I know, I know, the series finale was filmed months ago and there’s nothing actual real about reality TV, but I’ve been awaiting the last competition of Bravo’s Top Chef with bated tastebuds.

It’s down to the last two culinary contestants, and even though arch-enemies Marcel Vigneron and Ilan Hall have both shown themselves to be talented, childish young men who can both wield a mean knife, it’s more about drama than dish by now.

I’ve always been a fan of Ilan, the swaggering NuYorcian kid with the Hebrew name, in spite of the nauseating liver dipped in chocolate fiasco. Even after last week’s playground tactic of offering up his head-shaving partner Ilia as a sacrificial lamb to accuse Marcel of cheating, I still prefer him over the bouffant-headed, socially-inept, staggeringly clueless Marcel.

Anthony Bourdain (just read the new book — delicious) calls Ilan a “manipulative, conspiratorial, vindictive, weasely little shit,” but adds those are “[h]ardly impediments to a career as a chef.”

Yup, we’re rooting for Ilan over here in Yenta kitchen (where the newly unemployed El Yenta Man will be preparing a fricassé of frozen burritos and with carrot stick garnish) though the much more powerful snarkers at Best Week Ever wholly disagree.

Of course, it might just be easier on the digestive system to just read the spoilers boiling up all over the Web — I think I’ve already aligned myself with the winner.

I met some amazing folks while the kids played in Forsyth Park yesterday. The Trustman family is from Santa Cruz, CA (Californians always recognize each immediately, ditto for Jews; there was no one else around on this particularly frosty afternoon and that CaJew radar magnetized us almost immediately) and was visiting Savannah as part of an eight-month, cross country epic RV adventure. David and Tiffany have been on the road since September with their two kids, Eli and Olivia, tooling around America in their killer house-on-wheels (I didn’t get a tour, but Tiffany says she has a full kitchen on board.) The kids are receiving a phenomenal education by way of museums, aquariums, rustic trailer parks, fine restaurants, shack bbq joints and local color while their folks plan each day at a time. Some life, eh?

The Trustmans obviously have some serious cash to fund this enterprise (not to mention keeping two homes in NoCal) and it would be easy to write them off as trustafarian yuppies. But their vibe was so genuine, warm and open to the glory of the universe that it would only my own envy coloring them anything but blessed people. Their kids were delightful and polite, and the parents eager to share stories and ask me about mine. However, David didn’t have favorable things to say about Savannah on his blog; then again, neither do I much of the time. I’m surprised that I feel defensive about this, but I do live here now, and I want other people to confirm that it’s not too bad a place. I guess when you have the luxury of bailing out on to some other roadside paradise, you can take your opinions with you. *sigh*

I want to state here that the Yenta family has high designs on a similar adventure when the children are a bit older. While I don’t know exactly how, the Trustmans have shown me what is possible when you have a dream. Our RV might end up being a little older and funkier, and we’ll likely have to budget meals (Guess what kids? Fish sticks again!) instead of eating at Food Network stars’ restaurants, but the gift is in the freedom. Sheesh, if we don’t find a house soon, it could be sooner than later…

Safe travels to all you families out there on the road!

Poor Hulk Hogan. I have a soft spot for the ex-pro wrestler, having spent many an 80’s afternoon on the sofa with my little brother watching him battle Rowdy Roddy Piper. Good times, bro.

Like any smart pop icon, the Hulkster has parlayed his former successes into a reality show, showcasing his role as a charmingly clueless husband and dad (why do all the tough guys die and move to the suburbs?) to a buxom wife and two over-indulged teenagers. He and his Aryan-looking family have recently moved to an ultra-Orthodox neighborhood in Miami, and in this clip attempt to bond with the locals by offering up fresh-baked cookies door-to-door — non-kosher cookies that no one can eat. Undaunted, the new neighbors decide to throw a barbecue that meets the needs of the street. Hilarity ensues as the family debates what “kosher” means: The Hulkster keeps insisting its pickles; it takes an African-American grocery employee to set the family on the path to halachic enlightenment.

This is about eight and half minutes long and IMHO, worth the time. The Hogans ignorance is wholly endearing in a good-natured, American way, and the family does a service by broadcasting the experience to the rest of this shockingly under-cultured country. After all, how many TV-zoned suburbanites think “kosher” is only the line in a Clash song?

Hat tip to Jewlicious.

Thanks to my mother, who forwarded this to me for your enjoyment. While these Sunday school assignments probably didn’t come from a synagogue, all children are equal in the Lord’s eyes, right? There’s more below:
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Isn’t this gorgeous? It’s “Illumination” by Canadian artist Martina Shapiro. Here’s the lovely Larger version.

Nothing else to say ‘cept Shabbat Shalom, y’all; and I didn’t want to leave the porn picture up all weekend.

While some of you might find it fabulous that there’s a skin flick shot on location in the Holy Land starring all local talent, at least one rabbi is not cozying up in front of the HDTV.

According to TMZ.com, Rabbi Yehuda Rosenbaum of KOF-K Kosher Certification has sicced his lawyers on the producers of Assraelis — not for bad acting or thin plotlines, but for something like copyright violation. You can see that the DVD cover of the film sports KOF-K’s official halachic stamp of approval — a stamp only Rabbi Rosenbaum has the authority to give. And while it may all be kosher meat in the money shots, the lawyers say they will sue if TightFit Productions doesn’t cover its assraeli immediately.

Oren Cohen of TightFit, likely the kind of Jewish guy your mother does not want to see at the Shabbat table, assures that he will change the cover to appease the rabbi before next week’s release.

From today’s JTA: A Canadian Jewish leader saved a white separatist who was attacked by protesters at a Halifax hotel. Jon Goldberg, head of the Atlantic Jewish Council, was attending Jared Taylor’s Jan. 16 speech on the costs of racial diversity and integration in North America. Aside from Goldberg, only protesters and journalists attended Taylor’s speech.

In a longer article published by Canadian Jewish News, Goldberg said he was there peacefully to hear Taylor’s message and figure out how to confront it, and added that the American Renaissance editor would “probably die if he knew a Jew saved his neck.”

Taylor does indeed describe himself as a white separatist, as opposed to a white supremacist, which he defines as a person who wishes to rule over others. He is very careful to disassociate with hatemongers as not to tarnish his Ivy-League credentials, though a white pride group promoted his Halifax appearance on their site. But I agree with my man Abe Foxman and the ADL: Taylor’s genteel brand of “rational racism” still stinks like the gutterpunk kind.