Just because I wanted to indulge myself in a debilitating bout of self hatred, I endured 15 minutes of the Food Network’s “Chefography” on Sandra Lee. Fifteen minutes was all I could take — I felt myself slouching dangerously close towards self-immolation, much like a depressed goth teen cutting herself in the basement, or Michael Hutchence that split moment before asphyxiation (when he realized he was beyond the safe zone but, dammit, he still hadn’t shot his load).

The sycophantic murmurs from her friends, given in testimonial form, were probably the most banal treacle I’ve had the misfortune of witnessing since Colin Powell made a bunch of right-wing bedwetters soil their Underoos — and convinced the entire corporate media establishment to endorse a war — on the strength of single Powerpoint presentation. And it didn’t even have any cool, animated slide transitions.

One friend of hers claimed (and I paraphrase) “she is always thinking about trying something new…for instance, she’ll say to herself, next time I’ll use a smoky cheese in that omelette, maybe spinach”. That’s the kind of ingenuity rarely seen outside of a second grade show and tell.

Another friend offered up the fact “she has photos of family in every room” as evidence of her effusive humanity. By that standard anyone with a Shutterfly account is the fucking Dalai Lama. And some other crackpot lady claimed Sandra Lee has spearheaded the crock pot revival, claiming Lee realized that its “time (was) coming again, (and) what she did so smartly, was take it to a new generation, a new demographic.” That’s rich — and Kid Rock revived rap.

I know it’s low hanging fruit and bashing Sandra Lee is hardly original, but she really must either a) be fucking some exec at the Food Network or b) have a photo of the same exec in bed with a dead hooker or a live boy.

After the Sandra Lee hagiography, the “Chefography” for Bobby Flay followed. For that, I trot out an old favorite (via Je Mange le Ville) — The Staggering Dicketry of Bobby Flay.

A sample nugget (from Flay’s “Chefography”): when recounting his upbringing on the “mean” streets that gave him his worldly smarts, Flay would tell people he went to UCLA. “You went to school in California?” they would ask. “No, the University of Corner of Lexington Avenue.”

Kill me. Quickly.

Chefography

Food Network. Check your local listings.