Le Grand Bouffe

WELL, I dont know about you, but I for one am exceptionally glad that someone is stepping in to manfully stomp out that aggressively foul language seen on Gordon Ramsays Kitchen Nightmares USA (Tuesdays, 8.30pm on Nine). Let us gather together and all hail South Australian Liberal senator Cory Bernardi, not simply due to the fact that with that particular name he sounds like he should be cruising the streets of LA in a Chevy wearing a pair of Ray-Bans and Heather Graham, but also for his upstanding suggestion the Senate hold an inquiry into swearing on television and What Can Be Done About It By The Concerned Citizens Of Australia.

Isnt it wondrous that in the age of terrorism and war and global warming there stands a man who hears a little salty language on the box and suffers an immediate and all-encompassing attack of the vapours and thusly decides to form a committee to make himself feel better about the world? I dont know about you, but Im nominating him for Australian of the Year.

Peter Cundall will just have to be patient.

I jest, of course. I think Cory Bernardi is a jerkface mcjerkington getting his knickers all in a twist about something that is — quite simply — Very Good Television. Who gives 12 parts of a flying cocktail whether Kitchen Nightmares USA features the sort of occasional verbal fruit youd hear from an inebriated sailor on shore leave? If you dont want your children to watch it, dont let them.

Personally, Id rather my kidlettes dropped the odd expletive than choose a career as an AFL umpire or guard in a mandatory detention centre, but thats just me, and besides which, my kidlettes dont actually exist yet so who am I to make sweeping assumptions?

KN USA is a rare breed in todays panoply of tedium — its a reality television show thats actually worth watching. Cleverly put together (with a bonus screening of the British version, Ramsays Kitchen Nightmares on Thursdays at 8.30pm for those who cant get enough of a surly blond Scot cussing into a wok) and endlessly, wondrously entertaining, its one-third home improvement series, one-third boot camp and one-third bib-wearing newlywed cousins named Bubba 1 and Bubba 2 smashing each other over the head with plastic chairs.

Its edgy and brassy and occasionally violent and I cant get enough of the damned thing. The premise: a Michelin-starred chef gets thrust into a failing business more often than not run by a lunatic who doesnt know how to boil eggs, and feathers fly, particularly at the Bernardi residence when someone accidentally drops the c-bomb between entree and mains.

God knows how some of these people were ever given a licence to make meals for the general public. Does one even need a licence for that kind of thing or am I getting confused with shooting geese? Either way, the point stands. Trouble brews at mill. In steps the gastronomic ghostbuster.

An hour passes. Fin.

Then theres Gordon Ramsay himself. Driven to the absolute brink by aforementioned deranged fellow chefs brandishing cleavers and shrieking about their "unique brand of 21 gourmet flavour combinations", he looks excessively lost, haggard, ready to burst into flame at any moment.

I cant remember loving a man more. Possessed of a passionate, explosive temper, saucily foul mouth and extreme love of food, hes what we call in the dating industry a "keeper". Last Tuesday, aghast when faced with a glossy nightmare of cheese-coated meat photography he stated: "Ive always had one simple rule. When you come across a menu with photographs — get the f- out of there." I could have leaned into the television and kissed him.

Anyway, I defy anyone to sit through an episode of Kitchen Nightmares without indulging in a little colourful vernacular themselves. That very same episode featured a maddeningly wild-eyed gentleman named Sebastian who entertained fantastical visions of one day owning a franchise of pizza restaurants but couldnt seem to appreciate the fact that in order to do so he may have needed to utilise something other than microwaved frozen produce.

He was astoundingly, awe-inspiringly stupid. At first appreciative of Ramsays assistance ("Its like as an actor having Robert DeNiro say, You know what? Im going to help you with this role," he asserted early on in the piece), he soon descended into a twitching, erratic, defensive mess.

Watching him fail to comprehend even the simplest of gentle advice — at times its possibly better to be verbally instructing your kitchen staff rather than knocking back beers with local hip-hop artists; who knew — was utterly excruciating. Mother Mary MacKillop would have been shouting at the television and calling this guy a ballbag.

Of course Ramsay swears. If he wasnt swearing hed be lunging at people like Sebastian and stabbing them in the throat. We need to cut the man some slack; hes only human.

Would the show be anywhere near as interesting if he retreated to the time-out corner and squeezed a stress ball for minutes at a stretch until he stopped being so red in the face and prodding at waitresses with zucchinis? No, and bless him for that.

Kitchen Nightmares is dirty, its pacey and its engaging. And if Cory Bernardi doesnt like it, he can simply f- off and watch something else.

mhardy@access.fairfax.com.au

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