I ‘Heart’ Gordon Ramsey

It’s true and I’m sorry. I just like him; I really do. And I know what you’re thinking right about now. Gordon Ramsey, the crusty, crabby, temperamental Scottish restaurateur and award-winning pain-in-the-rear-end chef, has to be the last person on earth a thirty-nine year old woman should crush on. But I can’t help it, y’all, he had me at “bollocks.”

And I know you’re dying to ask me exactly why. Why would I find the self-proclaimed “devil” of the reality TV cooking competition shows Hell’s Kitchen and Kitchen Nightmares even remotely attractive? Especially when he berates poor defenseless cooks that only want to worship him?

Oh, let me counts the ways:

Maybe I like him because he is a man not to be messed with. When he dared a contestant to “Look me straight in the eyes and tell me you didn’t burn that capellini,” I started shaking under my leopard print Snuggie.

Or maybe it’s when he slaps his hands down on the kitchen counter really hard while screaming, “Just do it!” Or when he tries to make someone feel better by rolling his eyes before yelling, “Stop crying!” while his spit flies directly into their spaghetti bolognese. It kind of makes you feel scared but safe all at the same time. Like he could command and tame even the most tumultuous seas (let alone the kitchen of a five star restaurant) even with an idiot aboard saying, “I’m raw but I’m real,” as he presents an undercooked chicken topped with a few slices of canned Dole pineapple rings.

Or maybe he’s adorable because he has a way with women. There was one episode in which he handed a well-endowed female contestant sporting a plunging neckline a stiff white dinner napkin and asked her if she “would mind covering up your puppies.” I don’t know about you, but I think it proves he really does care . . . about proper dining etiquette, I mean.

Or how about the time he tasted another female contestant’s signature dish and said “Dear Krupa, that is crappa.” You have to give him some credit, because unlike a lot of men, he at least remembered her name.

Or maybe I really dig him because he has a way with words, especially while describing a piece of overcooked meat:

“It tastes like toenails.”

“It looks like the joke turd you stick on your granny’s chair.”

“Well-done doesn’t mean cremated.”

And my personal favorite expression, spoken with raised hands that have just squished a beef wellington like a tiny bug before throwing it into the trash: “What a bunch of donkeys.”

Maybe it’s because his passion for cooking is as intense and dense as the most perfect chocolate soufflé. Or that his personality is as complicated as a well executed mole sauce. Or that his temper is as fiery as half a cup of hot oil in a sauté pan mixed with burnt butter? Or it might simply be because his deeply creased forehead speaks of wisdom that can only come from age and the elements like a bottle of 1968 Chateau Margaux or a 120-hour work week.

All right, maybe I’m laying it on a little thick, but I don’t care. He inspires me. Though if you ask my eight year old, she’ll tell you my obsession has gone too far, since she keeps reminding me that Dad’s cell number is on speed dial. This could be because I now have a picture of Gordon as my computer’s screen saver. Who knows?

But while most people balk at his crudeness and harsh criticisms, I find that more often than not, way deep down--like at the end of a good braise--there is a lot of goodness that bubbles up to the surface.

I feel like Gordon and I have a lot in common. We both have an aversion to raw meat. We both always seem to have a sharpened No. 2 pencil sticking out of our disheveled hair. When we’re told, “Good job!” we want it to mean something.

Ramsey is the first one to tell someone with talent to keep cooking and to never give up (and occasionally pays their way through culinary school to ensure that they don’t). He has worked his way up using sheer sweat, determination, and brutal honesty along the way. “Why give anything,” Gordon might say, “unless it’s your absolute best?”

Who else could turn a former microwave dinner-loving, pre-made frozen meal fanatic who uses minced garlic from the jar user into someone who loves to use foodie words, like the three P’s: palette, plating, and protein.

Crush and four-letter words aside, what’s not to like about that?