Chef Gordi

I guiltily admit my pleasure in TV shows on Hulu, 
especially cooking shows.
Chef Gordon Ramsey's potty mouth, temper and energy 
with a side of British bite and sarcasm 
are entertaining when I feel the need to unwind. 
I was tickled pink when I came across the following ode to him
on none other than my fav, the nerdiest of nerdy, NPR.

Gordon Ramsay stars on tonight's return of Hell's Kitchen on Fox.

To be, or not to be, you [bleep]ing donkey: that is the question: 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The utter [bleep] of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms against a [bleep]ing dog's dinner, 
And by opposing end it? To burn: to scald; 
No more; and by a simmer to say we end 
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That a simple [bleep]ing garnish is heir to, 'tis a consomme 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To braise; to sear; 
To sear: perchance to make a simple [bleep]ing salad: ay, there's the rub; 
For in that salad what hair may be found 
When you have bent over the plate with your [bleep]ing sweaty face, 
Must give us pause: there's the respect 
That makes a [bleep]ing disaster of a piece of salmon; 
For who would bear the pink beef (IT'S NOT COOKED!), 
The returned pasta, the proud man's broken sauce, 
The pangs of food poisoning, the appetizer's delay, 
The insolence of [spits out rest of sentence into trashcan]
That the angry cameraman into the freezer takes, 
When he himself might identify soy sauce 
With a blindfold on? Why are you standing over the soup, 
To grunt and sweat and stick your [bleep]ing filthy fingers in it, 
But that the promise of being a meaningless figurehead in my fabulous Las Vegas restaurant, 
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, is [bleep-bleep] 
And makes us rather eat a plate of sheep [bleep] 
Than feed anyone this overcooked risotto? 
Thus an idiot does make pea soup that looks like dog vomit; 
And has the native hue of seaweed 
I'm sicklied o'er every time I look at this [bleep]ing scallop, 
And enterprises of great [bleep] and [bleep] 
With this [bleep]ing [bleep] their currants turn to [bleep], 
And lose the [bleep]ing [bleep].—GET OUT! 
Madam! Take off your jacket 
And leave Hamlet's kitchen.

via {npr}


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