I'm pretty sure that Food Network self-proclaimed "Barefoot Contessa" aka Ina Garten is a zombie. No, but really she's an insufferable, pretentious annoyance who inexplicably has her own cooking show wherein she regales her viewers with barely audible brags about her wealth, her incredibly well-heeled friends and her vast past experience running her chi-chi patisserie. In the fucking Hamptons. Someone is always stopping by to eat with her big ass and gush to her about her amazing cooking. She makes constant reference to her Republican operative husband who supposedly adores her big ass in spite of well, her big ass, and is fan numero uno of whatever special crap she chooses to whip up in her kitchen. In the fucking Hamptons.
Anyone who refers to themselves as "Contessa" shod or not is a grade A douchebag. It's not bad enough that you dub yourself a Countess but then you have to make it the Italian Contessa for good measure. What a tool. And the way she talks so quietly as if she's sharing a delicious little, well-bred secret with us. Except that we're sitting in our rowhome living room in Baltimore and she's...say it with me now: in the fucking Hamptons. And that stupid, nervous giggle that punctuates every third word and tells me that she thinks of herself as some coquettish little minx. Even though she's gotta be past the halfway point between birth and 100. It makes me want to hurl my perfectly buttery, homemade pie crust at her self-important, piggy little face. So, ABIB, you must be thinking about now, why not rouse yourself from that well-described TV stupor of yours, fumble for the remote and press the button whereby the channel gets changed and you no longer have to watch Ina Myna Moooo? Why not indeed reader? Well, considering I am The ABIB, I watch insufferable prigs like Ina Garten that I clearly despise because, well, as The ABIB all that resentment and bitterness are manna from The ABIB heaven, the food that fuels the righteous ABIB anger, to stay on point of today's rant. I love hating Ina Garten just like I genuinely LOVE loving Paula Deen my Redneck Queen of the Screaming Arteries. You see, Paula is the anti-Ina. Paula is the celebrity chef equivalent of chewing tobacco, PBR and Slim Jims, she's the reason I tune to the Food Network as often as I do. Her and "Down Home With The Neelys". OK, OK and Sandra Lee. I mean when your signature recipe is The Lady's Brunch Burger and it consists of fried burgers topped with bacon and fried eggs all served between two halves of a Krispy Kreme doughnut, you're a special kinda crazy. Ina's signature recipe is...yawn...Roasted Pepper and Goat Cheese sandwich. I love me some Paula. Not that I would actually ever cook and EAT any of the poisonous slop she prepares, I'm not NUTS ya'll. I watch Paula and Sandra and the Neelys because, well, they're fucking funny to me, being the ironic, snark meister that I am. But I digress.
Let me just conclude this evening's rant with this: Ina Garten is a self-important, pampered one-percenter who needs to come on down to Paula's place in Georgia for a week to get some deep fryer spray in that $500 haircut of hers. And let the Redneck Queen show her how the other half lives. The half that's not WHERE? In the fucking Hamptons! Food Network, it's your move.