• This fall, the UK's Good Food Channel commissioned Carl Warner and a team of food artists to re-create London's skyline using 26 different kinds of fruits and vegetables (including asparagus, watermelon, broccoli and pineapples). The result is genuinely spectacular and oddly serene (via Gawker.tv):

• The food TV moment of the week was unquestionably Bravo's "Top Chef" finale, which gave viewers the climactic Voltaggio brother showdown this entire season had been building up. In case you missed it, relive the Voltaggios' moment of reckoning (via NYMag):

Some favored older brother Bryan Voltaggio, 33, with his wide eyes and quiet, restrained way of summarizing aggression between the two as simple sibling rivalry. He called his younger brother "a bit of a control freak" and only once whined that he was tired of Michael's "unprofessional behavior being rewarded."

Others liked the cut of younger brother Michael's jib, what with the 30-year-old's propensity for telling his big brother "Fuck you!" and "Don't be a dick!"

Of course, quite a few of us were rooting for Kevin Gillespie, 26, the soft-spoken, sweet, but still salty chef who won the judges over time and again with his far more simple Southern cooking. Compared to the brotherly gastro-metaphysics flashing and banging around nearby, Kevin's dishes were humble acts of love, not arrogant culinary pyrotechnics.

But this is television, and no one made better television (or, arguably, better dishes) than Michael. He even came armed with a joke when the judges asked each cheftestant to explain why he wanted to be Top Chef.

"I felt like I expressed my cuisine," said Bryan, rather limply. "And I hope that that's good enough for the win." Bryan's comments, like his food, lack seasoning.

"I just don't want Bryan to be Top Chef." Michael quipped, and everyone laughed heartily.

Then the kicker: "Food is me. It's how I express myself. My emotion is in it," Michael told the judges quite sincerely. "This is all I've ever done in my whole life, it's all I know how to do, it's all I'll ever do. I love what I do. That's it."

Kevin said he loved what he did, too … but it was all over. The judges agreed that Kevin had an off night. They did seem to love Bryan's dishes, and the editing didn't give us enough of a sense of what they thought gave Michael the edge over Bryan. This is one of the flaws of "Top Chef": Sometimes the editing of the judges' discussions is so extreme that it's impossible to tell what they thought of anything, beyond summarizing the major mistakes we already knew about from the earlier footage.

"I can't think of a prouder moment probably in both of our lives than right now," Bryan told the judges right before his brother gave him one last culinary wedgie for the road. "I think we accomplished what we set out to accomplish."

Well, your baby brother did anyway. Padma told Michael he was the winner, then Michael unexpectedly wept like a baby. Then it was his turn to be magnanimous. "I'm more proud of the fact that Bryan and I made it all the way to the end than I am about winning the entire competition. It was probably one of the hardest moments of our lives. I wish both of us could win."

Oh, please. Where do you think we've been all season, dude? We've been right here, eating beans out of a can while you shoved your brother's face in his own goat cheese ravioli with hen of the woods, delicata squash and bronze fennel!

We certainly didn't wish both brothers could win. We were sort of hoping Kevin could win. But we suspected that the more arrogant, risk-taking brother would take home the title of "Top Chef" and the $125,000 prize. That's just the way the world works, isn't it? The sexier, more aggressive little whippersnapper always gets the big bag of cash and the love/hate of an entire nation.

But then, his pressed chicken with calamari noodles did look pretty delicious, too.

Whether it's "Sons of Anarchy" or "The Amazing Race," whether it's "The Mentalist" or "Project Runway," the last thing we want, at the end of a long day at work, is to relax by watching insecure people second-guess themselves. The heroes of the small screen are the ones with the biggest egos.

Revolting Voltaggios!

Take the Voltaggio brothers of "Top Chef: Las Vegas" (10 p.m. Wednesdays on Bravo). These two self-assured but growly young men don't take kindly to either flaccid flavor profiles or incendiary comments in the Glad Torture Chamber. It was obvious from the start of the sixth season that these snarling siblings had the chops to make it to the final three. What was less obvious was the extent to which they might let their clashing personalities and lifelong resentments and deeply competitive natures rise to the surface and engulf them in a stormy sea of unspoken contempt, sullen silences and occasional spitty outbursts.

