Hey Iron Chef producers, what’s up? My name is Ian Fortey and I am the managing editor here at Holy Taco. I also edit content for Break.com and was once a columnist on Cracked.com. I’m so famous on the internet that total strangers have sent me hate mail. Not too shabby, eh?
I submit here, and now, my formal request to be considered as a judge on Iron Chef. I feel it’s time to bring my culinary judging skills to the next level. And I’m not just some shlub comedy writer like those guys who do cartoons for the New Yorker, I have real food credentials. I completed an entire semester of culinary management at a community college wherein I baked some sweet ass desserts and totally learned how to make Hollandaise. Hollandaise, guys. It’s the craziest of all sauces. Is it mayo, is it something else, what’s going on? I made that beast from scratch. Messed it up four times but then I got it. Boom, just like Gordon Ramsay.
From November to December of that same year (late December, I might add) I worked as a cook at the Best Value Family Restaurant. If an old person wanted all-you-can-eat fish, who do you think hooked them up? This guy. What if they wanted liver? I did that. I cooked liver. Oh, you need a club sandwich? I clubbed that so hard, yo, you don’t even know. And hey, what about the special dipping sauce for the fries, who had that in the bag? Right here. One part mayo, one part BBQ sauce, all parts awesome.
Still not convinced? I have washed dishes in three separate restaurant kitchens. That’s right, three. All kinds of dishes, too. Pots, spoons, a wok. It was intense. Of those three, I only got fired from one.
I am a consummate home chef. Chicken wings wrapped in bacon and covered in sriracha? I can do that because that’s how my mind works. I’m like the Criss Angel of chicken wings. Homemade spaghetti? I do that stuff from scratch. Homemade sauce, yo! Tomato, celery, onion, garlic, maybe even some zucchini.
I eta every day. Every. Day. Sometimes several times a day. Maybe I’ll make won tons, maybe I’ll have a bowl of cereal, it’s a crazy funhouse of who knows what with me and my meals. I used to have a Jack Lalanne juicer until I broke it on a lime, and I made the craziest juices you ever heard of, son. How about some pineapple, persimmon, apple juice? I mean, what? Persimmon? Check me out!
I can make a sandwich like Mozart made music. I’m in there with some dill mustard, some potato bread, some Polish gouda, some pastrami and some oven-roasted rosemary turkey breast. Oh my god. OH MY GOD! Did you know if you eat that sandwich, you win. Win what? Everything. You just won everything. I know. I’ve won before.
Iron Chef, let’s be honest, you want me as much as I want you. You have a history of picking outlandish judges from Mo Rocca to Bonecrusher to Tiki Barber. Do any of those cats have my kick ass foodie credentials? I find that hard to believe. I can bridge the gap between the food experts judges and the common man watching at home. I’m basically like the Jesus of food judging. Blessed are the meek who want to eat what I am eating, Iron Chef America. The ball is in your court. Make the right choice.