"DonatellaArpaia" news and stories

• The Big Easy is making its way to a big comeback.
• Where does Vietnamese food meet Cajun? In Atlanta, it would seem.
• Donatella's coming out with a cookbook, a TV show, and a food collection. (No, not that Donatella.)
• The Mark Restaurant by Jean-Georges hits the Upper East Side mark.
• Mark Bittman proves that springtime can be bitter, if you just have enough escarole.

Last night, we entered a world of pain on "The Next Iron Chef" -- quite literally. With only three chefs left in the competition, we no longer had to rely on the show's Ritalin-addicted cameramen or the barked commands of stoic "Chairman" Marc Dacascos to make us anxious. The misty, unforgiving environs of Tokyo seemed to be doing a fine job all on their own.

Never mind Jose Garces being shouted at by the fishmongers at the legendary Tsukiji fish market, or the now openly evil Jehangir Mehta announcing, "I'm not bothered by bringing other people down to make myself look better." We knew there was pain in the air last night from the very first, utterly geeky "Reservoir Dogs"-style shot of the three chefs walking down a rain-slicked street to get their latest assignment from Dacascos and host Alton Brown. We wondered: Why are they walking so slowly? And why is Seamus Mullen limping along in what appears to be utter agony?

Leave it to "TNIC" editors to have downplayed Mullen's ongoing struggle with rheumatoid arthritis until this late in the game. Whether or not the affliction had hindered him in previous episodes, we're not sure, but last night, attempting to run around both the market and the kitchen for several hours on end, it was clear he was suffering. Add to that the indignity of Mehta leaving the forever-temperamental ice-cream machine (when will you guys throw in the towel on that thing?!) in strategic shambles, and the damning comment of "Have you ever cooked rice?" from guest judge Dr. Hattori, and Mullen was having one of those Very Bad Days we all dread.

But more about that later. The challenge was to cook a five-course kaiseki -- a very formal meal composed of local, seasonal ingredients -- that reflected their own "integrity" as a chef. For Mehta this meant buying half of the food in the market and littering his serving trays with edible flowers ("I'm a happy person! I like beauty!"). Mullen may have dubbed it all "smoke and mirrors," but Mehta still managed to produce a fresh clam salad with chili flower that was a standout of the evening.

Let us pause now to reflect upon Jeffrey Steingarten, award-winning writer, fearless gastronomist and utterly irascible judge of "The Next Iron Chef." Every cooking competition show needs its Simon Cowell, after all, a grumpy, hard-to-please, perpetually underwhelmed quipster whose general lack of enthusiasm makes for great, nasty sound bites. But Steingarten is in another class entirely: He's so disaffected, it's hard to tell if he's got a pulse half of the time.

Week after week, Steingarten regards the Iron Chef hopefuls in the same way a crusty professor might deal with a snot-nosed student who happened to stop by his office outside of office hours. The man may certainly have his cheerful side, but by now we've gotten the feeling that every week, the "TNIC" editors decide to save up and splice together all of his best "You got me out of bed for this?" looks, and parse them out over the course of the last 15 minutes of each show.

When in doubt, they zoom in on one of his particularly befuddled stares -- no doubt there are plenty to choose from -- and try to give it some sort of significance, as if the man can't believe what he's hearing. You imagine that a Steingarten comment like "my flan is a little curdled" was probably delivered politely, gingerly to chef Jose Garces -- but when the tribal drums of failure are added to the soundtrack, man, does it take on a sting.