Food TV Roundup: Couch Potatoes, Pitmasters and Bad, Bad Chefs

We'll be the first to admit it: We don't get to watch as much food TV as we'd like. When you're hunched over a humming stand mixer and covered in buttercream, it simply isn't practical to keep an eye on the LCD in the next room for the latest casting call of fourth-string regional chefs, freakish "ordinary Joes" and pseudo-celebrity kitchen dabblers (Brian Boitano? Really?) trying their hand at the reality cooking circuit.

But sometimes, in the winter lulls between the endless variants of Chefs "Top" and "Iron," we can't help but leave the sifter in the drawer, crack open a box of Cheez-Its and veg out for a little while on the sofa. Here's what we dropped in on this past week.

"Worst Cooks in America": We're not quite sure what purpose, exactly, the Food Network's latest amateur-abomination is supposed to serve. It certainly doesn't have the would-be sexy, aspirational-lifestyle qualities of Bravo's cooking shows ("Chef Academy," we're looking at you) -- unless, of course, you consider befuddled soccer moms and socially awkward copy editors fumbling with pasta makers "sexy."
This weekly loser-battle, then, can only exist to make us feel better about our own skills -- or lack thereof. Burning, crying, self-sabotage, dropping dough on the floor and reusing it -- it's all here, and if you've ever done any one of those things in the kitchen, you might feel a little better about yourself after watching. A little? Make that a lot better.

It's a fine line between empathy and condescension, and "Worst Cooks" seems to invite our laughter while asking us to, like, care at the same time. How do you describe the pathetic sight of burnt crostini slathered with cinnamon and prosciutto without using the term "hilariously inept"?

The contestants don't invite much good will themselves. When they arrive at their classroom for a challenge, they're bowled over by Christmas light decorations: "Twinkle lights are pretty fabulous!" Even the geeky Rachel -- with her severe bangs, '80 specs and frumpy dresses -- seems to be playing it up for the cameras.

And what's up with the lifeguard-style, 10-foot platform from which co-hosts/drill sergeants Anne Burrell and Beau MacMillan stand, watching the mistakes and barking commands? If that's not cruel and unusual punishment, we don't know what is.

"BBQ Pitmasters": We were hopeful, really, we were. There's nothing we love more than a roasted slab of brisket or hog, whether it's doused in a vinegary North Carolinan sauce or a sweet-sticky, tomato-y Southern one. And with all the attention being given to international street food lately, we figured it was about time this most American of pastimes got its day in the sun, as it were. At the very least, this would have to satisfy our weekly quotient of drool-inducing close-ups of slow-roasted meat, or so we thought.

Did we mention that the people who take barbecue this seriously are real characters? On "BBQ Pitmasters," we have establishments like Slap Yo' Daddy and Pork Pullin' Plowboys, battling it out at regional blue-ribbon competitions for the one sauce that reigns supreme.

There's Lee Ann, the type-A southern belle whose passion for the pitfire supersedes her love for her boyfriend (she dumps him after he overcooks some chicken). Then there's Myron Mixon, the foul-mouthed star of the bunch, whose cockiness is usually counteracted by his not-always-great placement in the cook-offs. Then there's a whole slew of mostly indistinguishable folks with drawls so thick, we'd swear we were watching a live-action version of "King of the Hill"'s Boomhauer.

What should've been the "Best in Show" of reality cooking instead overstays its welcome, dwelling incessantly on non-crises (an hour of oversleeping results in a sub-optimal marinade!). And how many episodes, precisely, can be devoted to the finer points of using a smoker? With some sharper editing, a more freewheeling camera crew -- what else goes on at these competitions, anyway? -- and about a half-hour shorter running time, "BBQ Pitmasters" could've been a contender. Instead, it just makes us long for summer -- specifically, our next trip to the county fair.