Grafs with no nuts

I have to admit that watching (and watching and watching) one heartsick and furious Iraqi do what the whole world has dreamed of for eight years did get my mind entirely off the inanity of the food world. Leave it to the Silly section, then, to bring me right back to reality TV. What in the name of Allen Funt were they thinking devoting an entire page to the Sarah Palin of chefs, only a week after doing the Chicken Little rap on Depression dining? To quote another train wreck, the whole thing was ragged, fallen and fraying around the edges. But I guess it wasn’t a total waste. I learned you could pick his chopped onions right out of the mirepoix — there’s a talent. Funny that I was laughing at a flackmail with a subject line on “local flare,” and now I hope that’s what we just saw burning out at last.