grandchild. It’s true. I heard it from..me, when I made it up just a second ago. Man, I should work for US Weekly.

And that brings us to Giada. Man, oh man, do I love Giada. She is perfect. Utterly flawless. Even with her man hands and giant head, she is the bee’s knees. The funny thing about Giada is that I don’t think it’s possible for men to ever really learn anything from her shows. The chick is all about the cleavage and every time she goes to slice up something, it’s just a distraction. I wonder how many guys have been rushed to the emergency room for accidentally slicing off fingers while watching her show. I’ll be honest; I don’t even watch it for the food. I will watch anything she’s in, because it’s just the Adventures of Gorgeous Cleavage Girl. 3-Day Weekend Getaway? Sign me up, as long as that cleavage is coming, too! I don’t really get starstruck up close. From afar, I might geek out over celebrities, but when I get up to them, I’m cool and collected. Giada comes to town a lot for book signings, and I refuse to go because I’m really afraid of what I might do. Nothing illegal or perverted, ’cause I’m not that guy, but I really feel like I’d propose or profess my undying love or something. And that just wouldn’t be cool. Now, if it were Paula Dean, I might end up getting my own show for that kind of display…