As he works, Guy jumps seamlessly from role to role. At first he's the goofball, doing his best impressions from Scarface to get Tony to laugh and loosen up. An instant later, he's the food expert, explaining why pork belly needs to be rendered before it's fried. Then he turns into the cooking-show host who, while Tony is making maple mayonnaise, takes the time to suggest to viewers that we should all be making our own mayo because it is just that easy.
As Tony starts collecting crisp, greasy pork belly morsels from the fryer, one, then two, then a handful of them disappear down Guy's hatch.
For good measure, Guy chucks a few bites over the counter as he tries to feed me, SeaWorld-style, by lobbing food that I'm supposed to catch in my mouth. I fail, and pork belly bounces off my forehead.
This is all the lead-up to the most important moment of every Triple D segment: The Bite. Guy has single-handedly transformed the act of eating into the heart-pounding, buzzer-beating jump shot of food TV. It is completely quiet on set as Tony lays the sandwich in front of Guy, who grabs it and assumes The Hunch. Tony stares at Guy in anticipation, Lamb Chop leans into her monitor and Butterbean lowers the mic to record every last crunchy chew. Then Guy rips in once, twice, then a few more times for good measure, making sure the editors have a whole archive of money shots to choose from. Each bite comes with a different Guy-ism about how good it is—Slammin'! Prime time! Rockin'!—and a complete description of the spiciness of the meat, the sweetness of the mayo, the texture of the bread.
Lamb Chop calls "cut" and Guy recedes into the corner as the crew sets up for the foie gras and fries. He signs a few hats and posters, but every few minutes he grabs his phone and checks it. Turns out, this is no ordinary morning on the Triple D set: Guy's $200,000-plus yellow Lamborghini had been stolen from a San Francisco car dealership where it was being serviced, and Guy's in-box has exploded. Sammy Hagar and Mario Batali have sent their regrets. A fan has blogged that it will probably only take the thief "a minute to skin it." Guy is glued to his phone, catching each and every development.
As Guy tells me how the thief repelled Spider-Man–style down from the roof, disabled the alarm and made off with his car (one of 10 he owns, all of which he calls his "kids"), he's almost smiling. If he had watched this heist go down in a movie, he probably would have loved every second of it, but in reality, the situation is not so fun.