Death Watch: Mario Batali

[Ciao America] is a show I would (and do) watch to become informed about Italian food and where to find it in America; not the slow death of a red, bloated food addict.

Batali

It's now impossible for me to ignore the worsening condition of popular television personality Mario Batali, host of the Food Network show Ciao America. This is a show I would (and do) watch to become informed about Italian food and where to find it in America; not the slow death of a red, bloated food addict.

It's not that he's fat; there's healthy-fat, but there's also sick-fat. At some point during "Ciao America," and possibly towards the end of Mario Eats Italy, Batali crossed the threshold into the realm of sick-fat: it should be Ciao America, not Ciao Life.

Beholding the progression of his show is like watching a serial version of Super-Size Me. But unlike Morgan Spurlock, for Batali it isn't a biological/sociological experiment; he seems to sincerely believe that he's "celebrating life" or what-not.

To exemplify his total absense of awareness regarding his slow TV death, I'll recall a recent episode: Batali is in a restaurant kitchen being shown by the owner how to make a special Italian dessert. At one point he lunges (not a word I use lightly) for a sweet ingredient (I think it was chocolate) the owner is preparing to incorporate into a sauce. The owner looked momentarily shocked -- this wasn't scripted. Batali had crazy eyes.

This is doubly painful because we love Batali. I've always found his shows imminently watchable for their education in finery and, in the case of "Mario Eats Italy," some fairly highbrow scripted comedy (though I've always wanted to believe that 'Rooney' wasn't an actor).

He's been the foremost visible ambassador of good taste (in the esteemed wake of David Rosengarten) in a televison wasteland of pueri le rubbish. Batali emodies all of the refined, elegant qualities that the tacky Olive Garden desperateley wants us to think it does.

If you're unfamilar with his name, I'm certain you've seen him: he's overweight (obviously), has long red hair (which he draws back into a poneytail), and he's usually wearing a light beard.

But it's one of those obese-person chin-beards, a la George Lucas.

This happens when the definition of the chin and jawline has disappeared into the girth of their lower faces, forming a kind of faceloaf, so they grow a light beard and shave it meticulously along the jawline, for the purpose of simulating definition (where people naturally expect to find it).

It's like they're drawing a beard onto their faceloaves.

Per usual, The Alliance sheds its eternal optimism on Batali and his vice(s). We hope to see him celebrate life and food (in moderation) for years to come. - mj