I’m not quite sure how the Food Network’s Paula Deen is still alive. I mean, have you seen her fucking recipes? They have so much fat and sugar in them, the American Diabetes Association and American Heart Association have both officially labeled her a terrorist.

This blog chronicles her infamous and disgusting butter chugging moment.

Despite her repulsiveness, I find myself inspired. Who else would have the gall to display such gluttony and such ghastly culinary technique? So in honor of Paula Deen, old Gordo messed around in the kitchen. I came up with this fucking beauty of a recipe just in time for the fucking holidays! All thanks to Paula Deen.

Cream-cheese Clusterfuck
Serves 1

Associated Press

Dannii Minogue, Kylie’s sister, has damn good taste. She said one of the smarter things to come out of a person’s mouth in recent months. When denying rumors that she is romantically linked with Simon Cowell, Dannii said (and I paraphrase):”No fucking way! Simon Cowell is a fucking gross wanker.”

Then she said (and I quote): she’d rather “someone like Gordon Ramsay or Marco Pierre White.” Except for mentioning fucking Marco Pierre White, my nemesis, Dannii has clearly shown that she possesses impeccable taste.

via foodnetwork.com

I saw a post on another blog about Rachael Ray getting a two-year extension on the Food Network. Hold on, it gets worse. She also got a new fucking show. It’s going to be called “Rachael’s Vacation” and it will show Rachael on, well, vacation.

Why? WHY!

What’s next? “Rachael Ray cooks on Maternity Leave”? “Hors d’oeuvres at Rachael Ray’s Divorce Proceedings”?

Come on!

I’ve been going through my stacks and stacks of New York Times. (Forgive me, I’ve been a little fucking busy with my multiple TV shows, multiple restaurants, and multiple other fucking successful ventures.) Anyway, I finally made my way up to the February 3, 2005 issue, which included a fucking article about a “chef” who does stupid shit like instead of serving real sushi, he prints pictures of sushi on edible paper, flavors it has people eat it. I’m fucking serious. He will print out a picture of a cow and flavor it like filet mignon. You eat fucking paper! He talks like a pedantic fuck about how he wants to change the way people “perceive food.” He is actually trying to get food to levitate. To fucking float!

That guy is an honest-to-goodness fuckhead. A fuckhead in the truest sense of the word. So is this other scientist/chef running around on the Food Network. I think his name is Alton Brown.

Hey Alton, if I wanted a fucking science lesson, I’d invite Mr. Wizard to my restaurant and offer him a free meal in return for a lecture on Spectrometry. Oops, just Googled Mr. Wizard and it turns out he’s dead. But you get my fucking point, Alton you four-eyed fuck. Stop with the fucking chemistry stuff. No one cares. They want to eat, not learn.

Associated Press

I took the family to see a Spice Girls concert. Holy fuck. After seeing this mess first hand, I owe the world a fucking apology. I am cooking for these screeching mannequins and therefore nourishing them as they tour the world. It is my food that is keeping the Spice Girls alive, thus allowing them to do whatever is they do.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I just looked at the contract and it’s pretty airtight. The Spice Girls have already payed me a shit load of money up front. I can’t get out of it now.

Photo by Matt (mistergoleta) via Flickr.

Get ready for the first Michelin-starred airport restaurant. I’ll be opening a place in Heathrow called Plane Food. And it will be – if I may say so myself – fucking incredible.

First of all, think peanuts! Not little tiny bags of salted peanuts like you get on the plane, but rather big bowls of all kinds of peanuts. Salted, unsalted, honey-roasted, in the shell, boiled. My peanut tasting menu will be the biggest thing to happen to airports since the fucking electric walkway.

But that’s just the beginning. Expect delays at my Heathrow restaurant. I want this to be the ultimate airport dining experience. So you’ll make a reservation and show up early for it, but then we’ll fucking make you wait. Then, after delay after fucking delay, we’ll show you to your seat and explain the menu. Next, a hostess will come over and tell you where the emergency exits are. Then you’ll order.

And I’d do it again.

I was driving through Pennsylvania the other day (like I do every Monday) when I had a hankering for a Venti nonfat decaf latte with two Splenda. I saw a Starbucks (with a fucking drive-thru, mind you) and pulled up. When I got to the window to get my drink, the fucking drive-thru worker tells me the person in front of me paid for my drink. I thought, “Nice. Free drink for Gordo. Fame is good.”

Turns out everyone was buying free fucking drinks for each other — for like two fucking hours. I thought it was just because the car in front of me noticed my signature hairstyle and wanted to buy a celebrity some coffee. So after two hours, this cheer chain of goodwill came to an end. Do I feel guilty? Fuck no.

And even that’s not a practical use, what with the smeared ink always getting on my bum. Point is, Kim Severson’s latest article is rubbish. In it she actually suggests that the entrée could soon be dead. Dead!

She is a fucking idiot.

In fairness to Ms. Severson, she is only one of many fucking idiots in the article. Consider this quote by Mario Batali:

“As a diner, the idea of me chewing 17 bites of one thing and another 17 bites of another is absolutely boring, and not how I want to eat.”

Not how you want to eat? That’s because you want 17,000 bites of 17,000 things you fat fuck. I’ve seen Mario out on the town, going from restaurant to restaurant and feeding his disgusting face. I would fucking hate to be that man’s commode.

And Mario please lose the fucking orange Crocs and the orange watch. You are no longer a person, you are a brand. An orange brand. We fucking get it. You are orange. You have an orange fucking ponytail and an orange beard. And orange legs. Please stop wearing shorts. I’ll buy you a pair of pants.

Associated Press

I usually don’t use this blog to promote myself, my shows, my books, or my product line. That would be a little tacky. But next week’s Kitchen Nightmares is worth touting. In the episode, I visit a restaurant called McDonald’s. It’s not an Irish restaurant – even I couldn’t save a fucking restaurant that serves Irish food. Rather, it’s a burgers and fries joint. At least it used to be.

I’m not going to give away too much – you’ll have to tune in – but let’s just say I transform this restaurant from conveyor belt, churn-it-out food, to a refined dining experience. Gone is the drive-thru, where people can fucking zip around in their cars and have the food handed to them. Gone is garish décor, with red-haired clowns and other creepy plastic characters. I transformed the outdoor playground into a gorgeous al fresco dining area. Restaurants shouldn’t have fucking playgrounds.

Photo by sevenworlds16 via Flickr.