Masterchef. Full fat review

by

 Masterchef

I fucking love Masterchef. I really do.

I hated the two presenters for years – making the show completely unwatchable – until, by chance, I caught sight of the bald barrowboy eating some pudding.

It was something about the way the food went into his mouth, the pause, the slow removal of the fork upwards and then the tentative chew that grabbed my attention. It was like peering into the very reaches of his soul. Then, like magic, his eyes lit up like limelight and grew to the size of Alan’s big plate. He began to moan softly, rhythmically, speech still evading him.

‘He’s going to ejaculate!’ I ruminated, frozen to the spot. Finally he spoke.

‘I like you’, he said to the plate and the contestant, ‘Oh! I do like you!’

The other bloke took some time to warm to, with his frog-like mouth and scowl he can flay a contestant with nothing more than an acid stare and condescending mutter, reducing a person to tears with a sardonically raised eyebrow, but if he likes the food every light in the world comes on. It’s fucking well-weird. Now I think he’s ace.

Masterchef is schadenfreude for foodies. In certain respect the dishes take a backseat, acting as a catalyst for the drama that is instantly realised from the opening titles. Chefs-to-be stand there looking visibly petrified while the two hosts bark out the rules without a shred of compassion; they don’t care if the cunts actually die right there on the spot. They walk among them like The Gestapo in a ghetto, jabbing at ingredients and interrogating them like sub human scum. Recipes are stuttered into the apparent which they deride with sarcasm and barely concealed hate.

The psychological pressure continues when contestants are verbally strapped down and beaten with demands on their loyalty to the food führer… ‘do you want this? Do you? Svinehund!’

But this is the genius of Masterchef, as the wheat is separated form the chaff we’re presented with genuine talent, those who overcome the pressure and prepare remarkable food that melts the hearts of the staff. Praise and encouragement appear in the equation, lifting the spirits -smiles appear, warmth emenates from the screen and all seems good in the world.

 Ahhhh, that’s better. I fill up.

But it’s not better. Someone has been naughty. The presentation of the grilled kneecap with bat-foreskin and regurgitated puy lentils in a faecal broth has made one of them angry. Very angry. The contestant starts to cry, the barrow-boy tastes, his face darkens like a thunderstorm approaching the Serengeti.

‘No, no no, this is wrong, very wrong’.

Now it’s frog-face’s turn. Wordlessly he turns and spits the food from his face like it’s a tramp’s turd picked off a dead pig.

‘I’m not eating that’ he says, his eyes glittering with death.

Puffy-eyed and red-faced, the contestant awaits their fate. Justice isn’t swift – they’re all made to stand in line for what seems like an age before being dismissed, cast out in the street like the food-killing fuckers they are…

Then again it switches. In the chaos a victor rises from the ashes. That one! I always knew it would be you! In the triumph of adversity one shall stand tall. The Staff applaud, they have been pleased, I too am at home sobbing for joy, I’m so happy. For once the barrow and the frog are like us. They have emotions, after all – are we not all mortal? Struggling with the baked bean can of life? Wrestling with the peel-off bit on top of the Pringles tube of existence. Are we not ONE?

Yes, until tomorrow that is, until tomorrow when some cunt decides to cook salmon with raspberry jam.

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22 Responses to “Masterchef. Full fat review”

  1. Swineshead Says:

    Torode blinks a thousand blinks per second. His eyelids are controlled by humming birds.

  2. piqued Says:

    …Delicous when baked in a soy and ginger marinade and served on wilted Cos lettuce.

  3. piqued Says:

    ‘delicious’ sorry, the ‘i’ on my keyboard is sht

  4. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    and doubtless with a delightful cocktail of Pernod, Ouzo, marmalade and salt.

  5. Swineshead Says:

    If my lettuce has wilted I tend to take it back.

  6. Swineshead Says:

    It’s good Masterchef, but when it’s on every day you realise how samey it is. Same thing every bloody day. And John Torode sticks his spoon in his face like he’s jabbing himself with adrenaline to wake himself up.

  7. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    If I fancied watching people cooking, I’d ask to be let into the kitchens at my local restaurant. Another paint-drying TV show for the Mong Generation. Why not buy a cookbook?

