Sweetie loves the Iron Chef.

National Post

April 9, 2001

Iron Chef, why do you tempt me so with your pork?

The hokey cooking contest is strangely addictive

Scott Feschuk National Post

During the weekend, discerning viewers tuned in to watch one of the world's most engrossing sporting competitions, a contest that demanded from its participants not only the habitual display of stirring acumen but also the mental rigour to perform under relentless and savage pressure.

Today, in offices and coffee shops the continent over, people will dissect the epic conflict and debate the event's turning point -- the single moment that enabled one man to attain a cherished victory in this most hallowed of competitive venues.

To my mind, the key was his aggressive decision to boldly char his pork and pineapple roast.

Sure, the Masters had its indelible moments, but the narrow fairways and speedy greens of Augusta National stand as an inferior competitive dominion to Kitchen Stadium, the immense cooking complex built for the campy and addictive Japanese program Iron Chef. Nowadays, damn near any tubby oaf can thwack a souped-up golf ball more than 300 yards; but who among the masses can employ a single main ingredient (such as eggplant) to prepare a five-course gourmet meal in just 60 minutes?

Iron Chef airs in Canada on the Food Network (Fridays and Saturdays at 10 p.m. ET/PT, Sundays at 7 p.m.), where it has attracted an ardent cult following, a clause that rings much more kindly than "where it has attracted the eyes of people who routinely find themselves with dick-all in the hopper on a weekend eve."

The premise is spectacularly hokey: An eccentric gourmet -- who favours a flamboyant, sequined wardrobe of black that proclaims, "Hi, I'm Liberace's caddish, diabolical twin!" -- years ago spent his fortune to construct a giant cooking arena in order to prod along innovation in artistic cuisine. He then secretly scoured the planet, discovered the top purveyors of various styles of cooking (French, Chinese, Japanese and Italian) and named them his Iron Chefs: his "invincible men of culinary skills."

Each week, the Iron Chefs rise up from their underground lair, and one is challenged to an hour-long duel by a rival who fancies himself the superior of the godly defenders of Kitchen Stadium. Victory promises honour, prestige, accolades. Defeat promises only the overwhelming urge to throttle Evil Liberace, who presides over the panel of four judges and theatrically announces the winner.

The lore is nonsense, of course, but the cooking combat is authentic, as is the breathless (and hilariously dubbed) commentary from the announcer, his guests and a perky roving correspondent who reports the mood, the ingredients and the tactics from the frantic floor of Kitchen Stadium. On most nights, it's like some unholy melding of the XFL and Two Fat Ladies.

Friday's episode featured a challenge from Shuzo Shimokawa, a master chef from Tokyo. He was introduced to viewers in a segment reminiscent of those soppy profiles favoured by NBC during the summer Olympics, right down to a slo-mo basting shot set to an inspiring orchestral number. When Shimokawa declared his intention to take on Iron Chef French, Hiroyuki Sakai, it was all the announcer could do to keep his head from exploding with giddy bewilderment: "Wow, what a call!" his dubber exclaimed in English. "He's already surprised us! A Chinese-French cross-cuisine battle!"

Already unnerved, the Iron Chef grew only more dispirited when the contest's main ingredient was unveiled: Jinhua ham and pork, a delicacy derived from a rare breed of Chinese pig. "Fukui-san!" correspondent Ota Shinichiro crowed from the floor, trying to get the attention of announcer Fukui Kenji. "The Iron Chef has never used this type of pork before! He's not a happy camper right now!"

Kenji's dubber didn't scrimp on the all-American hyperbole, either: "Wow! That's pressure with a capital P!"

While the challenger merrily prepared a pork-based soup to be served inside a winter melon ("Ooooo," the members of the panel uttered in collective anticipation), the Iron Chef remained chagrined and lamented the salty nature of the meat. The minutes ticked by. Two teams of assistants scurried about. Pork was cut and diced and fried and broiled. At long last, the Iron Chef appeared to be rallying to the challenge, preparing a tempting appetizer of pork and prawns.

And then the camera caught a glimpse of his pork and pineapple roast.

Announcer: "Oh! The Iron Chef's dish!"

Panelist: "Oh, boy! Totally black!"

Announcer: "Burnt to a crisp! Is this what he's after here?!"

Panelist: "That surface is completely charred!"

Announcer: "This is not an appetizing sight right now!"

Moments later, a seductive female voice counted down the final seconds of the allotted hour. The announcer decreed: "The Jinhua pork battle is over!" The chefs slumped, exhausted. Their fates, and their culinary reputations, now rested with the fickle taste buds of the four judges -- a food critic, a politician, an actor and an actress.

The Iron Chef's blackened roast, no treat to the eye, was nevertheless discerned to be a smashing dish. Later, after swiftly downing a plate of pig's feet, the actor paid the Iron Chef what can only be described as the ultimate pork-related compliment: "When you think of pork and pigs, the image is, you know, how they're not really clean. But this pork is wearing tuxedos!" The Iron Chef smiled and gently bowed his head.

The judges having conferred, Evil Liberace solemnly declared: "It was truly a sophisticated battle!" Eerie piano music played. The nervous chefs, their faces lit harshly, were captured in sweaty close-up. The tension mounted, until the music abruptly stopped and Evil Liberace bellowed: "Iron Chef Hiroyuki Sakai!"

The challenger was crushed. The Iron Chef looked as though he'd just been released by torturous abductors. "What does this say about the Iron Chef?" the announcer fawningly intoned. "That there's no limit to what this man can accomplish! Anywhere! Anytime!"

-- Anonymous, April 09, 2001