Rusted Iron Chef

Here's a recipe for the folks over at the Food network: Take one awesome show. With a fine sieve, extract everything that made it at all fun. Serve with cheese.

I know it’s a small subsection of society that watches Iron Chef on purpose instead of pausing there for a few minutes on your way to the sci-fi channel. But even so, what was up with that? I picture the food network like a used car dealership, a guy out front saying, 'This is just so much fun it could be dangerous!' And then someone takes him seriously: hey man, can't have dangerous fun, better get rid of some of that!

The Chairman:

• Japanese Version: Awesome grinning eccentricy guy in nifty crazy clothes, prone to temper tantrums and freaky shaggy hair.

• American version: A friendly, skinny, shaved-headed acting-college student in a somber suit.

The Iron Chefs

• Japanese Version: Scary, self confident uberchefs who never break a sweat while blithely slapping their opponent up with culinary jujitsu. And wearing silk Kimonos

• American Version: I can only speak for Bobby Flay who continues to disappoint, freaking out over each dish, cursing out his kitchen staff, playing prima donna like a spoiled frat boy. While wearing trucker shirts.

The Judges

• Japanese version: A surreal collection of badly dubbed tabloid psychics, giggling third page girls, guitar-playing folks singers, and other well-qualified individuals who apparently have eaten sometime in their life. Favorite well-informed comment: "Awwwwoooo, I wanted desert!"

• American version: Well informed culinary experts giving commentary on techniques and ingredients being used. Alright, maybe this last one isn’t a negative.

Anyway, overall it takes something pretty special to make me miss the Simpsons, and Iron Chef America wasn't it.