This image speaks for itself. What can I add?

So it felt fitting that while attending the inaugural outing of the LA Flea Market, I stumbled upon last year’s also ran, Chef Debbie Lee, serving up her “mobile take on Korean pub grub” from way up high in her new lunch truck, Ahn-Joo.

She was among most excellent company at the event’s truck food court, which also included the mobile kitchens of other TV-made famous chefs, Susan Fenniger (Border Grill truck) and Ludo Lefebvre (LudoBites Fried Chicken Truck.)

While under normal circumstances, I probably would have opted for the food of Fenniger or Lefebvre (whose culinary renown came before TV fame as opposed to the path taken by Lee), it was about 10,000 degrees at Los Angeles’ Dodgers Stadium where the event was held, and the thought of eating anything warm made me want to cry.

After quick survey of the cold offerings on hand, I realized that my choices were sushi from the truck Fishlips (but a hot truck plus sushi does not equal love in my book), ice cream from Coolhaus (line too long) or the spicy soba salad from Ahn-Joo.

As there was no line to speak of Ahn-Joo, and I thought a little spice might be just what I needed to cool off, I went that way, not remembering that Ahn-Joo was the not quite Next Food Network Star’s new project. So imagine my surprise when who should take my order but no other than the somewhat cranky seeming (but it was hot so we forgive) Chef Debbie, herself.

The menu is divided into “Small Grub”- a smattering of pickles, skewers, and kimchi; “Medium Grub”- salads, dumplings, and kimbap; and “Large Grub” – fried chicken, meatloaf, and nachos.

I went for the spicy chilled buckwheat noodles with fugi apples and Korean veggies and an order of spicy chicken and Korean peppers skewers.

I can’t say I was overly impressed with either dish.

The salad was basically an enormous wad of soba noodles, which though well cooked, majorly overwhelmed the crispy fuji apples and the Korean veggies (which ended up consisting merely of some julienned carrots, cucumbers, and red onions.) The dressing was cloying and not particularly spicy. But at least there was a hard boiled egg, as everything’s better with egg.

The skewers were better. The chicken was nicely fried and chewy and the peppers had a good crunchy char.

Overall, a general eh meal. But it came with a semi-celebrity sighting, which is always good for digestion.

To mark the excitement that is tonight’s premier of Top Chef DC, I decided to enroll in Top Chef University, the new online “culinary school” in which the “chef-testants” from the show’s various seasons offer intensive training in everything from “Pantry Organization” to the art of molecular gastronomy (haven’t you been wanting to add potato foam to your repertoire?)  There are 200 hours of lessons, in a curriculum designed by Top Chef judge Gail Simmons (Gaiiiiil…..) and Anthony Hoy Fong.

Now to be honest, I’m not a fully enrolled student at Top Chef University. I’m on a temporary press membership, so I’m more like a pre-frosh, scoping out the school, trying to decide if there are enough cute boys, interesting professors, and if the food in the dining hall is edible.

So far, so good. While the system (at least on my computer) is a little glitchy, the videos that make up the lessons are clear and well shot, and best of all as your host you get to choose between two of my all time favorite contestants – Carla Hall and Kevin Gillespie.

Now a word to the wise, this is not Cooking for Poets, or whatever the title of a gut class in the culinary world would be (Cooking for Lumberjacks perhaps?) It’s pretty rigorous and the techniques they show take practice (after several attempts, I’m still trying to get my julienned carrots to look as pretty as Miss Carla’s), but I think if I stick with it I may graduate summa cum laude — unless of course I get too distracted watching Top Chef DC to actually study.

Lee’s show Semi-Homemade Cooking is built on her 70/30 combination of 70% ready-made foodstuffs (such as season packets or rotisserie chicken)and 30% personal touches. The recipes are often incredibly composed aesthetically – a red, white, and blue trifle or rainbow chicken rolls. Meals are themed – a Bachelor Barbecue, Crossword Puzzle (apparently, brunch on a budget), and something called “Wisteria Land.” A rather high strung woman, Ms. Lee is always in need of a cocktail, and so each episode features a signature drink (often pink and frothy.)

But what has always made me a fan of Ms. Lee are what she calls “tablescapes“, heavily curated table settings, created around the central theme of the meal being served. Recent tablescapes included “Happy Harley Day”

And “Holiday Spirits”

Since the Times article ran, I’ve been thinking about themed tablescapes Ms. Lee might create in the New York State Executive Mansion if Cuomo is elected. Of course, his victory party would be a doozy, but once in office the possibilities would be endless.

Perhaps if teacher lay-offs continue in New York City, a reading, writing, and arithmetic theme in which words are misspelled and sums incorrect?

