Late yesterday afternoon eliminated cheftestant Richie Farina tweeted, “TONIGHT AT 10/9C @chef_chrisjones will be blowing up on TOPCHEF.” After Jones’ (unsurprisingly kind of cloying and gimmicky but mostly) adorable nitrogen-fueled-fanboy-freakout over Nathan Myhrvold, genius, polymath and author of Modernist Cuisine last week, it was impossible to rule out that he (formerly of the “wearer-of-two-pairs-of-glasses-and-hachimaki” fame, now the only Chris on the show) might actually explode at some point during last night’s episode. Would that it were.

No no, at no point during last night’s Restaurant Wars episode did anything even remotely exciting happen, an apparent contractual obligation this season, including/especially the “everything’s-underwhelming-in-Texas” twist — this restaurant war was a battle of the sexes. “It’s going to be boys and girls, fighting it out on the playground,” says Ed Lee, possibly revealing the source of his constant, seemingly un-self-aware sexism.

He continues, “I think the girls are a strong group, but I think male chefs have more talent.” He can’t even refer to the female chefs as such; I’m almost positive his actual intended meaning is that females, in general, are like, okay I guess, but that male chefs have more talent than all women, anywhere.

(For the record, Ty-lör’s “oh snap” face and playful punching of Ed as the terms of the battle provided the best [only good?] moment of the episode.)

The Hughnibrow and a very medicated Padma continue on to explain the most basic concepts of opening a restaurant:

Padma: “It’s up to you to build a restaurant from the ground up.”

Hugh: “Chefs, I really want to see a complete concept: from name to design, to menu, each element should be in sync with the others.”

Padma: “I think my dress is on backwards.”

After a coin flip that determines the guys will take the first night of service, the chefs have 45 minutes to menu plan for three courses (with two options per course, for 100 guests), pick a team member to run the front of the house (FOH) and choose a design theme. Ed takes the FOH for the guys. As the owner his own restaurant, he can “put on a smile just like anyone,” which is all a person needs to run the front for a night of service. Lindsay’s opened like a dozen restaurants for Michelle Bernstein which is why she’s still on the show so she’s at the helm for the girls.

What will decide this battle becomes obvious in the first seconds: the guys decide on a menu of fancy frat food for Canteen, a name literally chosen because it means “communal eating space.” The girls opt for a farm-to-table concept called Half Bushel. Talent-wise, the two teams have just about an equal distribution of heavy-hitters and dead weight — but the guys reveal themselves to lack a certain subtlety and detail-orientation that is essential to a successful dining experience.

This “detail-orientation” isn’t without its complications, though. While there’s not a single suggestion in the boy’s menu planning that’s shot down, anything Bev says is torpedoed just as soon as it escapes her mouth. Granted, beet salads are tired as all get out, but your concept is farm-to-table. On principal you maybe should lose if you don’t have one.

Bev feels put-down and unheard, of course, and decides to do only one thing, of course, and she’s going to make Asian-style short ribs, of course, and it’s really starting to look like she might win this whole thing and God how many more episodes left are there?

In Whole Foods, Ed’s playground metaphor becomes rather apt as Sarah, with a tan linen inexplicably wrapped around her head, picks at and interrogates Bev on every move she makes. With every “Why do you have eggplant? Do you really need three bags? Don’t touch that, it’s mine. Don’t touch my bag, please,” Sarah’s voice reveals the truth at the center of every mean girl’s psyche — it’s the grating quiver of someone who knows exactly how precarious their social position is, how little she did to get to the top and how much game the person she’s trying to keep down’s got.

Further triggering my high school memories is Chris Jones, who cemented my love for him forever by geeking out on Star Trek before heading to the Palm Door to throw down:
“This whole scenario is kind of the Kobayashi Maru… a challenge the Starfleet Academy had to test their captains in an impossible situation. This is the biggest challenge of the competition.” Yes.

