I didn’t expect my most dramatic breakup to be with a TV icon, but chronic illness (hi, sarcoidosis) has a way of sharpening your BS detector until it could slice tomatoes paper-thin. This is the story of how comfort-TV turned into a glossy spiritual checkout line, and why one chef with a malfunctioning body finally said: no thanks, I’ll keep my dignity and my toast, even if both are slightly burned.
