I’ve been a bit lax on the recapping lately, but only because MasterChef has swung into the awkward, boring-as-fuck transitional period between the lesser cooks bursting into tears at the mere sight of a squab, or running around the kitchen holding a whisk and a fistful of mastic shouting “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING” and finals week, where eliminations only occur because someone was slightly less good than the others.
It’s like those bullshit awful few weeks between the Grand Final and the beginning of the first summer Test Match where all that’s on the TV sports-wise is maybe the Bathurst 1000 and that’s about it. It’s rubbish. No one gives a toss about Bathurst except for people who buy Bundaberg OP premix cans on the reg and own at least one hat made from a dead thing.
I had every intention of simply holding off until finals week and then unleashing in a glorious barrage of snark, but then last night’s episode happened and the worst thing they’ve ever done was broadcast into unsuspecting people’s faces (specifically: mine).
Aside from the fact that Preston rocks up with that Russian Overlord coat again, except this time he’s paired it with a pair of strides that make him look more like Baron Von Fancypants.
And aside from the fact that Marco Pierre White can’t stop putting his goddamned finger in everything.
It’s the moment that is seriously the most off-putting single shot in the long, sordid history of MasterChef Australia.
It’s not a weird ingredient that looks like the innards of a Kraken. It’s not an Alfonso Cuarón-like 14 minute single tracking shot of the Judges eating. It’s not even John sneaking his way back into frame to suck down a gallon of adobo stock through a beer bong.
It’s this.
EWWWWWWWUUURRRRHHHHHHHGGGGHGHHGHALSGGLKHAGDKADKGHAALHGALKH.
NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.
WHY.
WHY HOLD IT VERTICALLY LIKE THAT.
WHY LICK IT IN SUCH A HORRIBLE SUGGESTIVE MANNER.
WHY THE EYEBROW RAISE.
WHY EVERYTHING.
There needs to be warnings about shit like this. Ratings. Censorship board alerts. The show should be rated M for “Matt Preston is going to lick a cream biscuit like it’s a vagina and you’re never going to want to have sex ever again.” Forget developing the male pill, just show your sons that clip the instant they turn 13. They won’t be capable of procreating until they’re 35.
Ugh. Set fire to me and burn me to the freaking ground. I’m done. I am absolutely done.
