After the break, the cheftestants are still screaming because they are going to NEW YORK! Wait, New York? That's sort of a letdown. I mean, it's a great place and all, but I was thinking more along the lines of Bahamas! Puerrrrto Rrrrrico! CUBA! Oh, my god -- can you imagine MALARKEY! in Cuba? He'd be smoking loud cigars, quoting Che (but confusing him with Hemingway), and trying to visit Castro, screaming, "NO, YOU GUYS? WE GOTTA COOK FOR CASTRO! SERIOUSLY!" All in that Panama hat. CJ admits that he's never been to New York. Randomly, he's never been to New York but he told Eat LA that he'd been to Amman, Jordan. How does that work? Of course, back in Boston we had these friends who insisted on vacationing only in Third World countries. Admirable? Probably. Depressing and dangerous? Definitely. The cheftestants are excited to pack up and go. The Brians tell us, "We're all gonna miss Miami." Yeah, O'Brian is especially sad to be leaving the beaches behind. He's been crying in the bathroom ever since they got their tickets. The Brians go on, "The people, it's a really nice, relaxed atmosphere out here. Le Fon-tain-BLOO, our amazing penthouse apartment, the view is absolutely breathtaking and every one of my fellow chefs, we've formed a nice relationship. [Rambling!] We really enjoyed our time here together. [All four of the Brians.] We kept each other sane amongst the chaos of Top Chef. [As always, 'sane' is a relative word where the Brians are concerned and actually means, 'We kept six other personalities in check while in Miami.'] But much as we love Miami, we ALL really want to go enjoy the fine cuisine of New York City." Yes, Brians, you all do.
Before they get to the fine cuisine of New York, however, they have to cook in New Jersey. And I'm not talking about tomatoes, either. The Brians step off the airplane in half-Elvis glasses and see -- wait, back up. We need to discuss dress code here. I'm no Go Fug Yourself, but what's with Dale wearing a knit vest over a lime green button-down like it's the first day of school for faux hawks? And CJ's tree-growing-from-the-neck tee-shirt is oddly familiar but also sort of weird. And the Brians' half-Elvis shades paired with the Panama make him look like an understudy for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Anyway, the motley crew exits the plane and is faced with a TOTALLY STONED Padma. Did you get a look at those puffy eyes? And the not-blinking thing? She's hysterical and I totally want to party with her. I think I'd just stick her in a chair in the middle of the room and make her talk. Padma welcomes them to Newark and informs them that in order for them to be allowed on the island of Manhattan, they first have to cook their asses off in Newark. "Very nice," Casey says, putting on her bitchface. Padma says they'll be checking into a "nearby" (read: crap-airport-where-the-blankets-are-the-same-as- the-ones-in-Miami) hotel, and then the next day they'll show up in the airport, "where everything will be revealed." "Get some rest and we'll see you tomorrow," Padma advises. "Thank you," Dale says politely. CJ is bummed, and tells us monotonally, "Stop the press. No more fun. Not going to New York. You're certainly won't have any pizza. You're in NEWARK Airport." Come on -- I'll bet they have a California Pizza Kitchen! ["Heh, good one. …No. Sbarro or bust, baby." -- Sars]