A collage of facial expressions interspersed with images of meat, usually being fried in a pan, is enlivened yearly by the addition of celebrities to Masterchef, the television show where cookery becomes competitive cuisine.
I remember when it was a staid affair, with Lloyd Grossman offering gentle feedback against a neutral backdrop of dark grey and blue tones. The contestants murmured in response to whatever he said, smiled politely, and shuffled off when it was their time to do so. They certainly didn’t look tearfully into the eyes of an invisible interviewer and seem to hold back sobs of anger as they confessed to making mistakes in previous episodes (Christine Hamilton).
Additionally, I don’t remember any of them bringing meat from animals they’d reared themselves, moulding an assortment of game into an impressive meat jobby, before placing it gently onto a plate with a couple of zig zag patterns and complimentary columns of food (Dick Strawbridge). Rather than the oily judges being humbled into submission, they objected strongly to the use of cream with the vegetables, which encouraged the requisite variety of facial expressions ? hope, relief, despair – for GOOD TELLY.
Forgiveness is another new element. A big bowl of underseasoned fish stew (Lisa Faulkner) compared poorly with other dishes ? yet, based on previous episodes, and on a rival dish being too smothered in a maple sauce (Chris Walker), the creator of the fish stew went through to the semi-finals. You could see she was physically stunned when she was sent through to the next round. Her jaw, held strongly in place to fight the coming tears, relaxed and her eyes shone with the holy light of the saved before they landed on the loser. Then, those shining eyes looked away into the middle distance, perhaps ashamed.
I also thought the contestants had to be celebrities. As nebulous as that notion is, I believe that Neil Stuke has engineered a few TV jobs to enable him to get on Celebrity Masterchef. His chopping is swift and sure ? too swift and sure. He gasped like a schoolboy when he avoided criticism. His food appears to be channelling the power of every Michelin star in the sky. Soon, he will stop appearing in… What? Whatever it is he is doing, he will stop doing it, and he will either continue whatever it is he does, or he will begin afresh elsewhere, Celebrity Masterchef trophy in hand. Nothing, overall, will change for us, the public.
Spare a thought for the editors of this programme. Seeking endlessly for the correct expression, looking for a gleaming foodstuff to counteract it with, finding moments of silence to heighten tension while we await judgement from those professional gobblers of cuisine.
All the pieces are in place for Sleb Chef to rival The Secret Millionaire for public displays of joy and disappointment. They need more idiots; more characters; more famous people; more ridiculous people. I, personally, would like to see Sarah Harding, Paul Gascoigne, any of the Loose Women, Piers Morgan and Kerry Katona. Only with fools of that calibre could all those swift edits, facial expressions, euphoric music clips and moments of emotional release reach their craven potential. Look on those plates, ye mighty, and despair!
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