Up to now, I haven't had much to say about Top Chef this season. It's not because I didn't know someone on the show (which I have twice before), it's because so far I'm kinda . . . meh. There's no hottie to lust for, no one is truly hate-worthy, and the challenges have been a little boring (Cooking for a block-party? Yawn.). But now we're down to the final four and finale in Puerto Rico, so here's my take:

First of all, I know some people think that Dale shouldn't have gone home early, that his food deserved to be featured in the finale. Sorry, but Dale had to go home and have his diaper changed.

Spike had used all his tricks, and spazzy charm only gets you so far. See Andrew.

Lisa is next on the chopping block, and I'm not sure she deserves to be in the finale. She's consistently been in the bottom tier, and her attitude is icky. I'm all for defiance and standing up for the food you cook, but she's not a leader, she swears way too much for a smart person, and when everyone else is drinking wine at the end of the night, she has a bottle of beer. I don't trust a chef who doesn't drink wine.

Antonia is quietly stable and a real contender. She cooks like someone who likes to eat, which shouldn't be such a shocker. I'll admit a slight bias for the because she cooks for her kid, and I feel like she and I could be really, really great coffee buddies. Is that weird?

I heart short, smart, curvy, foodie girls named Stephanie.

Richard is, of course, the one most people pick to win, even though his bag of tricks hasn't seemed to help in the last few weeks. The thing I like most about Richard is that, unlike previous molecular gastronomes Marcel and Hung, Richard doesn't rely on technology alone: He can cook basic without mucking it up. Of all the contestants this season, his brain has come up with the most seductive and screen-licking flavor combinations. Side note: His wedding was catered by the Atlanta Oceanaire.

By the way, I know it's just a show and that the editors are the ultimate painters of good and evil contestants, but I still can't help but get sucked in. I just wish they'd let Tony loose more often.

And P.S. Wasn't it a hoot watching Colicchio expo? Someone needs a pat on the back.

And P.P.S. Didn't Rick Tramonto look like a hunched-over golem while he was eating? Sit up!

Last week’s news was that Minneapolis is embarking on an effort to promote its occasionally off-tasting tap water and that several of Parasole’s restaurants are now providing an alternative to it that isn’t environmentally degrading.

Manny’s, Pittsburgh Blue, and Good Earth have added special purification filters and will provide complimentary carafes of local tap water filtered of chemicals and with a more neutral taste. Its restaurants have not taken bottled water off the menu, but the effort will reduce their sales (and possibly soft drink/iced tea sales), all high-margin items for restaurants, so kudos to Phil Roberts and company.

The rap on bottled water is that shipping it all over the globe wastes tons of fossil fuels and contributes greenhouse gases to the atmosphere. Personal-size plastic water bottles are also a waste nightmare that few people bother (or are able) to recycle. (Some local restaurants are unable to recycle because their municipalities do not collect recycling from businesses.)

The Minnesota Monitor link above also notes that several local eateries are working to discourage the use of bottled water, but the Parasole alternative is an ingenious route that mimics several high-profile restaurants in the San Francisco region and New York City.

Of course, beef production is an environmental nightmare in many other respects, so Parasole’s efforts may be a drop in the bucket relative to the damage steak causes the planet, but clearly the solution to these climate, pollution, and fossil fuel situations will not come by people making massive lifestyle changes against their will, but in convincing folks to make small, relatively painless changes that add up to a real revolution.

Would you consider me prejudicial if I said that I shunned Scotch eggs just because of the freaky way they look? Are they the most hideous bar snack ever?

What we have is basically a hard boiled egg, encased in sausage and bread crumbs, then deep-fried. I've always wondered if, perhaps like haggis, they are a colossal Scottish culinary joke. Do the kilted sit back and giggle every time an order goes out?

Well, I had an "ah-ha" moment the other night while at a pub in Cincinnati. I'd gone to Nicholson's with some lads specifically for the cask-conditioned ale (which was a bourbon and beer revelation like Dark Knight at our local Barley John's), and we ended up with a table full of bar snacks including fried pickles and some ugly eggs. I was just hungry enough to give them a shot.

Yes, they are an Atkins dream. And no, they are not a culinarian's ideal food choice, but I have to admit they were pretty tasty. The outside was crispy, the sausage was zingy and flavorful, and the egg yolk wasn't as dry as you'd expect. All in all, the Scotch egg turned out to be the perfect drink bomb: something hearty to put in the belly with all the sloshy goodness.

So now I'm occupied with the thought of finding good Scotch eggs (which aren't really even Scottish) at home. I know I'm destined to prowl Brit's and Merlin's Rest and other pubs next week throwing back a pint or two, all in the name of due diligence. It's rough being food-obsessed.

