I don't remember eating anything unusual last night that would have caused me to dream about my former roommate filming a cooking show in the middle of a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
I mean, there was a studio set with lights and cameras and a complete kitchen and everything just out in the open in the middle of this rubble field that stretched like a chopped-pecan-covered pancake to the horizon in all directions. The show was on doing good, tasty meals with attractive presentation using the food from rusty salvaged canned goods.
My subconscious, as it so often does in dreams, neglected to add important technical details like "Where are they getting the electricity for the lights and cameras?" and "Do rats and cockroaches know how to work a TV set? Who's the intended audience here?"