His observation isn’t just adorkable, it’s spot on. See, the mind of a chef is a fascinating thing: the combination of creativity and mathematical and scientific competence that conceptualizing and then executing a dish requires seems superhuman. But it’s a capacity with a very limited and very specific application. Even though they throw a bunch of shade on the waitstaff, when the guys' kitchen goes down it’s no one’s fault but their own. There’s a lynchpin between FOH and BOH, and that’s usually whoever is expediting the food. Ed and his serial killer FOH smile just aren’t enough to make it work, and it's over for the guys before it even starts.

Just as the judges sit the guys have their anagnorisis, but cracks beyond the lineup begin to show. By the time Ty’s in the window, the judges are already tasting his underseasoned Thai lettuce cups (isn’t Asian fusion like not even a thing anymore? Let it go, chefs) and the kitchen is officially crashing.

I once worked at a place where every Saturday, at 2 p.m., like clockwork, the same station went down. Truth: it’s just like falling down the stairs. By the time you realize it’s happening it’s already half over. If you tense up, you’re only going to hurt yourself worse. Stay loose and you won’t break your neck.

Paul, who better win this season or I’m going to start self-injuring, gets skittish and jumps in the window. He reveals in voice-over that the “friendship aspect” of the competition got in the way of his taking charge. By the end of the next commercial break he’s totally over it, and he slams Ty for his execution of the pork belly entrée. His bravado comes too little, too late, and the consensus from the judges is that the food is good, but not great, whimsical, but ultimately unserious.

In the last throws of service, Ty-lör says the best, most kitchen-y thing I have ever heard on Top Chef, ever: “We definitely shouldn’t have played circle-jerk expediter, we should have just stuck with one person.”

At the end of the guys service we see Chris Jones walking through the kitchen as he says, “We just do what we always do - prep, service, f*ckin’ kick ass, then go home.” They definitely did the first thing, and the second thing, the third thing only a little, and the fourth thing? Well, the viewing public has to suffer through the girls’ catty, nitpicky service before we can find out.

The girl’s service is everything you think it would be: shrill, eye-roll-y, condescending, tense and full of blame. [N.B: It’s not all these things because they’re women, it’s all of these things because they’re women on Top Chef.] But it’s also got the little touches that demonstrate a certain amount of foresight and attention to detail.

Though the judges aren’t greeted for minutes when they arrive, there’s a pitcher of fresh squeezed lemonade in the lobby for them to enjoy while Lindsay’s in the kitchen yelling at Bev for no reason.

And, unlike the boys, they had the shutters to the kitchen closed, so they could fight in private in the middle of their dinner party. #shitgirlsdo

Lindsay and Sarah spend the entire service talking to Bev like she’s developmentally disabled, and she, for the most part and to her credit, just puts her head down and takes it, all the while turning out a banging short rib dish. She might have her protein on repeat but according to the judges she’s bringing flavor big and in unexpected ways.

The girls are called in first, and judge’s table is real awkward, on account of everything being such a mess left to right. Ultimately, the girls’ menu had a more complete narrative, and regardless of whether or not it was borne out of the most histrionic service in the history of service, the girls are named the winner. They all squeeeee and hug and it’s all over since they won and none of them are in danger are going home.

None of them are going home, but someone does have to be named a winner. Sarah and Lindsay are not pleased when Bev learns she’s taking home a 3-liter bottle of wine for her short ribs. Back in the kitchen Sarah tells Lindsay she deserves more credit than she was given for running FOH, and something becomes clear — it’s more or less impossible for the person running the front to be sent home. Lindsay’s probably going to strategize her way to the end, but there just isn’t a way she’ll be named Top Chef.

The guys take their loss, like, well, men, and there’s very little praise offered for Canteen’s lackluster, incoherent, underwhelming menu. Tragically, the judges felt Ty’s lettuce cups were more Boring than Ty-lör, more Ty than Thai, and he’s told pack his knives and go.

Were the dreamiest of the dreamies Eric Ripert not guest-judging next week’s episode, I’d be absolutely disconsolate, but his handsomeness will be at judges’ table in just six days.

By-by, Ty. Hate to see you go, love to watch you walk away.