We love the Japanese version of Iron Chef. from the first episode, we were totally hooked.
It was only natural that we would respond this way. Like other favorites Quincy and CSI: Miami, Iron Chef is basically the same show every night, and we love that kind of TV. If you can say what the people on the show are going to say before they do, can a drinking game be far behind?
Of course, with Iron Chef it’s not so much a matter of what’s said that’s predictable, it’s what’s used. There are about 30 ingredients that the chefs use over and over again, and up until this show, we’d never heard of any of them. What an education! I can’t wait for Christmas so we can cook our turkey in a pig’s bladder.
We’re also wildly entertained by the enthusiasm they have for organ meats. In fact, the panel of judges audibly smack their lips over every part of the animal you and I would throw out. Lobster brains, codfish livers, squid faces and beef bones boiled down to brown bowls of thick gelatin. And everything gets topped with fish fins and edible flowers, so the finished platters look like something you’d scoop out of your garbage disposal.
As jaw-dropping as the dishes are, nothing compares to the desserts. Impressing the judges with something sweet is no small feat when the main ingredient is haddock. We especially loved the squid ink ice cream, and watching the gray rivulets running down the judge’s hands as they licked their hell cones.
So it occurred to us the other night, as Iron Chef Italian made ravioli out of ox spleen, that this show needs a game. Something you can play at home, in the safety of your own bedroom, where no one will ever force you to eat a goat’s face.
So, here you go:
There are three cards below. Each has 24 ingredients or tools used by the Iron Chefs; those invincible men of culinary skill. All have the same information, but each is laid out differently, like Bingo.
You don’t have to choose a chef. Any time something is used by anyone, you get to mark that box. We think it’s very possible that by the time the judges sit down to a steaming plate of flounder pancreas, you could very well be yelling, “KAGA!”