Posts Tagged ‘Oven’

The Restaurant

September 13, 2007

awful bastards 

I’ve seen a few of these; it’s fucking shit and getting worse.

The sort of Apprentice-lite format doesn’t work – Raymond Blanc is far too decent a chap to go down the Alan ‘you’re fire you are’ Sugar route. Besides, he sounds like Pepé the Pew doing an impression of Serge Gainsbourg.

The format of the show is simple: open nine restaurants and then get nine couples to run them from scratch. Each week, two of the shittest couples have a play-off task that sees one of their restaurants getting shut down.

The only interest comes from the jaw-dropping horror and stupidity of the contestants. One caused a restaurant Supervisor, working for Ray of course, to make herself physically sick after eating raw chicken breast. Staggeringly, this particular contestant is still in the show.

But by far and away the most dreadful coupling of humans I’ve seen in recent years on television were the thoroughly abhorrent Sam and Jacqui.

Sam is a ‘jazz drummer’ and Sam an ‘actress’. A pimp and a hooker, then. She’s a loud-mouthed oxygen thief and Sam a little toad of a creature with as much charm as The Marquis de Sade in the Bastille dildoing himself until he bleeds lumps.

In the first episode when they were trying to hire a chef. Sam was in the process of interviewing a fairly elderly chap who’d been working in kitchens most of his adult life. Unfortunately, the nearest he’d got to being a chef was chopping veg in a hospital kitchen, but instead of politely informing the elderly gentleman of his lack of suitability, Toad-boy, with the old guy a couple of feet away, called the recruitment agency and bollocked them at volume and length about sending him ‘useless people’. You could actually see the life draining from the poor old git. It was toe-curling stuff and from that moment I wanted see Sam dressed in life-threatening hives.

His recently-acquired wife took the role as front of house Manager, which meant she attempted to ingratiate herself with unsuspecting members of the public with an upside down smile that resembled a gorilla picking fleas off its winkle and a drawl that could melt glass at 100 yards.

In the meantime, instead of managing his fledgling and unenthusiastic staff, Sam threw strops and busied himself by staring at the prepared food as if a copraphiliac standing in a festival latrine looking up at defecating arses.

Needless to say they were booted off last week much to Sam’s arrogant objection and howls from his dreadful wife.

The remaining cast of nobodies are so fucking boring and lacking in any sort of creative intelligence or business acumen that I, for one, can’t even be arsed to finish th


August 22, 2007

Neighbours ladies 

Have you watched Neighbours recently? Of course you haven’t! I have though, and I must say the quality of the birds on offer are, if anything, even better than the birds available from fine Norfolk turkey farmer Bernard Matthews (you might not know that Bernard Matthews offers three Chicken Kievs for £2).

For a start there’s the lovely Carmella, a husky Brunette full of eastern promise who brings to mind the mysterious and exotic contents of a Bernard Matthews Golden Drummer. Then there’s Elle, the evil Paul Robinson’s blonde daughter, who resembles Nicole Kidman but with a whiff of a Bernard Matthews Breaded Lemon and Pepper Chicken about her. I wouldn’t mind popping her in the oven for 25 minutes, by God I wouldn’t.

Next up there’s the lovely Pippa. Pippa’s blonde, has great tits, and brings to mind nothing short of the classic Bernard Matthews Turkey Breast Slices – succulent juicy breast meat in attractive packaging. If I had my way, I’d eat Pippa’s tits in a sandwich.

Perhaps the cream of the current crop of Neighbours dollies – the Bernard Matthews three for £2 Chicken Kievs deal, as it were – is Steff. She’s been around a bit, but like the delicious garlic butter that dribbles from a Bernard Matthews Chicken Kiev, she’s always welcome. Don’t get me wrong, I’m neither a serial killer nor a cannibal, but given the chance I’d love to slice Steff in half and eat her innards. Bootiful!