The world of culinary television is packed with a plethora of individuals and personalities, but none quite so English as Nigella Lawson, which is not a bad thing to say the least. Jaime Oliver is certainly not included because, well, because he sucks. In an age where the majority of American television chefs ooze out over-hyped comfort food coupled with a sweet kitchen set-up and the visible air of eau-de-smartass wafting between takes (like that corn mongler named Bobby Flay), it’s a helluva sight to see somebody so….,I dunno, ENGLISH as Nigella. However, none of that matters to most of us male viewers because frankly, whatever she’s dishing up on the stove probably doesn’t taste as good as what she’s packing under that navy turtleneck she procured from Harrod’s..
You read right goddammit. Don’t pretend you were actually paying attention to whatever the fuck she was cooking. She could be feeding hungry children in Africa and no one would give two shits about it because she’s apparently packed enough dairy to put the milkman out of business.
To be fair, Nigella Lawson seems to be a woman whose first and foremost passion is food and the relative pleasantries that accompany it. Whether its concocting something fanciful as lamb with honey mustard sauce or doing something dessert-like such as…well, “Chocopots” (whatever the hell that is), she seems to inject the sort of vocabulary in her explanations that may at first sound rather learned, but in reality, reek of dry elegance and the careless whispers that a British Debbie Lafave would probably say before she pounces wantonly on her hapless, innocent students. There’s really no reason for her to sound like that when she’s explaining something as simple as draining the water from a can of chickpeas but my God did you see those mammaries? I mean look, LOOK!!!
Much of Nigella’s show consists of her doing things that incidentally lead her to the next recipe, which is a nice setup on a viewer standpoint since it allows you to have a glance of urban life in England. In turn however, these segments force her to wear something worthless like a “coat,” or a “jean jacket” that obscures ones view of her insatiable breasts. Were it something more fitting like a cheap transparent raincoat or a paper bag from Cub Foods, then I would have no cause for concern, but her wardrobe assistants and producers should’ve considered those angles before letting her sweaty heavy-chestedness out of the fucking woodwork. Bare in mind that she is a television chef and her priority is to illustrate the makings of a dish or two in one segment, but the fact that her oblong melons tend to droop downwards over her cutting board provide ample watching before she pulls out another set of meat from the fridge for her to jiggle a sweat over.
On another note, one of the most delectable features that Nigella possesses among her television counterparts aside from hobbling around with two heaping scoops of English teat are the mannerisms she displays while tasting her food. Bobby Flay probably shits corn on a daily basis, so I won’t even consider him here while Mario Batalli looks to be the kind of person that doesn’t taste his food, but inhales it. Rachel Ray would only “sample” whatever she whips up in 30 minutes, and for good reason too since it probably tastes like unfortified ass, but Mrs. Lawson bares her teeth, takes a heaping or two and sneers under her breath as if to say, “Fuck, I made a good meal. Come to my bedroom Naika and let me have a helping of some homemade Thai curry,” or something to that effect (okay, I made that up, but who cares right?).
Despite her position as a chef and television personality, it is this blogger’s humble opinion that Nigella Lawson is, in fact, an English sexpot who just happens to look good while cooking stuff. Although I am basing this opinion upon a few episodes that were viewed on YouTube, it is clear that Mrs. Lawson’s greatest recipe stems from the fluffy, buttery English muffins that rise from her chest. To fathom the enormity of such cleavage would befuddle any employee of Victoria’s Secret wondering if anything frilly could be sold for someone holding such massive upper body….urm, mass. These qualities should also benefit the individuals tasting her food after a shoot, whereupon they should be thankful that Nigella was hanging her heavy bushels of fun over those dishes during preparation, or else it would probably taste like what most English dishes taste like: shit. Nigella’s classy attitude, urban chic, glowing smile and elegant vernacular would probably win her a great deal of female plaudits who would lavish a lifestyle such as hers, but if they have a chest to match the Welsh Watermelons that Mrs. Lawson has, then I hope to God they e-mail me their numbers and possibly a photo in the comments section below. Lord knows that with Arsenal struggling to murder the critics in this season of the Premier League, I could use an ample handful of British Chestbread. In conclusion, the fairer sex seems to fair exquisitely in the world of culinary television with the looks, sensibilities, styles and personalities that standout tenfold from their purist and ever-so-strict male counterparts. Despite all of this, it is unfortunate that none of these women can ever top the musky smell of two warm and heaping handfuls of fluffy, buttery English muffins right out of Nigella’s tasteful sweater,…err, oven. (Crud, I did it again)