'Iron Chef America' - Duff, Meet Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman

We knew going into this week's Iron Chef that we'd have fun. The only question was how much fun. Ace of Cakes professional goofball Duff Goldman as a competitor? Chocolate and chiles as the secret ingredients? Who needs the Super Bowl?!

Sure, it may have been a little brazen of the Food Network to slot one of their own superstars opposite the easygoing (and similarly cue-ball domed, chin-scruffed) reigning chef, Michael Symon. But, hey -- if you want to lure viewers away from one of the most-watched events of the year, you've got to bring out the big guns, right?

They didn't stop there: Not only did Duff get his own cheering section -- his Charm City colleagues and a bunch of screaming ladies -- he also got a super-celeb judging panel. The whole evening, in fact, seemed to be designed for the 25-to-40-year-old female demographic who, if we may be so bold, probably wasn't bothering with the macho-testosterone play-by-play over on CBS. Call it the "Women Who Appreciate Fine Dining and the Bald Lunkheads Who Love Them" hour.
Although we welcome Nigella Lawson's witticisms on just about anything, her cohorts were a little ... untested. Dr. Quinn herself, Jane Seymour? Law & Order SVU's Stephanie March -- who also happens to be Mrs. Bobby Flay? We were worried -- but then, after the nadir of non-foodie judging that was Antonio Sabato, Jr., a pair of bubbly TV personalities could only be an improvement.

The action was as swift as usual, but the competitive mood was thankfully missing: This pair of chrome domes were thick as thieves from the word "go." Host Alton Brown attempted to channel the absent chairman's mojo -- "Will you bluff with marshmallow fluff, Duff?" he screamed, in a vaguely racist Japanese accent, no less -- but from there, the speed bumps were few.

When Duff couldn't find a cookie sheet, Symon helped him out. When Symon cracked open some chocolate stout for a braise, he handed a can to Duff for libation. Coming down to the wire, Symon offered a semi-sarcastic "Oh, you are doing such a nice job!" that was more than a little sincere by our standards.

Sill, the proof, as always, was in the chocolate mousse. If nothing else, His Duffiness got a primetime pedestal on which to display his non-pastry, Thomas Keller-trained skills: A first-course scallop was cooked in a cocoa-butter reduction; he won over most with a playful take on lobster thermidor: lobster swimming in chocolate sauce, presented in a "half-shell" of a chile pod.

The ladies behind the judges table were impressed, but not overly so, usually wanting more or less heat or chocolate. March impressed us with her foodie acumen, some of which she may have picked up from Flay -- Duff's choco-quinoa had a "tapioca quality" -- while the elegant Seymour gushed that most everything was "divine, delicious, extraordinary!" (Was it just us, or did Nigella look like she wanted to stab Seymour with her fork?)

More impressive than Duff's mini-chile relleno dish was his technique in hollowing out his serrano using a drill bit -- further proof, if Ace of Cakes didn't give us enough already, that the man's love of food and passion for hardware cannot be replicated.

If Duff's food was playfully sophisticated, Symon skipped the humor and went straight for the haute cuisine jugular -- which, as we all know, is the stuff that Iron Chef victories are made of. Where Duff served scallops, Symon served a yellowtail crudo that looked like a Jackson Pollock painting, dotted with colorful drips of chocolate and chile sauce.

Other dishes followed the theme: A coffee- and chocolate-braised pork belly melded its main ingredients with beer, coriander, chile and oranges in what we imagine was the most complex bite of the evening. Impressive as it was, it also welcomed one of the best criticisms of the evening, from Nigella, who complained that the citrus segments "remind me of the 1970s," and not in a good way. I guess it's a disco-era thing; we wouldn't understand.

For our money, Duff's chocolate-chile-sriracha mousse was the dish of the evening; the judges' compliments were enough to prompt him to shake his fists in victory, shoot them big thumbs-ups and basically act like a six-year-old who'd just won a tricycle race. It all made Symon's inevitable win sting a little less: Even Duff crowned him using his Charm City baseball cap -- which, if you think about it, is sort of like the Iron Chef equivalent of showering the winning Super Bowl coach with a vat of Gatorade.