This is an interesting little twenty minute program aired on BBC America. It seems to be taken from two different episodes and put together; all we’re missing is the Hamster somewhere  in the kitchen.

We start with the standard intro to The F Word: Ramsay is in a suit and tie (the tie is apparently made from the same fabric as the shirt, blue and white stripes. Weird.) walking down a corridor to a restaurant, stripping to the waist (that’s a wild lining in that suitcoat) and buttoning on a chef’s jacket. Is it in Ramsay’s contract that he gets to show his chest a certain number of times per series? He can’t seem pass up an opportunity to display his manliness. And it must be said that the opening music here is bouncy and fairly irritating.

In voiceover: Here’s what happened when I tried to get Jeremy Clarkson in the kitchen to cook Sunday lunch.

There’s a pan of a painted stone building with a red flag flying over the top; they are on the Isle of Man. I had to deduce this because neither of the men enunciate clearly.

GR: The Isle of Man is not exactly famed for it’s cuisine.

Jeremy Clarkson: No, the food here is fuel.

GR (determinedly): We’re going to change that today and do something quite vibrant and exciting (Clarkson looks skeptical and/or apprehensive) with lobsters.

 JC: Yeah.

GR: Poached lobster, just done plainly, beautiful watercress salad and potatoes, and we’ll make an aiolli.

JC: That’s the thing around the nipple.

There is an exterior shot of Ramsay and Clarkson in an ATV by the sea with a bunch of nameless, unintroduced, happy children. It appears to be a cold, moist day, although it’s pretty green.

GR: The Isle of Man might not be a culinary hotspot, but one thing there is plenty of is lobster. 

We cut to Clarkson et al as Ramsay pulls lobster pots. There is a closeup of a female child, with an adult holding onto her shoulders as the child looks sad? Apprehensive? Judgemental? I can’t tell, but it doesn’t look good.  A pot is pulled in and the contents investigated. The first lobster is so small it looks like a crawfish, and I am forcibly reminded that lobsters are insects. The lobster is derided by the crowd and returned to the ocean for more time to fatten up.

GR: Everything else in Clarkson’s life might be huge, but his lobsters are disappointingly small. No Sunday lunch on this performance. (Clarkson looks appropriately aware of his failure, and the lobsters are all returned to the sea.)

GR in voiceover: Unlike Clarkson, who couldn’t catch a cold, real Manx fishermen catch around 30 tons of lobster a year, which is worth 300 000 pounds to the island’s fishing industry. Fortunately, Clarkson knows such a man.

They go out on a boat with some poor fisherman.  GR: What’s that smell? It stinks. Clarkson mimes vomiting on Ramsay while his back is turned. Honestly, could you blame him? The smell turns out to be mackerel, used as bait.

JC: Gordon gets seasick going over a speed bump. Ramsay laughs, pained.

Next we have a shot of Ramsay sorting a catch while the fisherman and Clarkson observe.  Ramsay (briskly): That wasn’t bad, was it? JC: No. That’s a good haul. (All I can see are two lobsters.)

Back on land, Ramsay summons the children to observe the augmented lobsters. A child asks if they’re real. Ramsay fastens two of them by the claws to one of the little girl’s pink coat. Fab fashion accessory, Ramsay, and then a snack for later. The lobsters are returned, the children sent to play around a tidal pool (under a woman’s supervision) and the two men set to work.

Ramsay’s fun seafood tip: lobster contains the most meat of any shellfish, so it’s great for Sunday lunch.

A large pot of water is set to boil on the stove. Clarkson checks his watch,  gnaws a cuticle, and asks: How long you going to do it for? GR: about 6,7 minutes per lobster. JC: do you put in vinegar? GR (in short form answer): no. He piths a lobster prior to chucking it into the pot; Clarkson disapproves of the mercy.

Ramsay takes control of the situation and asks Clarkson to separate three eggs in order to make the aiolli. Clarkson: Have you seen our eggs?  The eggs turn out to be different colors, and Clarkson has named them. Er, the chickens, it turns out, have been named, not the eggs; named after some less stupid footballers. Clarkson drops a whole egg into a bowl and asks if Ramsay wanted it separated from the shell as well.

The gents put the egg yolks together in a blender or food processor together with garlic, saffron, mustard, lemon juice, and olive oil and give it a whirl while discussing what to do if the sauce curdles (immediately add cold water.) Clarkson tastes a healthy spoonful. GR: That’s quite a lot.  Ramsay laughs and makes a rude comment about Clarkson’s expression. Clarkson swigs a beer: Um! That’s yummy!

