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Hell's Kitchen recap: Big Rack Attack!

To liven things up, Chef Ramsay has the cheflings give cooking lessons to hot housewives, then invites suntan-lotion models to the dinner service

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Hell's Kitchen

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Good evening, my little hummus platters, and welcome to the continuation of Hell’s Kitchen. After last week‘s not-at-all-shocking elimination of Sam the Constipated Eagle, we were down to five cheflings, all of them (except Pumpkin Petrozza) pretty much the ones you’d expect. Not a bad final bunch, really, or maybe they’ve just grown on me, like hostage takers in Stockholm. Hard to say. But if I had to pick a favorite right this second, it’d be spunky little culinary student Christina, who won even more of my heart at the start of tonight’s episode by walking away from that last elimination muttering, ”One time, can I stand up there andnot cry?” I don’t know if you can, actually, but self-awareness will get you everywhere, my dear…

…which is why I can’t stand Jen. We all know the reasons her teammates don’t care for the BBJ — she dodges blame, she plays the hero, she gets pissed off at everything — but I think I stop listening the second she opens her mouth because it’s all so very negative, every single second of it. Yes, Jen, we know you’re not here to make friends. You’d think, however, you could at least try to be civil occasionally. Or, like, speak English. ”Culinary skills, I got all of them faded,” she said of her competitors tonight. ”Faded?” I wrote down. Is that the new slang for ”beat,” kids? Or did I hear her wrong? Can someone clue me in? This is like when I didn’t understand how something being ”the bomb” could be good. Yes, I am 97 years old.

Tonight’s challenge presented the first of two boobalicious groups of women to our cheflings, in the form of five desperate housewives, none of whom had cooked a day in their lives. (Allegedly. I mean, that would really take some doing, never cooking ever.) The contestants watched Chef Ramsay make lobster spaghetti (it’s baaaaack), then were tasked with teaching the ladies how to do it themselves. Of course, some of the cheflings were more susceptible to their students’ charms than others: As the housewives — and one gerbil/lapdog — sashayed in to some good old-fashioned bawm-chicka-bawm bawm music, both Petrozza and Bobby had to retrieve their jaws from the floor, and I had to grab my tongue with both hands to stop myself from gagging to death on it. Not sure what bothered me more: that these women, who seemed generally good-natured and decent, were being pimped out by the show as some sort of bobbleheaded sexpot army (do not get me started on our society’s current demeaning obsession with all things ”cougar”), or…wait, no, that’s totally what bothered me.

NEXT: If you can’t stand the hotties…