Who knew that younger brother Michael would have such an amusing tendency to blow up at his far more reserved elder, Bryan, squawking, "Fuck you, Bryan!" and also, "I'll take my time now, you fucking asshole," and, my personal favorite, "Don't be a dick"? That's classic brotherspeak, a baseline instruction to watch your step lest you get popped in the face by a stray fist. And make no mistake about it, it has come to blows with these two before. Every time Bryan mumbles something condescending then averts Michael's gaze, I can almost see a 10-year-old Bryan making some snide, superior comment in passing that turns a 7-year-old Michael bug-eyed with rage and sends him flying across the room, hands aimed at Bryan's holier-than-thou neck, ready to choke the life out of the smug bastard.

All of which merely means that the Voltaggio brothers are actually brothers and not paid actors or talented chefs posing as brothers to make it onto the show. Still, it's a testament to how completely Michael has dropped his guard that suddenly he's freaking out while the cameras keep rolling.

Which brings us back to some of the possible reasons why arrogance lights up the small screen like nothing else. Whether or not they feel comfortable with the spotlight, whether or not they approve of broadcasting themselves for a nation's idle amusement, the arrogant sooner or later come to adore the camera's gaze in spite of themselves. At first, since they're arrogant, they make pronouncements about how they'll resist the pitfalls of fame and notoriety, how they'll lead with their dignity, how they'll bestride the pathetic shenanigans of their colleagues like great golden gods. Witness how recently Michael stated with great conviction, "Yelling and screaming, arrogance and things like that? There's really no place for that in the kitchen." And now? He yells and screams with reckless abandon.

But he can't help it! His arrogance lies to him, telling him that even when he falls apart and stomps his feet like a bratty little tool, the camera loves him and embraces his every move. And let's face it, the guy is pretty hot. He has angry bedroom eyes. He's cocky. He cooks a mean pressed chicken with calamari noodles, tomato confit and fennel salad. If this guy isn't neck-deep in fine women around the clock, there is no God.

It's no wonder he gets under older brother Bryan's skin. Bryan, who has appeared relatively peace-loving until last week's episode, nonetheless has a disconcerting tendency to blow up at anyone who tries to make polite chitchat with him in the Glad Torture Chamber. State an opinion about which dish sucked the most, ask Bryan what he thought about how another cheftestant performed, speculate about who might be going home, and Bryan will bite your head clean off. He doesn't want anyone gossiping about anyone else. His commitment to accuracy, to squelching the slightest whiff of gossip, is so complete, you'd think he was a highly decorated investigative reporter on a fact-checking mission, as opposed to, say, a reality show contestant. Sometimes, in fact, when Bryan says things like, "Did you taste that dish?" and "Were you there?" you almost want to say, Jesus, Bryan, give the postproduction editors a break, will you? What are they supposed to make a show out of? Shots of you, pursing your lips in silence? This is Bravo, dude.

But last week, after that little hotheaded pussy hound Michael won the elimination challenge plus $10,000, then uncharacteristically offered to share his money with his team, Bryan couldn't restrain himself. He sat in the Glad Rage Pantry in silence until Michael couldn't help  commenting on his obvious anger. Then Bryan quietly informed Michael that he could keep his share of the prize money. I don't want your blood money, his eyes told Michael. It was like a scene out of "Jesus Christ Superstar," only with higher stakes.

"I think the two dishes he executed were great, but he'll admit he's a bit of a control freak," Bryan told the camera, sounding like a bit of a control freak, then adding, "And I'm tired of his unprofessional behavior being rewarded." Aww! Big brother hates how little brother's grandiosity and temper tantrums have landed him flashy prizes and loose women for decades now! It's sooooo no fair!

But don't judge Bryan. After all, don't we all feel a little highhanded when we notice how grandiosity and temper tantrums are not only telegenic, professionally expedient and disconcertingly lucrative, but also sexy? Don't we all feel a little threatened by the ways that pissy little braggarts and smug jerks get all the cash and the hot girls, while the rest of us sit on our hands, restating our principles and values as the camera crew races over to get more footage of the outspoken dick across the room -- you know, the one who just happens to be our slightly-more-handsome little brother?

In short, the "Top Chef" producers' decision to include siblings on the show who also happen to be celebrated professional chefs guaranteed to blow away the competition while fighting like enraged squirrels looks less like a crass manipulation and more like an act of sheer brilliance every day.

