The crumply Cockney teddy bear is not here to South Beach, Atkins, Master Cleanse or Michael Pollan your Cheez Doodle dimpled butt into starvation or Whole Foods-based bankruptcy. He just wants you and your kids to know what a fresh tomato looks like. And maybe eat once once in a while. Or he'll cry.

In his native England, Jamie Oliver - dyslexic, erstwhile Naked Chef, husband of Jools, father of Daisy, Poppy, Petal and another to be named upon his (fingers crossed for "Stamen") or her September arrival, and self-proclaimed "professional s**t-stirrer" - has made a cottage industry of calling foul on vile school cafeteria fare and teaching plain ol' British folks not to murder their families with processed food. In the course of this, he's set up community cooking centers and classes, exhorted Parliament to address national obesity issues, campaigned to ban junk food in schools and garnered Prime Minister Tony Blair's approval for £280m in financial support for improved school kitchens and "dinner lady" education.

Oh, and he's sold approximately seventy five squillion books, owns a couple of restaurant chains (albeit one of them, Fifteen, is non-profit), regularly ranks on annual lists of richest Britons and was made a Member of the Order of the British Empire in 2003.

He, with the aid of BFF/show co-producer Ryan Seacrest, has decided to bring his manifesto of fresh, clean, from-scratch cooking to Huntington, West Virginia - cited by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and The Associated Press to be one of the unhealthiest, most obese cities in the US. This should go well.

After the de-rigueur montage of massive, headless bodies strolling by in free-form mom jeans and XXXL-sized sundresses, Jamie pilots his SUV (on the correct side of the road, no less - Advantage: Oliver) over to the local radio station (97.3 "The Dawg") to sway a popular talk jock, one Rod Willis to his cause. In a shocking (shocking!) turn of events, Willis takes umbrage with Our Hero's characterization of his city's state of health, and stridently expresses doubt about his mission's potential for success. Quoth he, "We don't wanna sit around and eat lettuce all day" and "I don't think that you should come in here and tell us what to do. I mean, who made you the king?"

Playground bullies everywhere high-five. (Advantage: Willis) Antagonist #1: established. Redemption arc sequence #1: activated. (This is not a spoiler, by the way - just hardly our first time at the reality rodeo.)

Off-air, Jamie dubs Willis a "miserable bastard" and "grumpy old git" (Brit Slang Alert: triggered), nyah-ing that his proposed cooking center and school lunch menu revamp will shut the DJ up. Not bloody likely.

Down over to the elementary school, Jamie states that he's convinced the Board of Education to allow him one (1) tension packed! challenge-filled! will-he-or-won't-he! week to improve the cafeteria's food, prove that the kiddiewinks will gum it down and that it won't go over budget or cause the ground beneath the foundation to yea and verily crack open and send the student body tumbling to Hades in a hail of rainbow chard. He expresses self doubt. It's darling.

Not as darling? His habit of calling the kitchen's staff of battle-hardened cooks, "Girls," "Honey" and, well, "Darling." They are instantly un-charmed by him. This is matched only by his disgust at seeing "the future of America" - many dozen, many of them plump, little Huntingtonettes - gobbling down slabs of sausage pizza and individually packaged servings of cereal, swimming in luminous pink strawberry flavored milk for breakfast, so: stalemate.

Enter Antagonist #2, stone-faced alpha cook Alice Gue, who cannot understand why Jamie is there to change a system that is "working good." A kitchen tour led by one of the beta cooks reveals a suite of truly enviable range tops, ovens and other schmancy equipment. It is profoundly un-used, save for re-heating chicken nuggets. "Welcome to America," sighs Jamie.

Spirits are temporarily leavened when he sees a beta cook kneading up some fresh bread and pitches in, then abruptly deflated when in the course of small talk he inquires as to the length of Ms. Gue's tenure as a "lunch lady." Her expression upon hearing the term ensures that the services of the kitchen's industrial freezers will not be needed for the rest of the school week.

The freezers, by the by, are laden with "an Aladdin's cave of processed crap," but that's nothing compared with Alice Gue-approved "potato pearls." (Jamie: "Is it really potatoes?" Ms. Gue: "I hope so.") Stir the packets of pearls into hot water, and you've got a substance that should the aforemention building foundation crack occur, could form a seal that could withstand Revelations-level plagues. She calls it "a cooks's best friend." Jamie calls it "absolutely disgusting."

He's "pissed off" for the first time, though, dear readers, hardly the last. Citing upset at the "crap" in the faux-tatoes, nuggets, pizza, flavored milks, dessicated chicken bark, packets of pre-scrambled eggs, and other technically edible substances, attempts to rally Ms. Gue to outrage. "Fresh?" she says. "No way." (Redemption arc sequence #2: activated.)

Lunchtime chats with the kids reveals that the majority of the student body is fueled by a multi nugget-based meal-a-day diet, washed down by a tidal wave of artificially flavored milk. Oh – and that they leave the one scratch-made meal component - the bread - for the trashcan. Jamie, manning said receptacle, threatens to cry. (Hint - don't bet against him here.)

Back in the kitchen, Jamie tells the cooks that their food is killing America. Well, not their food, of course, because they're all "brilliant" and "lovely," but they're essentially the Howitzer down which the shell of life-shortening cuisine is fired. And would they like fries with that?

Ms. Gue demurs, "We feed our kids good." Jamie parries that they, "don't feed your kids good." The tension is palpable - and almost as delicious as pearl-based potatoes. They tell him to take it up with The Powers That Be.