    As for a proper programme, did you happen to see Panorama last night? House buyers should hunt it out, unless they’re too busy watching a man put something into a frying pan on Fuckwit TV.

  8. Swineshead Says:

    Cookery or scare-propaganda – it’s a tough call.
    I reckon I’ll watch The Bill.

  9. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    It wasn’t scare propaganda. It’s common sense that if developers lie to the Land Registry, other homes in the same area are over-valued at a later date. Something to think about if you’re thinking of shelling out a lot of money in the near future (not that you should be doing that just yet, o’course) …

    … or you could watch The Bill, then take out a mortgage on a house that’s worth £50,000 less than you’d been led to believe it was.

  10. Swineshead Says:

    Interesting.

    Didn’t watch it.

  11. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I’d have a look at it on iPlayer. Surprisingly enough, the whole thing looks to have been a massive fraud on the part of arsehole property developers and stupid buy-to-let people who have driven the prices of houses through the roof to levels they just shouldn’t be at. I did wonder why a two-bedroom terraced house that was built to house poor Victorian steel workers was suddenly worth £180,000 in a shitpot little town like Lincoln – especially when the very same house was valued at £20,000 ten years before.

  12. Swineshead Says:

    I’ll keep an eye out, lad.

    Now – what’re you putting in your fucking pancakes tonight, you bastard?

  13. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I’m not having pancakes. I’m having shit loads of bacon, sausages, fried slices, ‘shrooms, tomatoes, and eggs … a fry-up to you. I don’t particularly like pancakes for my tea, not enough food, not enough fried meat.

  14. Gilbert Wham Says:

    I prefer kickin ot old-school with Grossman. I don’t like this new, reality TV masterchef. I preferred it when it was ginger weirdos from the provinces, too shy to even look at the cameras when they spoke. ‘Annnnnnnnd whhhhhhhhart are yoooo couking for us tuniiiite Myfannnnwy?’
    ‘S’mumble ffmm’
    ‘Riiiiiiiight…’

    Anyway, the ‘prize’ is a job in a fucking restaurant kitchen? Fucking hell, are these people insane? Have they ever worked in a commercial kitchen? I have. It’s fucking hideous. There’s a reason that they’re awash with drugs (they are, if you didn’t know). It’s because it’s such a god-awful job, you have to be completely spangled to do it.

  15. Napoleon Cockaparte Says:

    I worked as a waiter and had to stray into the kitchens from time to time. A horrible place full of sweat, slavery, subservience, and shouting. The head chef was a fucking arsehole (I think it’s part of the training) who ended up being punched to the floor by the guy who washed pots. I wouldn’t work in a kitchen because I’d have to beat the pompous prick in charge to death. How that bullying Ramsey fucker has managed to last without finding a knife buried in his guts is a mystery to me. YES?

  16. piqued Says:

    I’ worked as a waiter’ in a cocktail bar, that’s when I met you

    *purses lips*

    *blows cock*

    …NC, why are you getting so het up about property, you’re buying in Belize you traitor.

  17. Badger Madge Says:

    i had pancakes with maple syrup for desert/pudding/afters (very americana). it was alright.

  18. Clarry Says:

    All I can say I thank Christ someone else has identified the annoying way in which Greg eats. I watch this prog most days and I can’t watch without commenting on it. Every time. Without fail.

    The author has described this EXACTLY. I hate how slowly he puts the fork in his mouth, the pause, the strange upward removal of the fork. Whereas Torode jabs the fork into his mouth and catches it on his teeth, and this makes me sick too. Can’t they have some sort of training in food-tasting etiquette? Ugh!

  19. Gilbert Wham Says:

    “How that bullying Ramsey fucker has managed to last without finding a knife buried in his guts is a mystery to me. YES?”
    Yes. You are incontrovertibly right. Does anyone remember that episode of the Cook Report (about cooks! Hah!) where they filmed him and that other chef cunt (I forget who) beating and abusing their staff? I’d have stabbed the cunt. Then, of course, I would have stabbed Roger Cook, but there you go.

  20. Bo Palle Hansen Says:

    What a well-written review. I have done Danish subtitles for the programme and read this review with delight. Good on you!

  21. piqued Says:

    Thank you Sir

  22. medical students Says:

    medical students…

    […]Masterchef. Full fat review « Watch With Mothers[…]…

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