Food fight

The competitors on Top Chef show the difference between being a cook and being a chef | Harrison Scott Key

In the Great Rhapsody of American Life, food is a big deal. And in America, we've taken the necessities for which our forebears and forefathers fought—a roof over our heads, shirts on our backs, food in our guts—and elevated them to spectacle. Think Extreme Makeover Home Edition, or Project Runway, and now: Top Chef (Wednesdays, 10 p.m. ET, Bravo).

The making of food is indeed its own kind of drama, with a beginning ("Hey, let's grill some tuna"), middle ("The tuna's on fire!") and end ("Wow, honey, the tuna's great"). Unfortunately, cooking shows like Essence of Emeril or 30-Minute Meals are all exposition. Top Chef, though, is all conflict. And that's a good thing.

The show's design is standard: 15 hopefuls, three judges, a host, hurried challenges, and every week someone has to pack up his knives. The last chef in the kitchen wins $100,000 to start his own restaurant. And our upstart chefs—from cooking-school grads to bistro owner-operators—have to earn it: creating a 500-calorie meal for kids at a weight-loss camp, turning a childhood favorite (say, grilled cheese) into something a little more sophisticated, changing up Thanksgiving dinner and making us like it.