There is a great article written by Bill Buford about my totally misunderstood boyfriend, Gordon Ramsay, in the newest issue of The New Yorker .

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The Eminence of Gordon Ramsay

Does NYC's culinary melting pot find some foreign chefs indigestible?

There is a great article written by Bill Buford about my totally misunderstood boyfriend, Gordon Ramsay, in the newest issue of The New Yorker. It details the opening of the British chef's first New York restaurant (and at least partially explains the lackluster Hell's Kitchen).

If you get BBC America, the second season of his show, The F Word, is airing right now. #$%#ing hell, it is the best food show ever. No giggling or semi-homemade anything allowed, swearing and good-natured ribbing highly encouraged. The show is as well cut, simple and informative as it is entertaining. Gordon can be seen raising pigs for slaughter in his back yard, advocating the eating of Sunday lunch and all things local and British over anything imported & French, and exhibiting his famous drill sergeant-like behavior for visiting cooks. The recipe segments are all action, and the show's entire focus is on sensuous, comfort food and recipes you can easily make at home. (Which seven times out of ten is a stuffed and ham-wrapped piece of meat. Blimey!) Gordon's food is a lot like the man himself: straightforward, self-righteous, and singular. None of that poncey, test tube, reverse-micro-invitro mad scientist #$%@&.

A recent show featured the hilarity that is this site: Pimp That Snack, as reported by hottie Brit food critic Giles Coren.

 
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