There are, unsurprisingly, many issues with Paris Hilton’s latest foray into reality TV, Cooking With Paris, foremost of which is its proud parading of profligacy. What one least expected, however, was for Hilton, in this political climate, to take a deep dive into perpetuating caricatures of certain cultures. Whether she “meant to” or not. Most glaringly, the Italian one, as it seems to be the last “safe” ethnic group to appropriate from and stereotype.
The first indication that Paris has little acquaintance with the ways of authentic Italianness (despite being “so well-traveled”) is the fact that she strives to make her food like the kind on the menu at Dan Tana’s. A West Hollywood restaurant that was started not by an Italian, but a Serbian soccer player-turned-actor. Certainly gives one a vote of confidence in the cuisine, doesn’t it? Thus, it should come as no shock that the fare on the menu is your standard interpretation of Italian food from an Italian American perspective: too much sauce, too-large portions and misspellings galore on the menu. But because Dan Tana’s is a longtime “celebrity watering hole” with menu items named after both Rick and Nicky Hilton, Paris seeks to pay homage to it in the hope of getting her own dish named after her by the time she’s through. Which of course she will because: money and influence.
To set the tone for the butchery that’s afoot, Paris naturally commences this episode at the Westfield in Century City, where an Eataly location is installed. Because Americans remain convinced that their knowledge of finer things is superior so long as they know the value of Eataly, Paris proves to be the everywoman in this regard. And surely, the store didn’t mind the plug it got as a result of Paris showing up (like other institutions in the series, including La Princesita Tortilleria, Gelson’s and The Farmer’s Market at The Grove). Playing up the location by wielding her “daydreaming bit” (where she imagines one scenario until abrupt, banal reality sets in) to the tune of opera music, Paris descends the staircase amid white smoke before grabbing a basket in her over-the-top white dress complete with see-through cutout components in the skirt. On her journey through the store, she gets disgusted by the origins of prosciutto, gazes at herself in a refrigerator filled with caviar and decimates a pizza by dropping it and then adding mozzarella balls to the top as she insists it doesn’t have enough cheese. Clearly, a culinary savant.
Seemingly there because her last name “sounds Italian,” Demi Lovato arrives at the house to help Hilton prepare and consume the meal. But not before a “little intro” with Hilton’s voiceover, “Tonight I’m tackling Italian food, it’s the best” as images of people eating spaghetti, a pizzaiolo tossing pizza in the air and nasty sauce being poured over some pasta are shown as a means to evidently reveal just how shitty her taste and knowledge of another culture is despite being a millionaire who’s supposed to know better. To have had access to more intricate exposure than these cliches. It gets worse and more cringeworthy as the episode goes on, with Paris declaring she wants to make homemade pink heart-shaped ravioli that, quelle surprise, won’t be received through the pasta maker she doesn’t deserve to own, likely because it was so fucking affronted by her gall.
The duo tries their best to prove their prowess in the kitchen by also making a caprese salad—which Paris grossly dubs “Eas-ay Caprese.” Having apparently grown up in an environment for rich people where they never noticed the behind-the-scenes mechanics of cooking, Lovato exclaims that she had no idea basil leaves could actually be attached to a root as she pulls it out of the bag. That’s the thing about plants though—they have roots. The horror becomes worse as they take out the balsamic vinegar to Americanize the shit out of the dish. “You really can’t overdo the balsamic,” Demi tells Paris before she proceeds to douse it. Uh, yes, actually, you can.
Matters grow worse when Paris starts to make her “Unicorn-oli.” That means cannoli with a shit ton of “edible” glitter added to its purple glaze, since Paris believes firmly that all food should be “cute”—never mind if it’s bastardized and foul. Never mind that cannoli are already a decidedly “New York version” of what “Italian” food is supposed to be, Paris wants to take it to the next level for her West Coast ruination of the cuisine. Which hurts, to a point, because the West Coast actually does tend to offer more authentic Italian fare than the East. Probably because the Italians who immigrated to the West had to work ten times harder to go that extra distance in order to evade New York.
The chintzy interpretation continues to be laid on thick as shots of the décor in her dining room reveal Chianti bottles, red-and-white checkered patterns and cheesy red roses to drive home the point that this bitch doesn’t know from Italian. Though she would like to convince viewers she does as she gives another voiceover, “Mangia! It’s Italian.” As Lovato and Hilton take in the decorations they had no hand in, Paris comments, “All these like random photos. It’s not my family.” But it’s all part of the stereotype, isn’t it? That Italians birth a fuck ton of kids and are super into family—that is, when their heads aren’t buried in a plate of spaghetti drenched in disgraceful red sauce topped with meatballs for the full Lady and the Tramp effect (indeed, it’s a small wonder “Bella Notte” isn’t played at any point).
“Bone-uh no-tay! That’s also Italian,” Paris concludes in her grotesque accent. Wanting to exhibit one last time that richies can’t, at the very least, seem to buy an expensive enough tutor to stamp the crude and crass American accent out of themselves.