"You know, why don't you keep the whole thing, if you're so mad?" Michael sulkily asks his brother back in the Glad Seething Storeroom.

"I'm not mad at all. I'm very happy about this whole situation," Bryan hisses through gritted teeth, the poster child for Passive-Aggressive Seething Glad-Wrapped in Gladness.

In a fitting denouement, wishy-washy Laurine is sent packing while explaining to the camera that on "Top Chef," "I think I've learned something about myself, and uh, I don't know that I want to be in a competition with anybody for anything, really." Now we know why Laurine was always vaguely chafing on-screen: She's humble, she hates the attention and she doesn't like to compete.

We may understand how she feels, but that doesn't mean we aren't happy to see her go. Quivering worrywarts and jittery second-guessers? Stay home. We prefer eye-rolling braggarts and scoffing, swearing jerks on our screens instead, thank you very much.

Betty gets ugly

Now think of the ever-paradoxical Don Draper (Jon Hamm) of "Mad Men" (10 p.m. Sundays on AMC). He pretends to be reserved, principled, unflappable, consistently self-assured, but Don's smooth, arrogant exterior barely conceals the roiling mess of insecurities and identity issues churning just under the surface. Don isn't the uncomplicated hero and all-seeing prophet he claims to be at work and at home. He plays the part of the dependable family man but keeps a big pile of cash in his desk drawer in case he needs to skip town. He acts as a trustworthy mentor to Peggy (Elisabeth Moss), until the moment when she needs his guidance and, feeling pressured by his employment contract, he turns on her. He builds a friendship with Roger Sterling (John Slattery) until Roger has the bad taste to leave his marriage, and Don, who's obviously envious, lashes out and calls Roger foolish instead of admitting the truth to Roger or himself.

Don's arrogance -- which like most arrogance is fueled by a vast array of insecurities that our arrogant hero refuses to acknowledge -- prevents him from seeing himself or his world clearly. Instead of becoming the man he pretends to be, choosing to embrace his responsibilities as a good father and devoted husband, or even leaving Betty once and for all and settling down with the smart, lovable schoolteacher of his dreams, Don continues to pull one over on the world. In his initial brusque manner with the schoolteacher's epileptic brother, we can see it clearly: Don wants no part of weakness. He can't stand to play any role in some loser's sob story. He can't tolerate so much as considering this man's plight in life, since it bears such a haunting resemblance to his own checkered past, and reminds him of his poor, dead brother, the one he refused to help or even acknowledge years prior.

Don tells himself he's turning over a new leaf by slipping the brother some money and dropping him off in the woods instead of taking him to the job his sister lined up for him in Bedford. But really this is more of the same: Don playing fast and loose, thinking on his feet. Don uses his money as a replacement for genuine concern, just as he uses sex as a stand-in for real love and intimacy. His essential instinct for dishonesty is what keeps him from ever forging a real connection with the women in his life. He considers himself above them, ultimately, and he seems to feel that he's licensed to make his own independent decisions about anything -- the epileptic brother, Salvatore's choice not to whore himself to a client and his subsequent dismissal, Peggy's request for a promotion -- even when the decisions aren't really his to make.

But he can't help it! His arrogance lies to him, telling him that he is the master of all he surveys. Even when he lies and cheats and slams doors like a bratty little tool, the camera loves him and embraces his every move. And let's face it, the guy is pretty hot. He has an unforgiving, unflinching gaze. He's cocky. He could write a catchy jingle for week-old bologna that would make housewives flock to the stores. If this guy weren't neck-deep in horny schoolteachers around the clock, we'd know for certain that God is dead.

But Don will not be king for much longer. The times are changing. Betty has just discovered his little box of secrets, and now that she's had a chance to stew over it, thanks to Don's not coming home that night, she's liable to keep her mouth shut while carefully planning a colorful and catastrophic exit. What kind of precipitous fall lies ahead for our dashing, overconfident hero Don Draper, or for those volatile, versatile Voltaggio brothers?

We can't wait to find out. Because if there's one thing that's more dramatic and powerful than arrogance on TV, it's watching the arrogant finally get trampled underfoot by their own barely concealed insecurities. 

"It seems that you let your sous chef talk you out of cooking the food that got you to the finale, and I'm not quite sure that I understand that," Tom Colicchio told a devastated Carla.

