myTop Chef

It's Wednesday night at 11pm.

Stress is high, morale is low, school is overwhelming.

Sleep seems like a gift that has been wrapped tightly and marked: DO NOT OPEN 'TIL CHRISTMAS.

It is elusive, yet prized and sought after.

Morning will come soon, the sun and I will greet the day together if I do not buckle down and work.
I can do this, I have to do it, NO DISTRACTIONS.

It is no use, my self-motivating techniques are to no avail.

I try to convince myself to skip this week, that a simple television program cannot take precedence over my academic studies, that personally stymieing my own productivity is ill-advised.

The efforts, too, are future.

You see, a war is being waged. A battle between good and whatever is a step above evil.

A battle of wit, of tenacity, of knives, of chefs. A battle of the amuse bouche.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the unending battle between Carla and Fabio.

Top Chef Season 5 brought out the best, and the worst in us.

Every dish was a new triumph and every bite brought a sense of victory or defeat.

Each week, it became a contest between the two house favorites, with the occasional outlier routing for Stephan, and the occasional poser vying for Hosea.

Lines have been drawn, alliances have been made. Efforts to forge a truce were attempted, but even the name could not be agreed upon, and arguments between Carbio or Fabla continued without ceasing.

For weeks and weeks, this ugly battle was fought, pitting brother against sister, Fitzgerald against Morris. The blow of betrayal softened only by the unified singing of the Glad commercial jingle, vehemently attempting not to confuse "Economical" for Thrifty.

The clear and evident bias toward Puerto Rican heritage made itself known on Team Fabio, while, at least on Team Carla, race was put aside for the love of all those deemed insane, unstable, or "Cray Cray".

Each week, new challenges were conquered as passions grew stronger and battle lines became more defined.

In the end, it was Carla who won the battle, though the war went to an undeserving victor.

It was thought, for a time, that peace could come to the group and that Wednesday nights could be made whole once more.
However, this was not to be.

Each year brought new competition, from fights between Michael and Kevin, or Yigit and some other unimportant person.

However, nothing could come close to the battle that waged before, and it was thought that no such rivalry would ever be seen again.... until now.

Wednesday, December 1st at 11pm, the knives are drawn once again.
Quick-fires become a means for bragging rights, and elimination challenges becomes a drawn-out-nausea-enducing-torment.

With the middle house (and an apartment in Astoria, Queens, NY) as our battleground, and words (coupled with ice cream) as our weapons, it is sure to be a blood bath.

In just hours, 318 Prince Drew Road becomes like the DMZ separating the Koreas... tensions are high, and war is inevitable.

The choice in this conflict is clear. "Hootie! Hootie Who?!" Need I say more?
Bring it Team Fa(il)bio. You're going down!

Welcome to Top Chef All-Stars.

Victory never tasted so good.