Friday, 18 November 2011
Masterchef - go, Claire!
This riveting programme of nightmare scenarios continues apace. Poor Ben retired hurt (he'd cut the top off his finger. Almost) and weeping, the grim judges and grimmer restaurant critics (how dare they? Could they do any better?) judge, the contestants tremble and weep and mop their brows as they thrash about among the quails and oysters and celeraic (there's an awful lot of celeriac this year). And all to make tiny little meals of something sliced up very small in a jus* with a colourful smear of something round the edge of the plate and a garnish of pine needles (or whatever). Not pick-up-your-knife-and-fork-and-get-stuck-in food, but pretty food; food you want to frame and hang on the wall before you go out and get a proper meal.
Monica rolls her eyes, Michel nodds sagely, and Greg - well, Greg eats. They bend over the sweating contestants asking them whether there's a hope of getting the Beef Wellington spiced with beechnuts on a bed of tumbleweed done in time (of course there isn't), or what the competion means to them, and everyone - but everyone - is "pasionate about food".
Claire - only 22 years old, pretty, sweet-faced and a culinary genius - is brilliant, and I want her to win. But whatever happens, I just love it!
*What exactly is a jus? Or is it just a posh word for gravy/sauce? I'm sure there never used to be any such thing.