Using power tools to make a Caesar Salad is a sound concept. Of course, if you’re eating in a chain restaurant, your Caesar Salad is already being made with power tools. Ever been in the kitchen in one of those places? It looks like a giant stainless steel machine shop. The cooks barely touch your food. If they didn’t sneeze on it, it really wouldn’t get the personal touch at all.
[Warning: some salty language]
The British are a very peculiar people. From what I can tell, they cannot eat a meal unless it comes in pie-form. They have meat pies, fish pies, pie pies, and every other kind of pie you can imagine. The pies are almost always coated in a heavy sauce of some sort, which is another essential part of a British meal. I don’t know how it all tastes when mashed together, but it looks like it will sit like a brick in your lower intestines for the next three months.
Cooking is more than just pressing buttons on your microwave and allowing the gods of ready-made-meals to make all of your problems disappear, cooking is an art form. It takes hours, maybe even minutes, of hard work and dedication to cook a succulent meal. Entire relationships can be made or broken by your ability to cook.
You can even save your own life someday by knowing how to cook. All that dry pasta in your pantry can be used for a lot more than pasta art. Someday, you might have to boil that pasta. After that, you might even have to eat it. I don’t know if you’ll be ready for that if you forget about the importance of cooking.
(Warning: some salty language)
I don’t think there are enough cooking channels. Think about it — every other type of channel has 10 spinoff channels. MTV has an unholy army of different channels that all play reruns of My Super Sweet Sixteen, 16 and Pregnant, and Celebrity 16 and Pregnant. Why can’t we have a cooking channel completely dedicated to sad cooking shows? I’d watch the hell out of that, and I know a lot of other people feel the same way. This guy could get his own show, and it could be followed by a 30 minute segment of Paula Deen eating a stick of butter while crying into an open vat of pure, steaming lard.
Kids these days. Sheesh. They can harness the power of red-hot lava, but they don’t know how to make a meal consisting of more than string-cheese, Faygo and Pringles. You just burned enough steak to keep me from eating beef jerky for several hours, you nitwits.
I freely admit I was somewhat impressed by your lava-grill, which appears to reach temperatures nearly as hot as the jet engine hibachi I use for informal get-togethers. But with great exothermic reactions comes great responsibility. A real man eats his steak while it still has a pulse.