Like the Subway sandwich I ate for dinner last night (depressing, I know), this week's venture into Hell's Kitchen was serviceable but completely forgettable. For one thing, it seemed a whole lot less Hell-ish. Gordon Ramsay waited all the way until the show's second half to start throwing hissy fits, and even then, his Swearengenesque putdowns seemed artificially escalated. Ramsay never appeared convincingly pissed off in an I'm ending my life and taking all of you with me sort of a way. I'm still new to the show, as I explained last week, but I'm quickly learning that each episode's success hinges on the authenticity of Chef Ramsay's anger; although, alternatively, I would cherish seeing an episode in which Ramsay pretended to be a charmingly courteous Brit, la Jim Broadbent, until the credits rolled. Nothing would freak the contestants out more than that.
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