Another major relief - for the audience, the cooks, and everyone else - is that this brunch-centric song-and-bird reality television show has purged the screaming opinions of over-puffed consultants, the melodramatic micromanagement of hi-def surveillance cams, the groomed eel-like faces of gluttonous lip-smacking gourmands. Instead: Steam towels, a snare like a pancake, voice like butter, saltshaker percussion, light and airy small-bubbled melodies, crayons for the kids. Steramine dissolves into everything.
Take your time. The cameras are off this time. The kitchen never closes and the band plays all night.
We just got to do something about that bird though. It’s all fun and games until he shits in the sultan’s gravy.
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