Open Letter to Bobby Flay
My Dearest Robert,
I just want the world to know I love you.
A couple of weeks ago I was watching Food Network, otherwise known as porn for fat people, and I stumbled upon your gem of a show. Granted, I have never been a fan of yours, Alton Brown (Good Eats? C'MON!!) was my man of choice.
A few years ago, Boy Meets Grill lost me because I lived in Albany and felt that loving you was an Adirondack tradition, one I could not and would be associated with. Then I saw you on Iron Chef America, alongside my man Alton. And, not to be rude, but there was something on your lip. I don't know what it was, and I won't accuse you of anything, what you do when the cameras are off is your business and yours alone. Needless to say, the combination turned me off so much I couldn't watch any show with you as a chef.
Fast forward to late February and my discovery of Throwdown with Bobby Flay. You were in Brooklyn challenging the best cheesecake in the NATION (Junior's) and held your own, which is both admirable and hard to do. Since then, we've begun quite the torrid love affair. There is no vestige of the disgust I once held for you and I just want you to know that.
So there you have it, Mr. Flay, I love ya!! I love your weird NY accent, your flaming red hair and creepy tendency to kiss Paula Deen on the mouth. And now the world knows.
I just want the world to know I love you.
A couple of weeks ago I was watching Food Network, otherwise known as porn for fat people, and I stumbled upon your gem of a show. Granted, I have never been a fan of yours, Alton Brown (Good Eats? C'MON!!) was my man of choice.
A few years ago, Boy Meets Grill lost me because I lived in Albany and felt that loving you was an Adirondack tradition, one I could not and would be associated with. Then I saw you on Iron Chef America, alongside my man Alton. And, not to be rude, but there was something on your lip. I don't know what it was, and I won't accuse you of anything, what you do when the cameras are off is your business and yours alone. Needless to say, the combination turned me off so much I couldn't watch any show with you as a chef.
Fast forward to late February and my discovery of Throwdown with Bobby Flay. You were in Brooklyn challenging the best cheesecake in the NATION (Junior's) and held your own, which is both admirable and hard to do. Since then, we've begun quite the torrid love affair. There is no vestige of the disgust I once held for you and I just want you to know that.
So there you have it, Mr. Flay, I love ya!! I love your weird NY accent, your flaming red hair and creepy tendency to kiss Paula Deen on the mouth. And now the world knows.
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