When the terrestrial TV landscape is looking a bit sparse, I find it’s better to linger in the channels higher up in the canopy. Like Food Network. It’s the single best place to let your mind pool into a warm puddle of bliss, with the mother goddess Nigella followed by Diners, Drive-Ins And Dives (featuring the kid from My Parents Are Aliens throwing gang signs and shouting “Off the chain!” next to a sandwich) and, finally, the pinnacle of lovely gooey slop, Man V Food, now dearly departed (RIP).
The news is that Man V Food has lately bequeathed a successor, Man Finds Food (recent episodes available at foodnetwork.co.uk). For those who missed the first two episodes, the new programme is, basically, exactly the same as the old, except Adam looks less like he’s going to keel over with a fatal aneurysm. This is good, because Adam Richman has an allure I just can’t get over. And I’m not alone. I once watched him enchant Gladys Knight, patron of the Pips and proprietress of Gladys Knight’s Chicken And Waffles in Atlanta with masterly eyebrow deployment alone. Adam is a man with natural charm. Seeing it swallowed by layers of soft unctuous fat as MVF’s food challenges took their toll became uncomfortable. At times, usually somewhere towards the end of a 7lb burrito challenge, Adam was reminiscent of Elvis circa 1977 – clammy, spangled off his pillowy tits, lurching about onstage in Las Vegas era – and with all the attendant and very confused romantic feelings that that entails.
Now, newly trim and slim, Adam’s current task is not simply to track down gourmet spots – mainly involving chefs with the unholy trinity of beard, flat cap and blowtorch – but also the cannon in the foodie’s know-it-all arsenal, “secret” menus. I’m not sure how many of these “secret” menu items actually existed before Adam and his free publicity rocked up. If you had already made a Guinness, goat’s cheese and duck pizza, wouldn’t you want it proudly displayed for all to see? Americans, bless their furred, wheezing hearts, love this stuff. And so, while the challenges of MVF are gone, they’re replaced by gratuitously OTT dishes such as steak with rendered marrow and foie gras butter, or the intriguing “lobster on lobster”. Think of this as gluttony in moderation, with a bit of boursin stuck on top for artisanal measure.
Trademark, jovial asides feature Adam getting lost in bowling alleys, literal alleys and dockyards, hunting down restaurants that have sacked off such fripperies as “signs”. Presumably, Adam and crew navigate only by tuning into distant calls of “I dunno, Patty, just put some frickin lobster on lobster and see if he falls for it”.
Despite all the theatrics – or maybe because of them – Man Finds Food offers probably the most relevant reflection of modern food culture on TV right now. It makes for strange viewing, because food culture also happens to be the worst thing about humanity right now. The same philosophy behind off-menu concepts such as an ice-cream float made with Chantilly cream and liquid nitrogen – which you can only order if you follow the executive chef on social media – is also responsible for faintly embarrassed crowds queuing in drizzle for a soft opening. Why, it’s almost like if you put enough time and effort into stuffing your gob, you cease to be a little piggy wiggy and instead see your hobby raised to the lofty heights of “legit lifestyle choice”. It’s not just dinner, but a thrilling urban safari when you find yourself scrabbling around on the wrong side of the tracks being offered illegal weapons – as Adam was in downtown LA – in pursuit of the new hot buzzy cheese toastie joint.
Internet researched, toe-dipping fetishisation is everything that’s wrong with modern life. But, frankly, for all the episodes of Man Finds Food I’ve watched, I’ve seen precisely zero veins bulge on Adam’s neck, nor signs of systemic organ failure. This is good news, because for a while I had been imagining Adam in a supersized casket and me crying through Sicilian widow garb into a bucket of chicken. And no one wants that.
