Chef And My Fridge

Celebrities become embarrassed by the contents of their refrigerators while chefs attempt to create a dish from their leftovers in this television cooking show.

I'm really having a difficult time wrapping my head around the premise of this program. From what I gather, some hapless studio interns burgle a celebrity home, kidnap the celebrity's refrigerator and transport it to the studio, and plop it in the center of a stage. Afterward, completely different, chatty, chummy, overly hair-doo-ed celebrities critique the contents, and then chefs have 15 minutes to cobble together a dish from the kimchee, plum jam, and squid tentacles found within it. I'm honestly hard-pressed to think of a scenario more horrifying.

I'm not 100% sure what's happening in this clip, but if it involves chunks of squid and beets, I'll pass. I try to avoid eating beets or anything that can open its own jar of dipping sauce. 

Anyway, if someone had the bravery to hijack my fridge today, they'd be very disappointed. Its contents consist of several half-jars of various pasta sauces with dates they were opened magic-markered on the labels, an ironically-named crisper full of celery so antiquated it has liquified, a bowl of pea soup with a bit of foil loosely covering its top because I couldn't be bothered to locate the appropriate lid, and my life-blood, a carafe of cold brew coffee, which I'm always extremely concerned about. If I'm not drinking cold brew coffee I'm planning when my next cold brew will happen, because if I run out of cold brew coffee, I'll destroy your world by raining fire and brimstone upon you. No offense. There's one rule of thumb in the Deathrage penthouse, and it's "Keep your thumbs off my cold brew, and I won't be forced to break your thumbs".

This glass is much, much too small, but doesn't it look refreshing?

That's more like it. 

It will hold either 20 ounces of beer or coffee, so you should probably buy at least two.

$1.99 at Ikea.

Fill 'er up.

Don't get me wrong, I cook. I cook a lot, as one could surmise by the pea soup (and in spite of the melting celery), which I made from dry peas from scratch in my Instant Pot. Please don't get me started on my Instant Pot, which I use about 3 to 4 times a week. You'll be recounted with a lengthy endorsement of its many attributes, as the poor woman purchasing one behind me at the Target a few weeks ago can attest to, where I told her every dish I made in it that month and made her go online and purchase a second insert whether she wanted one or not, because a second insert can be invaluable when entertaining, because while one insert is being used for rice or beans or whatnot, a second insert can be used to prepare a main, a side dish, or whatever, and you wouldn't have to wash the one lonely Instant Pot insert between courses like a sucker.

Sure, I get it. The Instant Pot pretty much just makes soups, stews, soup-like stews, or stew-like soups. And hard-boiled eggs. It makes perfect hard-boiled eggs in a fraction of the time. But that's not really important right now.

Chef And My Fridge is one of those inexplicable talk/variety/cooking shows where people talk and cook while absurd graphics flash on the screen, and the celebrities enthusiastically lick the bowl the squid tentacles are served in, and it's one of those kinds of shows perfect to watch while sitting in your dentist's office while your Instant Pot is keeping the red curry chickpea stew you prepared at home warm for up to 10 hours.

Oops, someone placed an infomercial for the Instant Pot here instead of a trailer for Chef And My Fridge, which I can't seem to find anyway. I am not being paid to hawk Instant Pots, but I'll take some Instant Pot cash if there is some random Instant Pot cash available. Just send it to my PayPal.