Has all that is "Top Chef" been distilled into a single cookbook? Apparently so. The eliminations, the winning dishes, the biting comments from Anthony Bourdain — the hairstyles.

The charts (a handy elimination bracket that even a kindergartner would appreciate), the quotes ("I've got a false testicle, and I'm ready to cook"), the trivia (the second-season winner's favorite piece of equipment is the short plancha spatula) and graphics ("Top Coif") are ridiculously hilarious (emphasis on the ridiculous). But can you actually cook from it? Would anyone want to?

"Top Chef: The Cookbook" is divided into the first three "Top Chef" seasons and divided further into recipe chapters that fall under breakfast, appetizers and small plates, entrees (meat, poultry, fish, vegetarian) and dessert. Why the attempt at setting up chapters the way cooks might use them? It's confusing. Why not divide the dishes by season? Let's not pretend here. I want to know who won what when — and in the competitive spirit of "Top Chef," why would I want to make a dish that wasn't a winner?

Useful for those who haven't been watching the show (ahem) is the elimination bracket — a graphic that displays who got kicked off when — and the episode-by-episode synopses.

Bios of the contestants provide useful information for true fans, but they'll have to get past a fairly maudlin introduction by "Top Chef's" top chef, Tom Colicchio. The other sections at the front of the book are some real yawners. "Top Chef Staples" lists some of the pantry ingredients in the "Top Chef" kitchen, including salt, pepper and extra-virgin olive oil. It's not a definitive list, as that "might spoil it for future contestants."

Then there's the diagram of the kitchen floor plan, pointing to: sink, sink, stove, stove, ovens, microwaves, refrigerator, refrigerator. Some anecdotal information provided: "During the '4-Star All-Stars Reunion,' Ilan spilled Marcel's carefully cubed mangoes out of the fridge." Gasp.

A couple of pages devoted to Bourdain, "Beware! Bourdain," are compelling. They're filled with his comments made from time spent as a guest judge. "Those chops; that was like economy class of Air Cambodia." Or "Your twice-baked potato, in spite of its absolutely Flintstonian execution, was, for me, the single most enjoyable mouthful of food I had this evening. The taste — it didn't suck."

Because the show is structured around gimmicky challenges such as "make a sexy dessert for a fetish party" and "create a gourmet entree that can be reheated in a microwave," finding an appealing recipe in this collection drawn from the Quickfire and elimination challenges is difficult.

But you can't judge a cookbook without testing recipes, so I dived in. In the 10th episode of the second season, Marcel Vigneron's curried lamb kabobs won the Quickfire challenge to "create a snack using mayonnaise, barbecue sauce or Italian dressing." Cubes of lamb loin are grilled with portobello mushrooms and cherry tomatoes and served with mayonnaise mixed with honey and curry powder. They were easy to make and tasty, but how about something more interesting?

OK, how about a dish that Los Angeles' Suzanne Goin of Lucques and AOC judged as a winner of an oddball challenge to create an amuse-bouche using something from a vending machine? Carlos Fernandez's winning dish was a veggie loaf garnished with grapefruit soda (Squirt). Very intriguing.

Soaked sunflower seeds, carrots and cilantro are ground together with sesame oil, lime juice, salt, pepper and cayenne. The mixture is formed into loaves and topped with hard-cooked egg whites, cilantro leaves and a sprinkling of Squirt soda. As Bourdain might put it: It was wretched.