"I've proven that when I cook my food, it's really delicious," said Carla as tears dripped down her face. "Do I think that my food is good? Yes. When I make it? Yes."

Sure enough, the judges immediately eliminated Carla from their final discussions, which left longtime Carla fans moaning in disgust at the alternatives: Hosea, the wildly annoying chef from Jax Fish House in Boulder, Colo., and Stefan, the arrogant Finn with a catering business in Santa Monica, Calif., two men with somewhat inconsistent performances who've been complaining about each other from the first day of the competition. Could the fifth season of "Top Chef" really boil down to these two? Stefan has proven he's a fine chef, but week after week, his dishes haven't been all that imaginative or particularly inspired. When Hosea wasn't disrespecting his girlfriend at home by making out with fellow cheftestant Leah, he was at least "respecting his protein" as judge Colicchio liked to put it. Even so, aside from failing to overcook or undercook various meats along the way, Hosea has never seemed to possess the flair, taste or talent to take home the big prize.

In the end, although Stefan cooked a squab dish that almost every guest in the room during the final challenge chose as his or her favorite dish, he bungled his carpaccio by freezing the fish in order to slice it more thinly. Mostly, though, his fate was sealed by his choice of a lackluster dessert. Gail Simmons said of Stefan's chocolate mousse and ice cream combination, "To me, it's so completely dated in presentation. This sings 1982."

Hosea, meanwhile, kept the proteins coming, ending his meal with a perfectly cooked venison. "He played to his strengths and I think he did a good job here," Simmons said.

Even Fabio, former competitor and close friend of Stefan's, agreed that Hosea had the stronger dish, and that Stefan had messed up. "Between these two, the strongest one is not the dessert for sure."

There was no way around it. Carla was out. Stefan screwed up two of his dishes. The judges would have to give the fifth title of "Top Chef" to Hosea, one of the most whiny, irritating, inconsistent cheftestants ever to win the big prize. Even the judges seemed to hate giving Hosea the title. "Congratulations, Hosea," Padma Lakshmi said with real regret in her voice. "You are 'Top Chef.'"

The ensuing forced smiles and awkward congratulatory hugs formed one of the most depressing fake celebrations ever witnessed on the small screen. Lakshmi made a big show of giving Hosea a heartfelt hug, while Colicchio grimaced uncomfortably from the sidelines. Fabio rushed over to rub Stefan's bald head sadly. Hosea told Stefan he was "the guy to beat," as Carla stood by, cringing at the inaccuracy of his statement.

Next, we were treated to Carla in a post-celebration interview, weeping openly to the camera. "When I came here, I wanted to show people a different way of competing, to compete with love. So, I did one of the things I wanted to do here."

Compete with love. In other words, lose?

Next time, Carla, compete with the ruthlessness of a predatory beast. Follow your instincts, ignore outside opinions and serve up dishes that make those cocky bastards look like amateurs by comparison.

Sadly, though, Carla was right. Without any way to celebrate such a lackluster winner, the fifth season of "Top Chef" truly ended in disaster.

Wouldn't we all have better taste if there were less crappy products around for us to choose from? Of course we should stimulate the economy and bail out companies teetering on the brink of collapse, but let's make sure we prop up the right companies while letting the lame ones die quickly. Do we really need to offer assistance to Applebee's or TGIFriday's, ensuring the survival of BBQ Pork Ravioli Bites and Fried Mac and Cheese indefinitely? Let's find a way to bring on the demise of an always-thriving Wal-Mart, while pumping tax dollars into great indie record companies, independent booksellers, excellent mom and pop delis, and, of course, Dunkin' Donuts, home of the widely celebrated Bavarian Kreme Doughnut!

And while we're handing out incentives to purchase cars and homes, maybe we should also provide Americans with incentives to get in shape, read better books, talk less, listen more and stop feeding their kids Kool-Aid and reconstituted chicken fingers. Maybe we could allow consumers to file certain culturally worthy purchases as itemized deductions. Nationwide, Americans could save their receipts on classical music and literary fiction purchases, while paying a steep fast food, cigarette and water park tax.

