PREVIOUSLY ON MASTERCHEF AUSTRALIA: The MasterChef Kitchen transformed into a big ole’ tear-fest, as the show suddenly realised it has a mere handful of episodes remaining and decided to ramp up the emotional manipulation to 11.
And poor, sweet Elise was the one to feel the wrath of a finite series length, finally bombing out in 4th place after running roughshod over the competition’s eliminations like she was the fastest hand in the west. It’s always luck that catches up with the gunslinging cowboy, never skill.
Although, in this case it was also skill.
These guys can cook, y’all.
AND NOW, LAST NIGHT.
Two episodes to go! We’re down to the final three, and tonight’s battle will determine which two competitors will earn the right to have their lives absolutely shredded by the Grand Final challenge which is so brutal that inflicting it upon people should be considered a war crime.
Matt, Elena, and Harry all enter the kitchen, with those whose bodies they clambered over to get here now looking down upon them from the gantry. To celebrate their arrival, the three judges and Shannon Bennett deliver four different, distinct claps.
There’s Gary with the over-exaggerated “Welllllllll BRA-FUCKEN-VO” clap usually reserved for when your mate knocks your beer over. George rocks the bare minimum effort that mirrors his dead-eyes and the fact that he mentally checked out of this season sometime around Heston Week. Matt Preston pulls out the bawdy classic “trying to accidentally make a fart sound” clap. And finally Shannon, whose mind never leaves the kitchen, is using this dead time to knead some imaginary dough.
Tonight’s we’ve got ourselves a fancy service challenge; two courses, twenty-odd people each, forty-something dishes in total. Yikes. Fortunately, and in a rare moment of benevolence, the final three have been allowed to plan their dishes in advance. The take home-exam of challenges, if you will. And if past experience with take home-exams is anything to go by, at least one of these people will get cocky and arrogant and try to slip subtle Simpsons references into their dishes.
Elena drops the first of many dead-Grandparent references in explaining that her dessert is going to be an “homage and reflection of her childhood.” I assume whatever her experience was will lend itself a little better to a culinary feat than mine of “a weird affinity for Babysitter’s Club books and far too much Sega Mega Drive.”
Once again George reminds us that it’s “deliciousness” that they’re looking for (lest we all forget *that* for even a nanosecond, heaven forbid). They’ve each got four hours to make it happen, but it takes all of 3 seconds for the first mishap to occur when they set off running and Matt apparently does his hammy.
That’s a minimum 4-week injury that’s going to severely hamper your ability to get down to those low ovens, m8. You might be able to shave a week off that recovery time if you duck into the hyperbaric chamber whilst your duck legs are confiting.
Elena begins the cook in a very methodical manner, determining that she needs to complete one element every 15 minutes in order to get over the line. Unless she’s cracked open a copy of Jamie’s 15 Minute Meals and started jotting things down verbatim, you’d think that not every step in the process is going to take precisely 15 minutes. Unless, of course, one element of the dish is “a pre-heated oven.”
Everyone’s doing a hell of a lot of Shannon-ignoring this cook, because who needs advice from Shannon Freaking Bennett after all?
Seriously, they all shrug it off. Hey Harry! Maybe kingfish isn’t gonna be that shithot in a mousse? “Nah, it’ll be ok.” Hey Elena! Maybe 16 elements in four hours is the wish list of a psychopath and you should think about pumping the brakes instead? “Nah, I’ll be ok.” Hey Matt! Breaking down those ducks is taking forever, maybe think about shortcutting that yeah? “Nah, it’ll be ok.“
Matt’s struggles to break down his ducks draws some playful chiding from Elise up on the gantry. Clearly relieved at not having to endure any more of this emotionally-manipulative bullshit, she spends the entire episode more or less hanging shit on everyone from upon high.
Look how relaxed she is!
Now that’s the face of someone who’s gotten stuck in to the wine in the pantry if ever I’ve seen one. As good as Friday knock offs feel after a week of hard work, imagine how stuck into the sauce you’d get after wrapping up a SIX MONTH LONG TV shoot? I’m surprised she didn’t waltz down to ground level to bung a foam dome in the blast chiller.
Elena’s time ambitions are getting the best of her, mostly because she apparently completely forgot that peeling potatoes is a needlessly time consuming task definitely designed by the devil himself to punish sous chefs. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was putting a dirty, starchy covering on top of the world’s most versatile food. Such a dick move.
And speaking of veggies that take far too long to prepare, Harry gets all bent out of shape over some artichokes to the point where he considers binning them from the dish. And I know it’s the second last episode and nothing should be left on the table, but I will not – I WILL NOT – stoop so low as to make a choking gag here. Nope. Absolutely not. Won’t do it. No.
…
I just can’t swallow that.
…
…
…
*ba-doom tish*
Everything seems to be going reasonably well, as you’d expect from people who have made it this far through the competition. But time is the enemy of everyone, and soon Shannon’s spidey senses begin tingling. He can sense it. He doesn’t even need to look.
They’re here. Hungry people.
Matt, who has been powering through the cook like a competent person, threatens to stumble at the final hurdle with a lemon curd that simply refuses to thicken. There’s a mild chance this could do him in, so he takes the opportunity to give us one final, glorious Matt reaction face.
But he needn’t worry, because his brioche doughnut and coffee icecream just about sends the judges into raptures. George in particular immediately begins seeing the face of God.
Despite horribly underestimating how much time she needed, Elena‘s skillz bubble to the surface as she manages to pull off a dessert that has everyone in absolute ecstasy, presumably because when she says it’s “Apples, Cheese, and Bickies” she really means that it’s “Apples, Cheese, and a Shitload of Pingers.” Text your mates. See who’s keen.
Oh and hey! They might have tried to tuck it away in amongst the uplifting success music and satisfied monologuing, but Matt Preston TOTALLY STOLE A BISCUIT OFF OF GARY‘S PLATE.
LOOK. LOOK AT HIM DO IT. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT, NO LESS.
If you tried pulling brazen shit like that in my house back in the day you were leaving yourself wide open to a broken arm. Gary’s even got his hand in plate protection mode! You are violating sanctuary. That shit is a declaration of war, Matthew. Good heavens.
Harry‘s extremely valiant effort falls short thanks to the cardinal sin of being stingy with the sauce on his main combined with a fish mousse that didn’t quite clear the bar, leaving your two Grand Finalists for MasterChef Australia 2016 to be Matt Sinclair and Elena Duggan.
Matt & Elena. Of course it’s Matt & Elena. It had to be. It was always going to be.
The top two seeds facing off for the Heavyweight Championship of the World.
Sometimes the best matchup is obvious because it’s right.
One episode to go. Bring it on.
NEXT TIME: GRAND FINAL. The last episode. It is finally all over. Matt vs Elena, one-on-one, for the ultimate prize in competitive cooking-based reality TV shows: THE CEREMONIAL SILVER PROP PLATE.
Also Heston Blumenthal returns for one final nightmare and George probably punches him square in the mush or something because, like, what are they gonna do? Throw the show off the air? Please.
Photo: Channel Ten.