Back to the lobsters. They’re cooked and a bright red. GR: Smells amazing, and so fresh. JC: It is one of the great foods. I think this and crab. Cut to Ramsay preparing the meat and points out the lower digestive apparatus to Clarkson. Clarkson is horrified: I’ve never taken that out! He assists Ramsay by working on his own lobster, being certain to remove the offending anatomy. JC: If you run them under a tap, does that knacker the flavor? GR: Yeah. Worst thing you can do.

Ramsay arranges the lobsters artistically on a platter and mentions the watercress and whole potato salad. The whole potatoes look daunting as a salad ingredient. He complains that other chefs overcomplicate your basic lobster, then there’s a shot of the whole group sitting down to table. The lobster is sent around, followed by the aiolli. Everyone is told to be cautious of the condiment. Ramsay: Cheers, guys. JC: Thanks for alerting me to the fact we’ve been eating lobster poo.  From another nameless diner: Ew!

Indeed.

In voiceover, GR: Incredible, isn’t it! I’ve just gotten Jeremy Clarkson to help me cook Sunday lunch for eleven! Clarkson agrees that it wasn’t stressful and that they (the children) love it.

Moving on. Excellent.

In the actual fun bit of the program, we cut to the F Word restaurant, where James May is seated at a table by the window, with a class of red wine. Ramsay bustles up: James, how are you? And offers a hand to shake. HM: Very good. GR: Nice shirt! (It isn’t that bad; white with a blue and green botanical print.) JM: It is one of my regulars. GR: How was your starter? JM: Very tasty. To be honest, it’s  sort of almost a posh fry-up. You’ve got bacon, a poached egg, and then you’ve got like the bubble and squeak, but without the potato bit. GR (possibly in revenge for the comments about the appetizer): On Top Gear, you’re always portrayed as the wimp, the one who’s always coming in behind Jeremy, behind Hammond…Hammon’s become a hero on the back of the crash. JM (mildly as ever): I’m just a bloke. I’m not married, don’t have any kids; I have a cat.

GR: I can turn it around and show them that you’re the most manly of the three of you. I’ve got an idea. (Run, May!) Simple little test. J.B.! Please.

J.B. puts a flask of an ominous green-brown liquid on the table. GR: It’s the test of a man, the test of a real man. (Or is that a test of a man who seems to need to demonstrate his manliness exhaustively?) It’s snake whiskey. (Catchy name.) It’s from Laos.  He pours. JM: That’s a real snake in there. GR: Several. JM: It’s dangerous, isn’t it. Ramsay chuckles, May looks bemused. Ramsay doesn’t answer the question, but does clink shot glasses and they throw it back. Ew! May absorbs the experience quietly. GR prods him: Any thoughts? JM: It’s quite light, really.

JB brings the next plate of the test. GR: This is bulls’ penis. Yuck. It is brown, but mostly yellow, long but thin. JM: This is for me? GR: This is to prove your manliness! Jm laughs. GR: It’s huge in China. JM: It’s huge on your plate.  GR: It’s vrey good for getting things going, uh, sort of downstairs. Any particular…? JM: I’ll have the stem. Ramsay cuts a portion for May and then one for himself off the tip. JM, bracingly: So this is a bull’s cock. GR: Yes. JM: And this has probably been in…a lady cow. GR: I’d like to think so. They taste. JM: It’s all right, actually. I was going to say it’s a bit stiff, but I didn’t mean that… They crack up. GR drinks some water and signals for the last gross-out/manliness/whatever test treat.

GR: The biggest challenge. Now, this one is extraordinary. This is…

A log-shaped thing, dead white in the center, with a browny-yellow outside and one side that is bumpy. It looks revolting, but not as bad as the bulls’ penis.

…an amazing delicacy from Iceland. JM:  I know. It’s a blue whale’s penis. GR: It’s basically rotten shark. Yummy!

GR: It’s been put in the ground, covered with gravel for up to three months, and on the back of that, it’s hung for four months. And it’s a local delicacy in a way, you have to eat it without being sick and that is sort of the true definition of a proper man. Yes?  May looks like he’s keeping his opinion to himself. It must really stink, judging from the hand-flapping that Ramsay’s engaged in doing. May has his head in his hand. GR: Traditionally, it’s washed  pre=”washed “>wowh with a glass…it’s like a rich firewater. JM sniffs it as Ramsay cuts the shark. It must be said that it’s in pretty good condition for something that’s been hanging around for so long. GR: Ready, buddy? JM: No. GR: Pull that bucket up. One, two, three… They eat. As May drinks his rich firewater, Ramsay grabs May’s bucket and barfs.