Don't get me wrong, I like McDonald's hamburgers and gigantic theme parks and flashy superhero movies and the Fox network just as much as the next slow-moving, self-important American out there. But if some of these things just went away one day, would I cry big, salty tears over it? No. I'd probably lose five pounds, sign up for cello lessons and read "Crime and Punishment" from start to finish.

So, Mr. President, don't spend all that hard-won Recovery and Reinvestment cash willy-nilly, like some doped-up teenager taking a stolen credit card for a spin at the local mega-mall. Make careful choices, and soon we'll be a nation of culturally elite, fine-cheese-and-wine-appreciating snobs. You know, like France or Italy, but with more land and better personal hygiene.

Whine and dine

You just know that Tom Colicchio of "Top Chef" (10 p.m. Wednesdays on Bravo) would be 100 percent behind re-creating America in his image, even if it meant making us all bald and superior and slightly irritable whenever we had to deign to explain the difference between medium and medium rare. Look at how the man winces and grits his teeth every time one of the young cheftestants pretends to know how much salt is too much or how long a chunk of halibut should be cooked. Colicchio would probably move to Europe right now, if those haughty, self-righteous snobs didn't enrage him even more than most Americans do.

In fact, this season of "Top Chef" has been a real merry-go-round of emotions for most self-hating Americans, what with cheftestant Hosea demonstrating the whiny, defensive American archetype with stunning accuracy. Meanwhile, his brand-new cuddle-buddy, cheftestant Leah, embodies the past 10 years of American domestic and foreign policy: She's sloppy, scattered, disloyal, inconsistent and, above all, a big quitter. It's no wonder these two find each other well-nigh irresistible.

But the highlight of last week's episode came in the Quickfire Challenge, when Hosea, who's a chef at Jax Fish House in Boulder, Colo., bungles his attempt to fillet a few sardines as widely acclaimed chef Eric Ripert looks on. Meanwhile, Finnish cheftestant Stefan and Italian Fabio show off their fish-handling skills with their oddly appealing European arrogance. Why are those two a million times easier to root for than Hosea and Leah? Maybe it's because they seem to have a sense of humor about themselves, even when they're feeling feisty -- a far cry from Hosea's repetitive laments. Maybe it's because they don't snivel about how much they love their girlfriend/boyfriend while they make out with a fellow cheftestant on the couch. Maybe it's because they take the piss out of each other without taking either the show or themselves too seriously.

Whatever the reasons, when Stefan gave Hosea an enormous culinary wedgie by skinning and filleting an eel with stunning dexterity, Hosea reacted with typical American style, grace and wit: "He's, like, been doing eel since he was 3 years old, apparently. Great. You know, just another reason Europe's so great."  Have some dignity, man. Have we really fallen so far as a people?

But before we get too superior about the insecure chumps in our midst, let's not forget another American, Jamie, who can't open her mouth without delivering a big, superior nanny-nanny-boo-boo to the universe. After weeks of watching Jamie grimace and blink and sigh deeply at the awful mediocrity of everyone and everything she'd been forced to encounter since agreeing to appear on this damnable show, last week she took the cake by muttering that chef Eric Ripert's dishes at Le Bernadin were underwhelming. "To be honest, I'm bored with this kind of food. It's not something I'm inspired by."

Sweet mother of the Lord, what is wrong with this sorry lot? If it weren't for the fact that perky weirdo Carla is starting to find her stride and hit a few out of the park, I'd be ready to call this one for the Europeans right now.

But even given her terrible attitude, can you believe they sent Jamie home? Jamie, instead of Leah, who's been stumbling along for weeks now? Or why not Hosea, who never totally fails but never, ever blows the judges' socks off completely? Sometimes I think Colicchio is so focused on exactly how the meat or fish is prepared, he can't see past it. Have you noticed how all he talks about is whether something is overdone or underdone, whether a particular cheftestant "respected" his or her protein? I do understand that once you overcook or undercook a piece of meat, the rest of the dish is a non-starter. Still, this is television. Let's hear a little more about the flavors. Obviously every last one of these chefs is quite capable of screwing up a chunk of meat under these particularly trying circumstances.

