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Entering the food-preparation lists against the champs, the ordinary mom comes, armed with cunning, Mrs. Paul, a discerning judge and a marathon review of the opponent's game films.
By JANET K. KEELER
© St. Petersburg Times, published November 23, 2001
I have this fantasy about the Iron Chef.
We are alone in the Kitchen Stadium surrounded by mountains of white rice cookers, flaming gas cook tops and cleavers of all sizes. Though the chairman and judges are gone, the violin music still swells in the background. The Iron Chef wears red silk and I am in a cotton apron with bold block letters that read "Kiss the Cook." He sidles up and whispers insistently in my ear. He is not accustomed to begging.
"Tell me your secret with creamy peanut butter," he pleads in Japanese. Denzel Washington does the dubbing. "I must know."
My kitchen eyes narrow, I toss back my hair. Then I beat the shiny pants off the Iron Chef with my Peanut Butter Sandwich Four Ways: plain on pillowy white bread; with thinly sliced, ripe bananas on wheat; with golden raisins and a dash of cinnamon on mini-bagels, and the most surprising creation, the one that leaves them breathless, peanut butter with drizzled honey on a warm flour tortilla.
Afterward, a cold glass of milk. Whole, no less.
I want to whip the Kitchen Chairman's Iron Chef, but I want him to cook in the Kitchen Cubicle at my house. No sous chefs to carry out barking orders, no 20-burner stove, no fine-mesh sieve to strain duck stock. In my world, there's a screw loose on the wine opener and a drawer full of knives that need sharpening. Let's see how fast the Iron Chef can disarm a pinching blue crab with a butter knife.
In the amply outfitted Kitchen Stadium of TV Land, the four Iron Chefs create dishes so fantastic that ingenues squeal their appreciation and grown men nearly weep at a mere mouthful. But could these culinary goliaths cook in the typical American kitchen with a picky, hungry 6-year-old throwing Wiffle balls at their toques? I throw down the gauntlet.
In preparation for the ultimate cooking showdown, I will watch today's 11-hour Iron Chef: Tired of Turkey Marathon on the Food Network. The campy action begins at noon, with reruns showing every hour except at 8 p.m. when "Battle: Sea Urchin" premieres. (It reruns at 11 p.m.) Be warned, the prickly urchins probably will still be twitching at show time. In preparation for my own duel, I will note the chefs' weak spots and then challenge one of them to a weekday dinner. An hour to prepare five dishes? How about 15 minutes, start to finish, to get dinner on the table?
Iron Chef has been a hit on the Food Network since it first aired in 1999. New shows are no longer produced, except for an occasional special. The Japanese import with impossibly silly dubbing is the second most popular show on the Food Network behind Emeril. Both shows are more flash than sustenance, but that is perfect for Americans who are keenly interested in food but less so in cooking. Iron Chef and Emeril meld high energy quirkiness with sports fanaticism. Emeril's live audience responds to his description of eggplant much the same way fans at the Swamp do when Florida's muscle men score a touchdown: by cheering wildly.
Even UPN has debuted a clone, Iron Chef USA, with William Shatner as the corny master of ceremonies. It definitely loses something in the translation as he introduces Iron Chef Italian as the "Scallion Stallion" and Iron Chef American as the "Patriot of the Pantry." This is more goofiness than I can take.
The premise of Iron Chef, the original, is nearly as nutty as the show itself. An eccentric gourmet, played by actor Takeshi Kaga, has built a culinary amphitheater in his mountain castle. (Kaga is a veteran stage actor, having played the lead role in Jesus Christ Superstar, Jean Valjean in Les Miserables, and been a Pokemon voice.) In his castle uber-kitchen, the chairman has assembled the nation's top chefs in four cuisines, Italian, French, Japanese and Chinese. To amuse himself, he brings in challengers to face his culinary gladiators, one cuisine at a time.
Smoke swirls throughout the stadium, music builds to a crescendo and Kaga bellows, "Kyoo no tema wa kore desu . . ." ("today's theme is . . ."). The secret ingredient is revealed, often still alive, and the chefs madly scurry to out-cook each other.
(I often experience the same drama when I look into the freezer to determine what to make for dinner. Kyoo no tema wa kore desu . . . boneless, skinless chicken breasts! "Again?" cries the 6-year-old judge.)
An ever-changing trio of judges such as the enigmatic "gourmet from Hong Kong," a demure and beautiful young actor and an athlete or an elder statesman taste the competitors' offerings and determine a winner.
"This is scrumptious," declares the ingenue, always with a giggle. "I was surprised by the texture but it is very, very good," says the athlete. Nuances and expertise are lost in the dubbing -- could she really have said scrumptious? -- which gives the show a kitschy Godzilla charm and is part of why young American men have been so drawn to it.
(Food Network claims that half the audience for the show is women, but I have my doubts. Household chores as sport do not hold special appeal to me, nor the women I know. What's next? Iron Board? Lions of the Laundry?)
It is rare when a challenger triumphs over an Iron Chef, rarer still when a female chef is invited into the stadium. The challengers' fare, though always stunning, is often too soggy, too salty or too underwhelming when compared to the titanic offerings of the Iron Chefs.
In fact, in the first match between Iron Chef Japanese, Masuharu Morimoto, and Food Network glamor boy Bobby Flay, the tension was as thick as lemon curd when Flay lost. He claimed he was nearly electrocuted by standing water on the kitchen floor. Guess which way the rematch went? If you think the cocky Flay would agree to face an Iron Chef again and lose, you aren't watching Food Network enough. The two-hour "21st Century Battle" reruns at 9 p.m. and again at midnight tonight.
In an episode that will be rerun at 7 p.m. today, Iron Chef Italian, Masahiko Kobe, and his challenger wrestle live octopi from a tank at the beginning of the show. In less than an hour they have worked wonders with the tentacles, suction cups and innards. If you don't do anything else today, tune in and watch a grown man in silk pajamas beat an octopus to death with a daikon radish.
There will be no live ingredients in my Iron Chef competition, I promise. There will be, however, an abundance of everyday ingredients when I challenge Kobe.
"Keeler-San and Kobe-San," Kaga will say, "Kyoo no tema wa kore desu . . . fish sticks!"
Kobe is as frozen as the lightly battered fish product. He has prepared basking shark fins and blue crab brains, but never, ever, anything made by a lady named Mrs. Paul. I rush to the fridge, pulling out ingredients with confidence. He finally begins to move but precious time has been lost.
The 6-year-old judge is doubtful. "What's he doing?" he asks. "That does not look good."
Indeed Kobe's sauteed fish sticks with basil and fig reduction on a bed of balsamic-dressed arugula goes down in flames.
My fish sticks with three dipping sauces is a triumph. The judges in my house will pick ranch dressing, ketchup and honey mustard over fish stick manicotti any day of the week.
"Yomigaru (arise) Iron Mom!" the chairman says as I take my rightful place on the dais. Hardly anyone notices the stains on my apron.
My fantasy is complete.
The Food Network's Iron Chef: Tired of Turkey Marathon begins at noon today. All shows are reruns except "Battle: Sea Urchin," which premieres at 8 p.m. and repeats at 11 p.m. Iron Chef normally airs at 10 p.m. and 1 a.m. Fridays and Saturdays and 7 p.m. Sundays.