Y’all know I love my trashy, hair-pulling, scotch swilling, spandex wearing, bartender STD spreading, limo riding, funeral home owning, Hermes wearing, polygamous, tax evading reality stars as much as the next person (okay, more…much more), but it’s not my favorite reality genre. Weird, right? Sometimes, I don’t want drama. I want food porn, and if it happens to come with a side of Curtis Stone, so be it.
Top Chef is my all time favorite Bravo creation. Give me Padma Lakshmi, Tom Colicchio, an insane Quick Fire, and throw in Hugh Acheson’s eyebrows every now and again, and I am one happy gal. Even with twelve seasons under its belt, the franchise always manages to delight with colorful characters and creative challenges that leave me wishing I could prepare uni and sweetbreads as part of my daily diet.
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