May observes placidly. GR: Oh, shit! JM: You disappoint me, Ramsay. Ramsay spits. GR: Damn! May leans back with a slight smile. GR: God almighty! Did you chew it? JM: Yeah. GR: Oh, James! JM, helpfully: Do you want me to do it again? Ramsay is quite chagrined that he’s been out-manned by Captain Slow.

The next and final competition is in the kitchen, where there is to be a battle for the best fish pie as voted on by a blind panel of tasters. No, the tasters aren’t blind; they just don’t know who prepared which pie…Oh, go on.

May and Ramsay are at a counter, where Ramsay explains the competition and digs at May a little: My challenger is James May, yes? Captain Slow.  So we may be here for a long time. You ready? JM: I’m ready. GR: How long to make a fish pie? JM: Normally about four hours. Ramsay makes a big fuss over the time requirement and gives him hell, then they begin.

May moves languidly around his portion of the kitchen while Ramsay hurtles himself around. He expertly lists his ingredients as May placidly peels a potato. May stops to pour himself a glass of white wine and they natter about ingredients and types of fish. Ramsay is cooking his vegetables, adding quite a lot of vermouth, and boiling potatoes. May has peeled and roughly chopped both white potato and sweet potato. Ramsay poaches his fish in clear liquid; May is poaching his in milk, which will also serve as the base of his sauce. May doesn’t know what he’s talking about: Usually, to be honest, by the time I get this far I’m so drunk I can’t remember what I’ve done. Ramsay is poaching fresh prawns in  seasoned water; May: Fuck! The prawns! I forgot the prawns, man! Ramsay: James, are you swearing in my kitchen?

As Ramsay puts his pie together, May asks: My roue’ thing isn’t thickening up, Gordon, is that bad? GR: The roue’ thing. James, you’re the roue’ here; the roux…r-o-u-x! As Ramsay hustles around, May takes a leisurely deep swallow of wine. GR: James, do you always drink like this when you’re cooking? JM: Dulls the horror of the food I’m going to eat later on, you see.

Ramsay gestures with the nutmeg grater: If you win this fucking challenge, I’m going to go mad, you know that. May laughs and fluffs his hair. GR: Cause watching you, seriously, drink, taste, drink, taste, drink, taste, drink taste drinktaste…extraordinary.   He pipes his mashed potato onto the pie. May smacks his mashed potatoes onto the surface and smooths it in with an offset knife. Ramsay is critical of this approach and calls it plastering. There’s a bit of green in May’s hair from an earlier chopping spree of parsley, I think. Ramsay comes over to observe: honestly, if I lose against that, seriously, I’m going to give up cooking. We heard that, Ramsay!

May inscribes the word “cock” onto the surface of his pie, and then it’s into the oven, which May thinks is too hot. May offers Ramsay a glass of wine; Ramsay declines. JM: How can you call yourself a chef, Ramsay, you haven’t had a single drink.

It’s finally time for tasting. They plate. May spelled out his word with green peas; Ramsay thinks it should read “shit” instead. JM pokes Ramsay’s pie and says: Yours is quite runny. GR, testily: Please don’t finger my pie. May serves a healthy portion of his pie, along with a side of vegetables. Nice touch. GR: Is that portion big enough, James May. May wipes a drip off his plate (there are a few remaining, though) and licks his finger. GR: Shit! J.B. takes away the plates to a group of five women, all variously blonde. They taste. They mutter, and point with their forks.

J.B. returns to the kitchen. GR: They happy? J.B: Yeah. Very. It’s 3-2. May looks hopeful; GR: He got 2?!? J.B.: Um, so, the winner is…(Ramsay is ready to shake J.B.’s hand, but…)   James. JM: oh, yes!! GR: Seriously? May gloats and shakes J.B.’s hand. GR: What? He won with that pile of shit? J.B. taunts his boss: They love it. GR: No salt! JM: Are you any good at driving? Ramsay gets a megahump: Don’t fuck around. You are joking. J.B. denies it. GR: Beaten by a fucking shaggy tramp! J.B.: Yep. GR: I spend four hours…do something quickly for me, please… Get the fuck out of here! Oh, my god! May grins and leaves the gracious loser to his kitchen.