Chef Anne Burrell had a way of turning instruction into incantation. In one of the last videos she filmed, posted by the Food Network in May, she was frying sausage for a frittata. She tipped the meat around the pan until it caught just enough color, then turned to the camera with a conspiratorial grin. “I like to get a little brown on my sausage. Why?” She dropped into her gravelly Cookie Monster growl for the answer: “Brown food tastes good.”
I’ve repeated those words to myself countless times. As a younger cook, I was still learning not to flinch when food darkened in the pan — to trust that the caramelized bits clinging to the bottom weren’t mistakes, but flavor waiting to happen. “Brown food tastes good” steadied my hand when I wanted to rescue onions-in-progress too soon, when the butter-slicked tangle was still pale and squeaky instead of sweet and golden. It nudged me to trust a roast chicken with five more minutes, until the skin blistered into crackle and glass. It promised that the scorched frill at the bottom of a skillet was not failure, but the start of a sauce.
The phrase worked almost like those self-esteem cassette tapes I used to see in bookstore displays as a kid: corny, repetitive, weirdly powerful — a kind of culinary manifestation. Repeat it, believe it and the results followed.
That’s because Anne Burrell was more than good TV. She was a good teacher. And her mottos were her method.
It’s not exactly surprising when you trace her career. Before the lights and cameras, she was at the Institute of Culinary Education in New York, standing in front of students instead of a film crew. She came to television already fluent in the rhythms of instruction — the patience, the humor, the knack for making technique feel accessible.
In early-career interviews, it’s clear Burrell was already drawn to a style of teaching that was theatrical, precise, and infused with joy; the kind of instruction that makes you lean in, listen, and try again.
For instance, in a 2009 interview with the food blog “Restaurant Girl,” Burrell was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. Her answer was telling in its simplicity: “Julia Child.” The iconic chef represented the type of presenter Burrell was drawn to: exuberant, exacting, joyful in her pedagogy. Burrell explained that she’d first stepped into the classroom after burning out in restaurant kitchens. “I needed a change of scenery, but something still involved with cooking, and it definitely made me a better cook,” she said.
Teaching forced her to interrogate technique — to ask, “Why do I do this?” — and in the process, decide what kind of cook she wanted to be. Television offered a new stage for that same approach, bringing her classroom instincts to millions of viewers hungry to learn. “Secrets of a Restaurant Chef” in 2008, then “Worst Cooks in America” in 2010, simply scaled up the classroom. Even when the shows leaned into chaos or competition, her role was always the same: teacher first.
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Her approach wasn’t just about what to cook, but how to think like a cook. That’s where her mottos come in — short, memorable phrases that condensed technique into a moment you could carry from the screen to your own kitchen.
Take seasoning, for example. “Salty like the ocean, but not the Dead Sea” wasn’t abstract advice; it was an invitation to taste and adjust, to smell the mineral tang in the water and feel it on your fingers. In her bolognese recipe, she wrote: “Pasta water should ALWAYS be well salted. Salty as the ocean! TASTE IT! If your pasta water is under-seasoned, it doesn’t matter how good your sauce is — your complete dish will always taste under-seasoned.” That one line could transform the way a cook felt about an entire meal.
Timing and temperature got their own shorthand with “BTBRTS” — Bring to Boil, Reduce to Simmer. Four letters distilled a practice that could take decades to internalize, making it repeatable even in the chaos of a busy kitchen.
Knife skills, too, were given a linguistic beat: “Motion of the ocean” for rocking cuts, “slices, sticks, dices” to map the rhythm of the hand and blade. The words painted the motion, letting a novice feel it in their own wrists. And, of course, “Brown food tastes good” reminded you that color signals flavor, that the hiss and smell of fond in a pan promised richness waiting to be coaxed into a sauce.
Her approach wasn’t just about what to cook, but how to think like a cook. That’s where her mottos come in — short, memorable phrases that condensed technique into a moment you could carry from the screen to your own kitchen.
These phrases worked not just because they were clever, but because they tapped into the way humans actually learn. Cognitive science shows that mnemonics help memory, distinctive voice draws attention and a sense of joy strengthens retention. In other words, laughter and rhythm make lessons stick. Burrell delivered all three like a high-octane seasoning, sprinkling them over even the most mundane techniques.
Where other chefs might bark flat instructions or wave a knife in frustration, her words felt like a hand on your shoulder, a wink across the counter.
This is why she was such a great mentor on “Worst Cooks in America.” The show could have easily devolved into performative yelling at struggling home cooks, a carnival of culinary mishaps. Instead, Burrell embraced her role as teacher above all else. Her not-so-subtle message was clear: if these cooks could do it, so could you. She cheered, corrected and coaxed, always with a mix of humor, patience and attention to detail. Every burnt sauce, every floppy omelet, every literal grilled cheese attempt became a small opportunity for learning. For viewers at home, it was proof that the skills she demonstrated weren’t locked behind a restaurant door; they were achievable in your own kitchen.
It’s unfortunate that the final seasons of “Worst Cooks in America” were cloaked in a strange limbo. When season 28 was announced, Burrell was conspicuously absent. “Why aren’t you in ‘Worst Cooks?’ It’s not the same,” commented one fan on Instagram. Burrell replied simply, “Honestly I don’t know…” Another fan asked, “Chef, how come you are not doing ‘Worst Cooks’ this season? That is your show.” Again, she offered no closure: “Uuuuughhh…I know. And I don’t know.”
She returned for season 29, her last, which concluded this week. Fans were unanimous: it felt anemic. On Reddit, one viewer wrote, “Well, the season finale of ‘Worst Cooks in America,’ and Anne’s final season, aired last night, and not a single post to be found. This was a show that at one point had a fervent following…now? Crickets.” Others debated why the show had lost its spark: too many inane games, over-edited drama, and a focus on contestant personalities instead of actual cooking.
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And yet, through all of it, fans noticed Burrell never phoned it in. Even when the season felt like a shadow of what it once was, her voice — her methods, her mottos, her insistence that anyone could learn — persisted. Online conversations quickly pivoted from critique of the finale to celebrating her signature Burrellisms. Scan the digital world since her passing, and much of the outpouring revolves around those catchphrases and how deeply they’ve embedded themselves in home cooking.
“Every time I make soup, I hear her voice say BTBRTS,” one fan wrote. “‘Salty like the ocean!’ My kids grew up with her. Every time I am cooking pasta, potatoes, etc., with my youngest (now adult) daughter, that phrase is used.”
In kitchens across the country, Anne Burrell continues to teach — lesson by lesson, phrase by phrase, pan by pan. And so somewhere, between the hiss of butter and the smell of roasting chicken, she is still there, reminding every cook who’ll listen: “Brown food tastes good.”