While we're talking judges, I have to ask: Is Toby Young really a positive addition to this team? I was never overly fond of Gail Simmons' somewhat bland, nasal, finger-licking commentary, but all Young demonstrates, over and over and over again, is that he knows exactly how to lose friends and alienate people. On "Top Chef," he does this with witty one-liners that feel about as fresh and spontaneous as reheated leftovers. Yes, yes, I know he's been a restaurant critic for a few years, but does this crabby naysayer really know that much about food, or is he just good at being caustic for the cameras? In this age of blowhards, chatty pundits and celebrity ass hats, it's chafing when any show or network passes up an actual expert for the sake of yet another Ornery-on-Command TV Personality.

If they wanted an asshole for this spot, I'm sure they could've lured Anthony Bourdain with a big wad of cash. He's far more authentic, clever and nasty. Who wouldn't want to be berated by Bourdain?

Effing emmer effer!

But while we're on the subject of TV's favorite hotheads, let's not overlook Gordon Ramsay's latest successful publicity stunt: The world's most renowned celebrity chef/jackass of all trades/European kitchen tough apparently uttered the word "fuck" 187 times in just under two hours of the show "Gordon's Great British Nightmare" a week ago.

Sounds like a brilliant way to get a little press -- that is, if you've never tuned in for "Gordon Ramsey's The F Word," (3 p.m. Wednesdays on BBC America), a lively, macho cooking show in which every other word Ramsay mutters is a curse. Can it really be considered swearing when it's used less as an expression of anger and more as a means of illustrating a particular cooking technique? For example, in Ramsay's cooking-with-regular-Joes segment, he says to one amateur chef, "Susan, yes? When you lift the fish, make love to it. Don't fuck it." See? Purely instructional.

Or later, Ramsay is watching "Top Gear" host James May cover a fish pie with mashed potatoes and says, "It's like a fucking plasterer. Holy shit. Would you like a trowel?" and "Can we get in the fucking oven now?" and, when their plates of fish pie are next to each other, "I've had that there, next to yours, for the last 10 minutes, I hope to fuck it don't infect it, yes, with shitness."

Ahh, it's so nice how these screeners don't bleep out all of the really informative culinary terms. As you can probably tell, "Gordon Ramsay's The F Word" is really nothing like either "Hell's Kitchen" or "Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares" (although it does have a lot of language in common with this "Great British Nightmare" show). "The F Word" is so scattered and free-spirited and strange, in fact, that it calls to mind my favorite cooking show ever, "Two Fat Ladies," in which two large women traveled around the U.K. in a motorcycle and sidecar combo, cooking and cracking jokes and sampling fatty foods that you'd never, ever want to eat.

Certainly the spirit of "Two Fat Ladies" is hanging in the air as Ramsay goes out to the English countryside to hunt for bunny rabbits with the aid of an enormous golden eagle. Yes, apparently people actually use a trained eagle to hunt for wild hare. As Ramsay looks on, squealing delightedly, the enormous bird snatches up the big rabbit and eats about half of its head off before anyone is able to stop it. Ramsay is thrilled. "We'd never use the head anyway. That's one perfect hare!"

Then we see Ramsay speeding off in his sports car, while he tells us in a voice-over, "I'm going to take the hare back home and hang it for a couple of days to improve the flavor." Holy Christ. Hang it where? In some meat shed? In his utility closet? "Then, I'm going to cook it for the kids' tea." Wow. Is he going to tell them it's bunny rabbit?

But apparently this is part of the routine on "The F Word": enlist the children to help raise animals, then slaughter the animals and feed them to the children. Far kinder than walking into McDonald's and getting your serving of tortured, terrorized cow, I suppose, but you still have to admire Ramsay's boldness. It's obvious he's taking some pleasure in frying up the rabbit, then calling the kids, and asking them, after they've already started eating, if they know what it is. They're not sure. He tells them it's hare. "I'd never guess that!" one of his girls chirps, without skipping a beat. I guess the Ramsays chow on bunny rabbit regularly. Don't you wish Ramsay were your daddy now? Sort of? Just a little?

Plenty of Ramsay's fans certainly seem to, and it's not all that difficult to see why: His freakishly aggressive demeanor just draws people in, in spite of themselves. Now, can you imagine an egotistical, obnoxious, foul-mouthed American pulling that off? Not in a million years. Ramsay makes it very clear, on his 50 or 60 TV shows, that Europeans are a lot cooler than Americans these days.

Of course, if the American Recovery, Reinvestment and Extreme Makeover Act passes, that could change. But these pants will still make our ass look fat.