Meet The Writers / Michael Thomas Hastings

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.

Animals. Babies. Animals acting like people. People acting like animals and babies. And light beer. Lots and lots of light beer.

It's the simple things that get us buying again -- and few things come simpler than Super Bowl ads. Sure, all the usual themes were there: Men feeling dominated by work/women/the family pet? Drink some Bud Light! Drive a Dodge! Kids/arrested-adolescent men looking for some escapism? Jake Gyllenhaal/Russell Crowe/EA Games can help.

Women ... okay, there was really very little in the spots aired last night for women, unless they wanted to buy some Dove male body wash for their stinky, unkempt mates, or, in an ad that just missed our list, buy a rejuvenating Snickers for their anemic, Betty White-esque boyfriends.

If there was a new, recession-friendly theme last night, it was bargain meals from two big chains: One being Taco Bell, whose $5 meal pack was touted by an intentionally flat Charles Barkley -- at least, we hope it was intentional. The other, well, was by far the most irrationally funny moment of the evening -- we'll save that for a little later.

Drumroll, please, for our top 5 food-related Super Bowl ads, after the jump...

We're still not quite sure what we watched last night when we flipped on the Travel Channel. Like some sort of weird food-TV hangover, our memories of the evening are vague: loud hooting and hollering; bright neon lights; low, guttural noises. And cheerleaders -- yes, we're pretty sure there were cheerleaders.

When we finally came to this morning, we had a splitting headache and a general feeling of shame and embarrassment. One thing's for certain: We don't think we should've been there.

In a feat of self-promotion that would make P.T. Barnum proud, Adam Richman -- he of "Man v. Food" quasi-fame -- staged a live, televised eatathon in Miami, just in time for Super Bowl XLIV. We don't know about you, but we love us some competitive (a.k.a. speed) eating: men and women with names like Crazy Legs and Crazy Bear wearing weird masks and/or sunglasses, stuffing their faces with as many hot dogs, doughnuts or deep-fried appetizers as possible in just minutes.

But what Richman does isn't quite the same as these Guinness Record-busting fanatics. In case you're not familiar, "MVF" is less of an eat-off than it is the Travel Channel's attempt to spawn their very own Guy Fieri. Looking a little like a cross between John Belushi and Jonah Hill -- although not as funny as either -- Richman travels the nation looking for notable dives featuring super-sized burgers, inhumanly spicy chicken wings or 7-pound burritos.

If ever it seemed like they stack the decks over at the "Iron Chef" kitchen stadium, last night would have been high on the list. With the capable and mostly humorless Bobby Flay as your defending champ, are you really going to throw him a softball like avocado as the secret ingredient? Mr. Mesa Grill himself, denizen of all things spicy and southwestern?

It'd be like giving Morimoto seaweed or Mario Batali basil. Luckily, while the ingredient the producers chose wasn't much of a threat, their opposing chef was something of a curve ball: Floppy haired, unshaven Canuck Michael Smith, seen in the intro hiking around a field in a sun hat, plucking fruits from the vine like some sort of former draft-dodging hippie who decided he liked Prince Edward Island too much to leave.

Smith's casual demeanor belies his Beard-award-winning skills. We knew we liked him from the start, when he cut through the usual overwrought "Iron Chef" choosing-ceremony b.s. by goofily bulging his eyes and gesturing in the direction of Flay like a madman. Finally, we have someone to combat the imported histrionics of The Chairman with a healthy dose of irony!

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."