After my night out in The 'Nati, I slunked back to my hotel room and swear to God, Braveheart was on. It's a sign.

I was by Oceanaire Seafood Room Monday night and ran into a pleasant surprise on the menu—fiddlehead ferns, that sweet, fleeting spring treat available only in northern climes. Chef Rick Kimmes is butter braising them with portobello mushrooms and wild ramps, another spring addiction for many of us. The tiny fiddleheads have a sweet mineral flavor and a firm but yielding texture. Kimmes says his current supply is from Michigan, but he was serving some Minnesota beauties earlier in the month. He expects to have them around through month’s end, but call ahead if you’re coming in just for fiddleheads (hint: they’ve got some killer crab cakes and pork chops as well). The price, if you’re interested, is $5.95 for a plate of them, $8.95 for a really big plate.

I can’t even tell you how much walleye I’ve eaten lately. My gut-stretching bender of fillets, fritters, strips, sliders, and cakes has been research for an upcoming Mpls.St.Paul Magazine feature. I began as a walleye nostalgist, eager to rekindle taste memories of a saltine-crusted fish and my dad’s stories of the way things were. Now that I’m more of a realist, I’ve gotta say: The quest for the best has turned up some downright appalling concoctions.

There has been questionable use of Parmesan, teriyaki, and flavor-killing onion on walleye all over town. But the strangest dish—by far—is the St. Paul Grill’s walleye dusted with almond flour and a pecan Frangelico butter sauce. As my companions and I contemplated the absurdity of the plate before us, which tasted like a mix of lake fish and praline ice cream (a boffo seller, our server reported), we got to thinking about other unpalatable combinations that somehow persist under a veil of deliciousness. I mean, what’s with lobster or truffle mac and cheese anyway? They’re all great ingredients, but they don’t complement one another. (Maybe it’s just a way to charge $11 for mac and cheese?) And while I’m at it, can anyone explain the appeal of foie gras Eggs Benedict (that’s you, Cosmos)?

The classics are the classics for a reason. Chefs are experimenting with our palates in the name of seeming innovative or keeping their jobs interesting. It’s time we called them out. What are other dishes that annoy or perplex you? Let us know by posting a comment.

Apparently, I'm probably not going to see any of the 600 big ones that the friendly IRS is doling out. I guess I have too many kids or my hair is too blonde or I'm under the six-foot-three-inch height requirement. Shocker.

Since I'm not getting any real money, I can afford to fantasize about what I'd do with my take if I did get it (catch up on my mortgage? Pshaw!). And because I'm food-obsessed, it's a truly odd and decadent pondering:

If I had a spare, fancy-free $600, I'd:

—Plunk down at the oyster bar at Oceanaire and complete the definitive coastal showdown by ordering 100 East Coast oysters (mmmm, Malpeque) and 100 West Coast oysters (mmmm, Hama Hama).

—Run the entire list of Belgian beers at Bulldog NE and hire a stretch Hummer to drive me home.

—Grease the palms of the counter guys at Sea Salt so that I wouldn't have to wait in the blessed line just to get my clam fries.

—Get to Premiere Cheese Market and buy a ridiculous amount of Sottocenere and Stinking Bishop. Eat on premisis.

—Pop in to Isles Bun & Coffee early one morning, order six cinnamon rolls, six puppy dog tails, and six caramel rolls, and tip them the rest. Because those kids work early, and they work hard.

—Secure a private table on the rooftop deck at Solera and try every tapa on the menu (maybe the chorizo bocadillas twice). Oh, and a pitcher of sangria and a pitcher of sangria.

—Fly to Maine, find a lobster, eat it.

—Drive down to La Quercia and load up my car with roughly twenty-five pounds of prosciutto.

—Hire a party van to drive my favorite people down to Miesville for a burger and a game.

What about you?

Jordan Smith, the opening chef at Mission American Kitchen, the consultant who helped reinvent Downtowner Woodfire Grill, and a longtime D’Amico star, is getting ready to open a new restaurant near Downtown Minneapolis.

It has no name yet but does have a location, 600 Washington Ave. N. It will be a pizzeria but not like any Minnesota pizzeria I know of. Its hook will be a coal-fired oven, a type of pizza cookery most common in the Northeast and the essential form of pizza in New York City. The oven fires at 900 degrees, meaning pies are done in approximately two minutes.

Clean-burning (“cleaner than wood”) anthracite coal sits on the deck of the oven and imparts “a unique flavor, a deep smokiness,” Smith says, but there is no dust or black lung disease. If you’ve been to Patsy’s in NYC, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t but have been to Punch or Nea, expect a sturdier (but not thick) crust than on Neapolitan pies and a texture that’s not as wet.

