In which you find out that I am a stalker

A few weeks ago, at a brewery/beer event in Baltimore, I met Chef Teddy Folkman and his bacon-y mussels and frites recipes. Teddy is the executive chef at Granville Moore's in DC and a finalist on Food Network's "The Next Food Network Star" show. He was cooking in a tent over a hot plate, but dammit that food was good and he was a bit of a cutie. I went back for seconds.

The following week I DVR'd the Food Network Star show and have been watching it regularly. Watching him cry on the show and kind of be an ass. Yeah...um.

To me what's most maddening about the show is that you can't smell or taste the food and so have no idea who is actually doing well in the competition. Shockingly, it's not the same as watching a singing or dancing competition where you can judge for yourself the talent, or lack thereof, of the contestants. I am forced to take Bobby Flay's word for it, and having been to Bobby Flay's restaurant in Atlantic City, I don't know if we should all be trusting a man whose key lime dessert was neon goo. (But the steak was good!)

But back to Teddy. In a few weeks I will be attending his cooking demonstration at Sur La Table, where he will prepare a three-course meal and I will get to eat it.

I mean, there will be other people there, but I will be the one slipping him my phone number on a napkin.

And whether or not he calls, after visiting Granville Moore's, I will be sure to follow him to his house and sit outside his building (gotta tint the windows on the Accord first) with binoculars and a scrapbook of our two-month relationship.

Wearing this on a t-shirt: