PREVIOUSLY ON MASTERCHEF AUSTRALIA: We’re really just faffing around now in the awkward middle stages of the show, where nothing *too* ridiculous happens and the contenders are sorted from the pretenders.
It’s still a less infuriating Monday night watch than Q&A though, so we push on as this year’s crop of kitchen lemmings march one-by-one off that goddamned cliff.
AND NOW, LAST NIGHT.
After losing Tassie Con and dear, sweet Jimmy last week, Brett, Charlie, and Theresa now march into the elimination kitchen representing a combination of three remaining contestants that feels about right for this stage of the series. Not to hang too much shit on them, but if I didn’t watch the Mystery Box challenge and you told me these were the three, I would not be surprised at all.
Because we’ve got a quota of “a Dad who *BLOODY LOVES* his kids” feelings to fill for this episode, the role of “Miles” will be played by Brett.
The hungry, hungry judges line the three-in-black up, and Matt Preston rattles off a lengthy rap-sheet of accolades for tonight’s guest executioner, Jason Atherton.
But rather than be overawed by that many compliments in that short amount of time, Jason owns that shit. He struts into the MasterChef Kitchen with SEVERE swagger.
Comin’ in hot all like “That’s right. I’m the motherfucking BIZ.”
Atherton reveals tonight’s monstrous challenge: A knee-trembling, psycho-looking “Quail Afternoon Tea,” which has more elements than a snot-nosed 16-year-old skate rat circa-2003.
Atherton explains that this particular beast has 50 steps, and 44 ingredients. Which is a fine speech, but I’m pretty goddamned certain the drunken cheese toastie I made at about 3am this past Saturday night was sporting about the same.
Charlie, however, might as well be staring directly into the Eye of Sauron.
There’s a curious little wooden box sitting with the dish, which prompts everyone to ponder “What’s in the box?“
What’s in the box?
WHAT’S IN THE BOX?
WHAT’S IN THE BOX?
If it’s a severed head, I’m going to be very upset (REFERENCE MASH-UPS HOOOOOOO).
Fortunately for everyone it’s not a severed human head. Rather, it’s the severed limbs of a quail. Which is only really slightly less macabre if you think about it way too much.
‘Course that uneasy feeling in the pit of the stomach isn’t eased in the slightest when the cook begins and Brett begins hacking away at a duck like he’s exorcising some inner demons.
It… it’s already dead m8. You’re not acting out the Joker‘s origin story here. Good god.
Theresa, working with all the speed of a drunk snail, remarks that “following the recipe seems to be going really well,” which is an absolutely disastrous thing to say before the first commercial break. It’s ignoring all the warning signs and trying to poop in a snake pit: Your ass is gonna get bit.
For those theatre and plot structure nerds out there, consider it Chekhov’s Obvious Statement: Never state you’re going well in the first act unless you fully intend to screw yourself over in the third.
The liver parfait is the first point of real issue for the gang. Theresa breezes through hers without too much trouble, because we still have hit the ad break yet. Charlie completely forgets to pass his through a sieve, meaning his mixture is about as gritty as an episode of The Wire. And Brett decides to completely ignore the fact that he was supposed to melt the butter, and ends up trying to push pudding through a flyscreen.
If you simmered that shit down for about 2 hours you could probably make a decent spag bol out of it. Yikes.
The big problem, throughout the whole cook, is that there’s simply not enough time to get all the things done. 3 hours for 50 steps is borderline sadism, and everyone is well and truly under the pump.
The encouragement from the gantry slowly spikes up to out-and-out Drill Sergeant-yelling, so Harry decides to lighten the mood with a joke, telling Charlie to aim for a “hole in one.”
Get it? GET IT? GEDDIT?
But then, the most unbelievably incredible thing happens.
Harry drops the punchline, looks around for the inevitable wave of lol from his fellow contestants…
…and he…
…gets…
…NOTHING.
HOLY SHIT.
I know down in the kitchen they’ve been given quail eggs, but apparently upstairs Harry just unloaded a crate full of DUCK EGGS.
That’s as big a whiff as you’re ever likely to see on this show.
Hell, he might have just taken the crown of “Worst Joke Ever Told On Australian TV” away from me, and the time I told Richard Moorecroft I’d like “two large, and three consonants” whilst competing on an episode of ‘Letters & Numbers‘ (a dead-set real thing that actually happened, look it up).
My goodness. It’s alright, Haz. We’ve all bombed gigs before.
And that would’ve been the most interesting thing to happen in the episode in a freaking canter, but then the show goes and counters one absolute tragedy with another.
The pressure of the challenge finally gets to poor Brett, and he absolutely cracks.
Oh, no. 🙁
Brett, don’t do this to me, man.
Christ, my mighty heart cannot take this.
OH GOD HE BROUGHT UP HIS KIDS THAT’S IT.
Why – WHY – does this show insist on repeatedly putting the boots into me with their constant stream of usually stoic Dads getting misty-eyed about their kids who they just *BLOODY* *LOVE* *SO* *MUCH*?
It’s emotional torture and I will not stand for it but also I love it please never stop.
Brett manages to pull himself together thanks to a solid AF hug from Atherton and the power of MasterChef’s “GET SHIT DONE” backing music, and somehow throws all his elements onto a plate in a dish the judges deem the best of the day.
Charlie, even though his parfait is absolute dog’s breakfast, is saved by the fact that he managed to get a quail egg up on the plate, and also by the fact that Theresa is still stuck back in the opening montage.
And so a mere week after her brother Jimmy was also booted, Theresa the hot mess also exits the kitchen; which given how much of a confused stress she’s been throughout this competition, ranks her ability to actually find the door on the way out as nothing short of a minor miracle.
NEXT TIME: HOLY SHIT IT’S ACTUALLY HAPPENING.
BREAD. CHEESE. JAFFLE IRON.
SOMEONE AT THE PRODUCTION’S CLEARLY BEEN READING THESE RECAPS AND ALSO MY LETTERS AND THEREFORE I AM THE MF-ING AGENT OF CHEESE.
Photo: Channel Ten.
