Anybody watching Masterchef Australia – season 5? Well I am. I love it. Well, I used to love it. Now I like it. What about you? Are you finding yourself flicking channels while sweat pours off the contestants brows? Or are you still glued, notebook at hand, compiling notes on how to produce some fine-dining in fifteen minutes flat? I’m flicking a bit, not quite sure if I’m ready to swap it for yet another repeat of repeat of repeat of Friends, or Jag if hubby takes hold of the remote.
So here we are then. Faced with the final ten. The crème de la crème. The ones with gravy running through their veins. The ones whose hearts were formed from chocolate mousse made with thick full cream. The ones born with a chef’s knife in their mouths – you know what I mean. Or as Gary often tells us, the top ten amateur Chefs in Australia.
Well I’m not going to argue with him over that, because I’ve not sat at many Oz dining tables in my time. But if those ten are the top ten, then the remaining gazillion Aussies must really serve up some codswollop.
No, I’m afraid this season the contestants have been lacking some serious kitchen skills, and that comes from somebody with no skills of her own I hasten to add. There is also glaring evidence of inability to drive, read a map, milk a goat, wrestle with a mortar and pestle at alarming speed, or even record an individual 100 meter sprint record when faced with moments in the fully loaded, or should that be laden, pantry. Honestly the things these contestants have to do, you’d think they were on a combined Amazing Race and Survivor show.
What happened to people competing against each other using their kitchen skills? Now all we see are contestants crying and or sobbing when the pressure gets tough, which to be fair is not unreasonable when staring wide eyed at a two hour recipe that in real life would require three days prep and several anti-depressants.
There is no favourite this season either. Well of course there is some eye-candy who at this stage of my life could just walk around my kitchen and I’d be happy. Err, sorry, I digress. Favourite I was saying. None of them actually. But there are two who make my teeth grind and who I switch the volume down on, or often than not fast forward to remove their cheeks from my screen. Kelty, the stay-at-home Dad who should have stayed at home and not been given so much TV time. And then of course there is Noleen who has come across as quite nasty at times but with clever editing these days is often found to be patting her watery eyes with a dishcloth. Y
With all of that in mind, In the coming weeks, when life slows down a little for me, I’m thinking about having my own mini-Masterchef Cape Town in my kitchen. I’m going to let Hubby find the trickiest recipe he can find, cut off about 10% of the cooking time, and then have me let loose with appliances and sharp knives to produce something he may quickly learn to regret choosing when he settles down to taste.
What do you think?