On occasion, if it’s a particularly compelling season, I really enjoy Top Chef. I’ve written here in the past about how much I also liked Top Chef Masters, because it’s a pleasure to watch talented people do something well. For those reasons, and also because I have been known to pull out a KitchenAid mixer on the weekends, I was really looking forward to the latest in the franchise, Top Chef: Just Desserts. Pastry chefs! Stupid title pun! Sounds good!

I’ve tried to give it a few episodes, but Just Desserts is exactly what I was hoping it wouldn’t be. I’m a girl, and I like to bake, and I was hoping that some of the machismo of the Top Chef aesthetic would elevate my hobby to a serious, challenging, not-quite-so-femme profession. The main Top Chef is full of slow-mo shots of very sharp knives puncturing brightly colored fruits, lots of crisp blue, silver and orange tones, and its kitchens are full of people barking at each other, often to the tune of “there’s no crying in the kitchen!” This is not to say that it’s a firmly hetero reality show – it’s on Bravo, for pete’s sake. But Top Chef seems most comfortable with a fairly butch style of queerness, and while this no doubt suggests some obvious and problematic connotations between masculinity and seriousness, this is just what I was looking for in a reality show full of cupcakes, pink frosting, and (ack!) chocolate.

So I turn on Top Chef: Just Desserts and am first confronted with the words “Just Desserts” rendered in glossy, chocolate colored cursive font underneath the familiar logo. Next we get cupcakes, bananas, and other similarly cute foods rendered in neon shapes in the background – these aren’t so bad, except that it seems like everything on the show has to be explicitly dessert themed. The contestants live in a house with pink and brown diagonal stripes painted on the walls, and I don’t remember being hit over the head with adorable themed décor on regular Top Chef. Okay, so the styling isn’t great, but what about the actual competition? It’s hard not to read into the locations and challenges offered to Top Chef versus Just Desserts, even though some it must be due to Top Chef’s well-established pedigree. Still – Top Chef contestants go to NASA. Just Desserts contestants go to a fog machine heavy “Mad Max meets Cirque du Soleil” aerialist performance from an unknown troupe of wacky theater people wearing bondage and burlesque themed outfits.

It turns out, there’s also lots of crying on Top Chef: Just Desserts. We’re just four episodes in, and there have already been too many weeping jags, mental breakdowns, and hissy fits to count. Almost every contestant is either too sensitive to put together a plate of food, or requires seventeen dramatic outbursts to bake a cake, and this emotional frailty cross all boundaries of gender and sexual orientation. Even worse, instead of the countless declarations of how much the competition means to them and how ambitious and driven they all are, Just Desserts is plagued by contestants who sort of wish they were somewhere else. No one’s blaming a parent who misses his children or sons and daughters who worry about their families’ health, but the spin here is markedly different. If you miss your children on Top Chef, you say, “I can’t believe how hard it is to be away from my son, but he’s the fire that keeps me here, and reminds me how strong I need to be.” When you miss your children on Just Desserts, or the competition stresses you, you collapse and then offer yourself up for elimination. The conclusion is clear and straightforward: people who bake are teary, self-doubting wimps who like things that are pink, fussy, and easily damaged.

Sigh. Guess I’ll have to go back to Ace of Cakes or for my less gendered televised pastry needs.




They lucked out with the Voltaggios, though. Michael and Bryan were both driven, consistently high-performing chefs with completely different styles, and they managed to convey pleasure in each other’s success while also fighting hard to be the winner themselves. If I were producing a reality show, I can imagine two extremely talented brothers bickering over a piece of saran wrap feeling like a gift from the television gods. Even better, the final math of three contestants but only two moms would be impossible to refuse. I do have to admit, I backed the wrong brother and was totally rooting for Bryan. His restraint and maturity were far more appealing to me. But in the end…it was Michael, and that’s all right. In what is hopefully a sign of good, brotherly appreciation, they launched a 
