The one where I PACK MY KNIVES AND GO.

So, you may have noticed that my weekly recaps of Top Chef Canada ended rather abruptly. The short version of the story is that I've been in New Orleans for a week (and will be here for another three weeks) and don't get Food Network Canada here. The long version of the story is that I couldn't admit that to myself until now, because I HATE starting something and then not finishing it. Even goofy TV show recaps. Which is hilarious considering how often I start something and don't finish it. 

Bloggers. Always our own worst enemies, AMIRIGHT?

I was going to have a friend sit in for me, but then she had to go away for business and then, well, I took a nap. As you do.

It was then I dreamt that not-Padma called me out of the Beer Locker of Self Pity into the Blue Room of Death. Nervously, I entered, knowing my fate.

McEwan gave me an "are you still here" squint and then started checking out his ginger Jerry Curl in the refection of a tablespoon.

Shereen was not taking any of it.

"This is a cooking competition,” she said, enunciating every word with the precision of...something that's really precise. "You call yourself a blogger?" I stared at her. "No, not really", I said. "Where is the snark?" she demanded. "The whole point of this exercise was to give us a taste of snark. I was promised snark and"...she looked around frantically..."I got NOTHING."

"And, if I'm being honest", Not-Padma purred "the snark I did get had a very unpleasant mouth feel."

"Too much foam!" McEwan shouted. Then he flexed.

It was then Not-Padma told me to "pack my knives and go".

I made one last attempt at levity by pointing at myself and saying "no soup for you!"

Sheeren stuck her finger in her mouth like she was going to make herself barf, Not-Padma stroked the sides of her Herve Leger bandage dress while avoiding eye contact with me and McEwan threw his tablespoon down in disgust.

Guest judge, Emeril Lagasse (hahaha, like THAT would ever happen on Top Chef Canada) told me I was a good girl and that I should excuse myself and go get a beignet. I woke up with my face sticking to the pillow, covered in powered sugar.  I cleaned all that shit up with a SPONGETOWEL.

THE END, MOTHERFUCKERS. BETTER LUCK NEXT YEAR.