Tuesday, 24 November 2009

The Anthropological Wonderment of Masterchef

Yum! You're next:"Keep him talking, I've got the ketchup
behind my back"

It has come to one’s attention over the past year, that the Masterchef competition has maintained its popularity and embedded itself securely into the nation’s stomach.

Though one preferred the contrived Englishness of Lloyd Grossman, one now has a relationship of tolerance with the current presenters, John Turd and Greg Wallace

It always mystifies one why - when speaking into the boom microphone or talking to each other during their consultation process - they have to shout so much. Particularly when engaged in the latter. It all seems rather redundant to send the sweaty contestants out into the waiting area for them to deliberate in secret, when even the chip shop on the corner of the street can hear every word, as it rumbles over the cobbles like thunder!

It has also came to one’s attention that despite His Divine Majesty Sir David Attenborough educating us that certain animals have the ability to dislocate their own jaws to consume food, one never knew there were humans that could perform the same feat.

When dear John and Gregg sample the contestants dishes, they too dislodge their jaw bones (and no doubt create a feeling of terror amongst the camera crew). One often wonders why they even bother with a fork, when a simple lifting of the plate, tilting back of the head and gravity would suffice.

This was demonstrated quite clearly in a recent heat on the UK Food channel. One rather talented contestant had made a plate of scrumptious food and utilized the spicing skills he had acquired in a top Indian restaurant. The restaurateur had advised him that you know when chilli is not cooked properly because you can feel it in the back of the throat.

Little did our competing poppet realise that both Mr. Turd and Mr Potato-head
were to feel just that! Mind you, this was hardly surprising, considering their taste buds didn’t have a fighting chance of sampling the finished dish. Instead, they could only look on in despondency as the shovel glided over them and dumped the fodder straight down the back of their screeches.

The poor dears mustn’t have eaten for a week!

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