Hello. My name is Brian Moylan. I am not Joshua David Stein. He had something better to do this week, and now you are stuck with me. It's OK. I make a mean scallop ceviche.

Last night we got a treat almost as good as Padma Lakshmi naked and covered in honey: a super-sized episode of Top Chef: Las Vegas. Apparently the show need an extra 15 minutes to give a sloppy, honey-covered kiss to the Air Force, who got more attention and positive mentions than the Glad Family of Products. The chef's even got into the action talking about how much they loved the military and how all of their families have fought for our freedom. They all fell short of donning jumpsuits and and cooking under a "Kitchen Accomplished" banner, but still, it was very motivating. I marched down to Times Square at 11:16 p.m. and enlisted.

But first, there was the quick fire, where everyone had to cook with potatoes. Is that because when people in army cartoons have a shitty job in they have to peel potatoes or because the guest judge was Mark Peel? After a quick bout of lesbian-on-lesbian drama (a rarely known strain that is quite vicious and deadly, like swine flu) we saw a whole bunch of dishes, including two threeways. I never thought that I would tire of threeways, but after all these years watching Top Chef they seem to have lost their flavor. What ever happened to good, old-fashioned, missionary-position one way? It's called monogamy, people. If it's good enough for the bedroom, it's good enough for the kitchen.

Anyway, Jen (who the live bloggers call Sa-beech, because she always mispronounces "ceviche" as "cevich" and, well, she's a bit of a bitch) won.

Because she won, she was named Grand Moff of the Top Chef kitchen and had to order around the two-man platoons to cook a meal for a 300 Air Force fliers. Oorah! Oh wait, that's the Marines. They had to do this all using the equipment and supplies in a normal Air Force mess. In the realm of Top Chef challenge, this seemed to be only a minor inconvenience as opposed to a total disaster—like only being able to use blenders and the only protein you can serve is the carcasses of geese that have been sucked into and expelled from jet engines.

We find it odd that Ashley got all uppity about having to cook for a bachelor/bachelorette party last week because she's a lesbian and can't get married, but then she was all jazzed about cooking for the Air Force. Hey Ashley, I just found out the gays aren't allowed in the military either! When I got to Times Square at 11:16 p.m. they told me to march my faggoty ass home. And there's a war on. The nerve.

Jen wasn't a very benevolent Grand Moff (but when are they ever) but she kept things running smoothly. This episode unintentionally turned into a great advertisement for the military, not because everyone was saying how great they were, but because it showed how well a top-down organization can run. Sa-beech controlled all the teams and supervised and told them where they needed to be when and each unit functioned independently, but for the greater good of the whole mission. Brilliant. Send Sa-beech to Afghanistan and she will come back with Osama bin Laden's balls, which she will then sauté in duck fat and serve the meal of the righteous.

So the military buffet turned out nicely. There was some chowder and pork belly and pork and chili and pasta salad and bread pudding that looked just like Padma covered in honey and waiting on a sinfully sticky bed. Yum.

When we go back to Tom and Padma's spiderhole, we learn that their favorites were Kevin and Eli's pork and pasta potato salad and Michael V. and Michael I.'s pork belly lettuce wrap. The judges give ample praise and the Glad Family of Products Gold Medal of Valor to Michael V. His brother sits jealously by, figuring how he can have his sibling killed so that Tom Hanks will show up and bring him home. It will be called Saving Chef Brian, and it will win Oscars.

Of course, the best part of any military excursion is the crushing defeat. Michael I.—who we call Jersey Guido, because, duh—was called back for his crappy shrimp salad. He's on the top and the bottom at the same time. He is the first versatile man in the history of Top Chef. Also on the bottom are Preeti and Laurine, who made pasta salad. One of the rules of this show is that you are never going to win making a dish your mother can master. That's why threeways do so well. No one can imagine their mother making a threeway.

Now, if Sa-beech was a Grand Moff, then the Judges were Darth Vader, Emperor Palpatine, Jabba the Hutt, and Princess Leia in a gold bikini and dripping with honey. They were unrelentingly mean. They made Simon Cowell look like a first year infantryman who was just learning to get over his naivety. It was totally awesome. They tried to get Pretti and Laurine to turn on each other, but like good foxhole mates, they stood strong against adversity. But alas, poor Preeti was KIA and sent home in a box. We think mostly it's because she said she became a chef because of 9/11. Just for that, she deserves to be shot.