MasterChef

I have nightmares about appearing on MasterChef; which is really rather silly because it is never going to happen.

In a nutshell, I am to cooking what Britney (not her real name) is to motionlessness. Should I ever appear on MasterChef, at the moment when they announce “Let’s cook” I would put my coat on and go to Iceland.

All Mums go to Iceland because they sell Gregg’s pasties ready to chuck in the oven. In the countryside this greatly saves the environment as turning the oven on causes fewer emissions than driving 20 miles to the nearest Greggs outlet.

There is however, a very small part of me that would like to go on MasterChef just to hear the sultry-voiced India Fisher giving my dish its narration:

“Jodhpurs has cooked an American style pepperoni pizza, topped with an array of jalapeno chillies and anchovy fillets, served with French fries, haricot beans in a tomato jus and freshly cracked black pepper.”

It would be a huge advantage to be able to create my Signature Dish in under 20 minutes. It would mean I could have a further 55 minutes to sit down with a glass of wine and read some blogs on my iPad. And while my competitors were chasing their tails trying to plate up, I would have time to serve my pizza on a rustic wooden board and not have to present it on the torn open pizza box.

I would then carefully carry my offering up to the front of the kitchen and stand, fidgeting slightly and chewing my lip as John and Gregg immersed themselves in the complex flavour combinations that would leap from my plate.

John (who looks a bit like my old boss from Miserable Finance Limited, only with more hair) would then exclaim that the pizza was well cooked and that all the flavours had worked really well together. And Gregg would add that it was a pleasant dish but could be improved by serving rhubarb crumble and custard on the side; as he only likes puddings.

Clearly, upon making it through to the next round of the competition and after I had declared that I wasn’t ready to go home as it had all been such an amazing experience; I would up my game. No more playing it safe for me and India would have to give my next dish her most dramatic narration yet:

“Jodhpurs has cooked a thin and crispy pepperoni pizza, topped with extra mozzarella, pesto and jalapenos, served with hand cut (by McCain) chunky chips and haricot beans in a tomato reduction.”

Again John would remark that it was a job well done and suggest that some people would prefer the chunky chips cooked for slightly longer. Gregg would say he was disappointed that there was no apple pie and custard on the side, but all in all it was a good dish.

Then the camera shot would be of me sitting alone in the locker room, with my feet resting on the coffee table made from an old pallet and a sheet of safety glass. With the scene occasionally cutting back to John and Gregg as they discussed how consistent I had been in every round and questioning how much I really wanted to win the competition.

Here would be the point when I would have to remove my apron, put my coat on, shout to John and Gregg that I could bloody well hear them talking about me and head off for a kebab.

I cannot for the life of me think of anything more stressful than being a Chef. I would rather fly an Airbus A380 with faulty landing gear and only one very short runway available, because if I’m going to kill 100’s of people (and this is exactly what my cooking would do), I would rather they knew as little about it as possible.

MasterChef – The Professionals, scares me even more. Monica should have gone to Specsavers, adds tomato sauce to everything and if you told her to sugar coat something, she would be reaching for a pan. I’m surprised that she and Marcus haven’t been hit over the head with a skillet, especially when a stressed chef is stacking food on a plate with shaking hands and they are both whining “You’re 5 minutes over”.

While the amateurs on MasterChef are trying their damnest not to burn anything, these professional chefs seem to want to serve burnt everything. Last week one of them was even serving burnt onions with his dish.

“Chargrilled” is word that features heavily too. I thought chargrilled was what happened to food on the barbecue. If I served something that was chargrilled, people would look at me sympathetically and ask if I had nipped out to the stables and forgotten that I was cooking something. What is the difference between chargrilled and burnt? Or is chargrilled just a polite way of saying burnt?

Last week there were compressed strawberries. I had to ask Google what they were and I found that I needed a Chamber Vacuum Sealer, a High-Speed Centrifuge and they took 30 minutes to make.

Sod that. I mean, 30 minutes to make? What the?

On one plate there was Black Emulsion; which I had always assumed was a kind of paint that you used on a teenage goth’s bedroom walls. There was a black pudding mayonnaise, which is simply wrong and potato cannelloni which made no sense to me at all.

I can tolerate cooking in my slow cooker. It’s not stressful because you prepare it 6 hours before you want to eat it and when it’s ready all you have to do is take the lid off. Thankfully I have no recipes for Black Emulsion with a side of burnt onions. And I’m sure you will agree; that’s a good thing.