As previously mentioned, I’m dangerously susceptible to television. Turn one on while I’m in the room, and I’ll watch it, no matter what’s playing. Commercials, re-runs of Full House; it doesn’t really matter.

But, at the same time, there’s relatively little I’d be too upset to give up. No more American Idol? I’m pretty sure my life would go on.

There is, though, one exception: Bravo’s Top Chef, which starts a new season this evening.

Prior to discovering the show, I already considered myself a bit of a foodie, having eaten my way through much of New York, taken an array of cooking classes, and stocked up on key kitchen gadgetry. But over the course of even my first month of Top Chef episodes, I found myself appreciating cooking, really appreciating cooking, in a way I’d never before.

It was Top Chef that led me to read Heat, The Making of a Chef and Kitchen Confidential, that got me subscribed to Cook’s Illustrated, that got me taking wildly over-long and over-expensive culinary school professional development courses (thank you, thank you, Jess!).

And, more than anything else, it was Top Chef that led me to an ever-deeper exploration of the principles of cooking, rather than simply cooking recipes rote. This weekend, for example, when testing out a new red wine and mushroom pan sauce for the flank steak I pan-roasted, I could puzzle through how much stock to use to balance out the wine pre-reduction, knew to toss in shallots, mustard, and balsamic vinegar to balance tastes, could explain why I chose to ‘monte au beurre’ as a final step.

In other words, I’ve now moved past ‘foodie’ and into ‘total asshole’. And I have Top Chef entirely to thank.

Tonight at 9:00 on Bravo. Bon appetit.