Since Albany is known for its intense in-fighting, a choreographed food fight might be in order – the meal would of course be constructed of a rainbow palate of foods so that the resulting mess would be artful. I’m thinking blueberries, beets, and maybe some wasabi paste.

If, God forbid, there were the sort of infidelity scandal that has been rocking the New York governor’s seat of late, I have no doubt that Ms. Lee would rise to the occasion, creating a well-appointed black table setting, befitting the severity of the situation, all the while maintaining her dignity. And of course, she would make a signature cocktail for the occasion — strong, but very, very pretty.

Mr. Henry is tolerant of eccentricities. He chooses to reside, after all, in New York City where long before the advent of cellphones sidewalk pedestrians talked animatedly to themselves. When running the gauntlet at Fairway, for example, he doesn’t mind receiving an occasional elbow in the kidney from a blue-haired lady. Long ago he learned what to expect when ordering a “regular coffee.” (It’s coffee with milk. Please don’t ask why.)

However much he may embrace the caprices of city living, he remains a little squeamish about the preparation of his food. He expects restaurant employees to adhere to basic standards of courtesy and, more to the point, of hygiene. Cities are where civilization is supposed to be located, no?

Two Dudes Catering, the riveting new Food Network show, features two total stoners in the kitchen. It conclusively demonstrates: 1) the Two Dudes can cook like nobody’s business, 2) as reflected by their palaver and the upkeep of their clothes and hair, they appear utterly incapable of doing anything else.

Mr. Henry finds endless fascination in the functioning idiot, the overachiever, the C-student billionaire, the clueless success story. (Is not President Bush the shining example of this quintessential American dream, namely, that ANYBODY can get ahead here in the land of opportunity?) Such stories give him more than hope; they form the backbone of his long-term financial plans.

And yet, and yet, when the Dudes’ execute lightening quick chopping skills without rousing their higher brain functions, Mr. Henry wonders whether the Duh-Duh-Duo are really taking every sanitary precaution to ensure that diners will not ingest C. difficile or some other antibiotic-resistant pathogen.

In the Iron Chef America “battle eggplant,” the Two Dudes came within one point of equaling Iron Chef Cat Cora, a surprising and noteworthy feat. Against all odds, their food really was prepared imaginatively, carefully, and beautifully.

Flash: Through secret sources deep within Food Network itself, Mr. Henry discovered that the Two Dudes pushed the TV production team to install 24-hour surveillance cameras in the kitchen, thereby recording every legendary Dude word and deed. The mind reels at the opportunity of witnessing such history. Somehow the producers failed to appreciate the trove of treasure before them, however, and elected to edit in the can.

Wow, Dudes, sorry. That was so random.

Who can resist the way her pink top matches not only the drapes but the paper napkins and the hors d’oeuvres, too? Who can resist watching her scoop the innards out of an A & P cheese cake, load it into a pastry sleeve, and “pop it” onto cute lil’ crackers? The scene recalls Shelley Duvall’s pigs in a blanket from Robert Altman’s dark masterpiece 3 Women. She’s a train wreck of Americana.

Then came Iron Chef, the high-kitch, haute cuisine smashdown that years ago Mr. Henry watched in translation on some obscure cable channel. Mr. Henry remains in awe of the remarkable inventions these masters cobble together in one hour.

Now there is Top Chef.

Night and day Padma Lakshmi’s toffee-tongued locutions ring round the Henry living room. Clipped, staccato, 22-calibur pronouncements explode up through Tom Colicchio’s shiny pate. Yes, Top Chef on Bravo TV never ceases. Should you miss an episode, just wait. The replay is coming up soon.

The secret attraction of Top Chef, Mr. Henry confesses, is the weekly drubbing the judges hand out. It is the sure promise of real humiliation that grips the audience, the sadomasochistic pleasure of seeing young, eager acolytes sent to their doom. Die, young chefs! We who are about to cook salute you!

Looking at Padma’s longshanks frame, one wonders just how much rich food she actually swallows. Mr. Henry, in fact, spends a good part of each episode examining Padma’s hypnotic physique and the clothing with which she drapes it. How can she be so thin and still have curves? Has she been surgically redesigned into a foodie fem-bot?

Will she ever reveal the secret story behind the enormous scar that runs the entire length of her upper right arm? Mr. Henry harbors a secret affection for the tall, scarred Padma’s of this world.

And Padma, too, harbors secret affections. When forced to eliminate tall, handsome guys like Sam last season or C.J. this season, her dark eyes swell with tears. Hard as he may try, Mr. Henry cannot look away.