We've been watching this year's Great British Menu, which has featured a total of 32 young chefs, of whom all but one have been men (and unfortunately she didn't make it past the heats in a pretty testosterone-fuelled atmosphere. All very good natured, though, and I did find myself feeling very motherly towards them all. I don't yet know who won, as we are still catching up, but i can confidently assure you that none of the 32 wore much jewellery, none of them were wearing outdoor clothes, and their hair was short and mostly neatly cut (on was a bit tousled, because he had unruly wavy hair, but it was short and well out of the way. None of them looked like Nigella. They were, of course, chefs appearing on TV, not TV chefs.
They didn't refer to anything about things being 'dirty', but quite often referred to a grill-pan full of delicacies such as langoustines or Irish crubeens as 'bad boys' as in 'just getting these bad boys crisped up/ finished off', or whatever. I associated it with the use of words such as 'wicked', or 'sick' to denote approval or appreciation in teenage slang, at least when my own sons were at that stage over a decade ago.
And Felice - I'm gratified to learn that my suspicions about the specialist method of preparing the cauldron soup were proved correct, right down to the brand of 'flavor enhancer'. I should be glad that leftovers are not wasted in this age of austerity - perhaps we should rejoice 