Smith expects to have sixty seats and offer pizza, salads, some apps cooked in the coal oven, plus beer and wine; he hopes to be open by August 1.

(Photo Courtesy of Lombardi's Pizza in New York City)

I have a secret life during spring, one that takes me to parks and grassy knolls and hills and dales. I am a forager.

We are a sneaky lot. We skulk through public lands looking for treasured morels or ramps, keeping our finds quiet, even from other mycophagists. I've been known to book "meetings" all day that require the use of a state park guide and my Wellies.

I can't claim to be in the same league as the professional sneaks. They tend to show up at the back door of a restaurant with a basket full of goodies for the chef, and then like Keyser Soze, they disappear. You can't contact them, you have to wait for them to come to you.

If you're game, there are a couple of well-known hunting sites. Morel enthusiasts swear that Whitewater State Park and the nearby town of Elba has some sort of charm on it. Lake Maria and Afton have also been sites of reportedly good finds. Unless they're just telling me that to throw me off the trail, which I wouldn't put past them. Novices might want to enroll in Slow Food MN's Wild Harvest Tour on May 18, just to be sure.

Luckily, you don't have to leave the city to reap the rewards because bigtime foragers usually sell at the weekend markets. I know ramps have already been sighted at the Midtown Farmers' Market, and you'll probably find some mushrooms at the Mill City Market, which opens for the first time this weekend.

For those of you lusting for the garlicky/oniony bite of ramps right now, pop into Golden Fig on Grand Ave. where you can buy a little pot of ramp spread made with Hope Creamery butter.

You have two weeks to get to Grandma’s before a Minneapolis institution passes away. Still, it’s worth noting what the restaurant company’s president, Brian Daugherty, told the Strib about his decision not to renew his lease on the West Bank.

He said Grandma’s had been “legislated out of business” via the state’s smoking ban, a law that precludes restaurants from counting tips against the state minimum wage, and lower blood alcohol driving limits. “Legislators tell me jobs are important,” he told the paper. “I share with them how to save thousands of [jobs] without any downside to absolutely anyone . . . they vote against it.”

Wow.

I understand that it’s tough out there and the restaurant business is especially tough. But when restaurateurs convince themselves there is no “downside” when bartenders contract lung cancer, innocents are killed by drunk drivers, and servers can’t make a living wage, they are wearing blinders that cover their eyes, ears, and brain. And what explains Grandma’s success in Duluth, where it still operates several lucrative, smoke-free, high-wage, .08 alcohol restaurants?

It’s my opinion that those laws crimped Grandma’s, but the more serious ailment at its West Bank outpost was a terminal case of irrelevance brought on by an ultra-competitive restaurant scene.

This weekend found me breaking one of my cardinal rules: Never shop at Costco on Saturday. And yet, with a teenage dinner party looming, it seemed my only choice. The key is to be there early so that I don't have to fight as many sample snackers, who snack on food samples while leaving their cart to block the entire aisle. Heaven forbid you should say "Excuse me, I just need to get by" and lay a finger on the handle of said blockade because the sample snackers will turn and bite you. Swear to God, they will bite you. But I digress.

After such an early adventure, and since we were in the area, I thought that the teens and I would sneak over to 3 Squares just to see if they were open to the public yet. Technically, they weren't; they were having a training party. But luck was on our side, and they offered us a seat at the bar and a free meal to give the bartenders some practice.

The gang behind 3 Squares is Blue Plate Restaurant Company, the one who mastered the urban diner concept with Highand Grill, Edina Grill, Longfellow Grill, and the burger and beer lovin' Groveland Tap. This looks to be its first ex-urban joint and definitely has a softer, less edgy feel to it.

We couldn't order the full menu but were happy with the amount of choices offered. I am not ashamed to say that we had crispy wings as an appetizer at 10:30 a.m. because damn, they were good. I followed with the breakfast tostada, the teens with French toast and pancakes. Peeking at the regular menu, it looks much like the others in the diner collection.

I have to say, being a person who has opened a ton of restaurants, that the Blue Plate gang is doing it right. Our sweet and chatty bartender told us that throughout the last two weeks of training, she and the crew had tasted everything on the menu and that they were in the middle of four full days of practice parties. I saw hands-on management everywhere, and as we were headed out the door, no less than four people said "Thanks" and "Come again!" Too many restaurants think training is a bothersome expense, never quite grasping how expensive it can be in the long run.

3 Squares opens today (May 5), and I'm thinking of manufacturing a need for a Costco run just so I can reward myself with some mac and cheese.

3 Squares, 12690 Arbor Lakes Pkwy., Maple Grove, 763-425-3330